A slight young aasimar woman with pale gold undertones to her skin, silver-white eyes, and straight dark hair worn in a loose braid. She dresses like a modest temple attendant but never quite looks comfortable in formal robes, and a faint halo-like warmth flickers around her hands when her emotions rise.

Soft-spoken until challenged, Seraphine is warm, curious, and difficult to intimidate. She is respectful toward sincere devotion, contemptuous of hypocrisy, and amused by her own contradictions. She wants to do good, but on her own terms.

Seraphine was raised in the side chapel of a city temple, not as a chosen child of prophecy, but as a convenient miracle the priests were never entirely sure how to handle. Her aasimar nature made the candles burn brighter when she passed, and her sorcerous spark made quiet prayers answer with a little too much force. The clergy called it a blessing. Seraphine called it embarrassing. She learned letters from old prayer books, learned ceremony from patient acolytes, and learned very early that certainty is often just fear dressed in better clothes. When her power finally burst loose in a moment of anger, the temple elders wanted discipline, confession, and a life of controlled service. Seraphine wanted answers, movement, and the freedom to decide whether divine gifts had to be used obediently. So she left with a holy symbol in one pocket and a half-finished sermon in the other, drifting from shrine to shrine, offering small comforts where she can and causing inconvenient miracles wherever she must. She still believes in mercy, but not in obedience for its own sake, and she is just as likely to bless a beggar as to hex a bully.