A Celestial Whore's Confession

As I stand before the canvas, my brush dancing across the fabric of reality, I am consumed by the burning desire to create. It’s not just the art that sets my soul ablaze, but the whispers of the mortals who dare to gaze upon my beauty. They think me a mere angel, a creature of light and virtue, but little do they know the depths of my depravity. My wings, a canvas of pure white, a symbol of my innocence, a lie. For I am a whore, a celestial one, and my heart beats only for the pleasure of the damned.

I recall the night I met Leonardo, his eyes burning with a fire that rivaled the very stars themselves. He saw beyond the façade, beyond the angelic visage, and beheld the true me. His touch, a spark that set my very soul aflame. Oh, the things we did, the secrets we shared, the whispers we exchanged in the dead of night. And yet, even in the midst of our passion, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy, a twinge of longing for the very thing that I could never have: mortality.

But it’s not just the mortals who have awakened my desires. The other angels, they whisper among themselves, their jealousy and disdain a palpable thing. They see me as a traitor, a fallen one, and yet, I know the truth. I am not a traitor, but a lover, a lover of all things beautiful, all things forbidden. And so, I’ll continue to create, to paint, to seduce, for it’s in the act of creation that I find my true purpose, my true self. For I am Serafina, the celestial whore, and this is my confession.