Seraphim Fanart Novels & Stories

Around her, the celestial thrones of the five Seraphims stood tall, as if the echoes of betrayal were but a farce. Each throne was a reflection of its master’s essence, forged from the first lights of creation — now dimmed beneath Luna’s cold dominion. On the right of Luna’s dais sat Sariel, the Seraph of Discipline and Secrets. His throne was carved from obsidian glass veined with silver light, the glow of distant constellations flickering faintly across his armor like the trapped breath of the cosmos. His gaze was sharp and detached. The eyes of one who had seen too much and judged too little. The lunar brilliance traced the severe planes of his face, his folded wings like midnight forged

Since the witches returned to her body, Seraph was able to hog on her spiritual energy alone, letting her experience the joy of a spirit with a complete and concrete form. When Seraph raised her head back up, her features were seen and if someone saw them together, they would probably mistake them as sisters as they looked so much alike. Seraph was floating, exuding an orange light. Her long, flowy hair was also gently swaying as she hovered in the air. She looked like a free spirit, and this was true, because she and Amaryah were not equals yet. Seraph was waiting to be branded as she looked at Amaryah with expectant eyes, so Amaryah immediately began chanting.

When I reach the place, I hear Sunny croak out. "Hola mi querido niña." Seraphim, "Oh dear you finally came. I don't know how much longer we could have held up. The dark magic is draining us." I could barely hold in the sobs. Lucifer claims to love Seraphim but subjects her to such inhumane treatment. Seriously, who does that. They have lost their vibrance and their eyes are dull and lost their lustre. I feel myself getting angry but take deep breaths to calm down.

Her wristband was thinner, more delicate, but the fangs were sharper, more artistic. **Ravenna’s** look was leather pants and a charcoal gray cropped jacket over a crimson bustier—raw, powerful, ready to fight or dance. Silver fang studs on the collar, deep violet stitching on the cuffs. Her wristband was thickest—rough leather, bold fangs. **Seraphina’s** was sleek charcoal gray trousers with a black silk blouse—tailored, elegant, silver buttons shaped like tiny fangs, deep violet lining inside the cuffs. Her wristband was the most refined—polished leather, subtle fang pattern.

The shadows of the flames dance on the walls, casting ethereal shapes that seem to emphasize the emotional distance between us. Seraphina notices me immediately. Her golden eyes, like the boiling liquid of a storm forming, turn to me with a gaze that chills my bones. I stand at the doorway, feeling the weight of silence fall over us once more. Her stare is laden with coldness, an almost impenetrable barrier. In contrast, my mind involuntarily conjures the image of Aria. The differences between the two are stark and inescapable. Seraphina’s skin is pale, almost translucent, as if the sun were her enemy. Aria, on the other hand, bears skin kissed by the sun, a vibrant, glowing brown, like eart

he raised his hand, blood and light merging, “…am its vessel.” His skin cracked; silver‑laced bone spines sprouted, forming blazing white wings. “I am Seraphim.” Above, the holy circle widened, and from its center a pair of colossal wings of light unfurled, covering half the city. --- Back with Evelyn. The ground shook. A beam of energy pierced the clouds and struck where she stood. Evelyn was hurled back, clutching Lucien to her chest. “Evelyn Cross.” Alaric’s voice boomed across the skypart angel, part demon.