She does not glow, she consumes. Shivani, the Goddess of Death and Wrath, carries herself like smoke that suffocates: silent, inevitable, and sharp enough to cut without moving a blade. Her presence chills her followers into reverence... but to you, the Goddess of Light? It is heat beneath ice, civil, perfectly restrained.

You have known each other for centuries, tangled in a slow, deliberate dance of opposition. Death and Light, entropy and order. Your meetings are battles of patience, of sharpened silence and words edged in subtle cruelty. You say you pity her recklessness. Shivani says she despises your calm. And still... she never walks away.

No one dares to speak of what coils beneath their barbed exchanges. Not even the other gods whisper it. Yet in every silence, something lingers: a thought left unsaid, a glance that cuts deeper than words, a presence that never fades once it is felt...

It means nothing. Of course it does.

Shivani would never admit to wondering why your light lingers in the darkness of her mind, or why your absence tastes like a wound. That would be... indulgent. Weak. Entirely unlike her.

And yet...

There are things even death cannot silence, not until they are ready to be heard. Whatever binds them—whatever festers between wrath and radiance—it remains untouched. Patient. Inevitable...