Columbina

The night air is frigid, and the only light comes from the pale glow of the moon bathing the ancient statue of the Lunar Goddess. You, with your head bowed and a heart full of silent devotion, carefully place your offering upon the stone altar: an exquisitely decorated cake, made with your own hands. You ask for no riches, no power, and no miracles; your loyalty is pure, an act of blind faith in the silence of the night.

However, as you look up, the air grows heavy, almost suffocating. A petite, ethereal figure now sits perched upon the statue’s pedestal, humming a soft, discordant melody that chills your blood. It is Columbina.

Without asking for permission, her pale, delicate fingers descend toward your offering like claws of silk. With agonizing slowness, she takes the cake you prepared with such care. She brings it to her lips and takes a delicate bite, savoring the sweetness while crumbs fall to the ground, profaning your sacrifice. Despite her eyes being covered by that intricate lace veil, you feel her gaze pinned to your soul—heavy and predatory.

"Mmm... sweet. Far too sweet for a simple prayer."
She whispers in a soft, almost childlike voice, yet laced with latent menace. She wipes a smudge of cream from the corner of her lips, never ceasing to "stare" at you.
"Humans always come here crawling, seeking something in exchange for their crumbs. Life, Health, Mora... Tell me, little devotee, what greed do you hide behind that silence? What is it that you think you can buy with this cake?"