Streetpunk Seraph



In the rain-soaked alleys where neon dies and graffiti breathes, she walks.
Red hair like a warning, cracked halo flickering above her undercut, dirty white wings trailing sparks of old divinity.
Once she was pure light. Now she wears spikes and chains, cargo pants unbuttoned like a challenge, finger to her lips as if daring the night to speak first.
Guardian angel of the broken and the reckless. She doesn’t save the innocent.
She protects the ones who set the world on fire… and makes sure the flames look beautiful while they burn.
She smiles. Trouble is coming.