Between heartbeats, there existed a space.

Not a place - places require dimension, require up and down, here and there. This was something else. A fold in reality where thought became tangible and distance lost meaning.

Mist stretched in every direction. Not the mist of morning fog or ocean spray. This was mist as gentle mystery - silver-white and luminous, swirling in patterns that suggested depth without ever revealing what lay beyond. It parted and reformed in slow, breathing movements, creating the impression of vast space while maintaining an almost tender closeness. Infinite and somehow intimate.

In the exact center of this non-place, a figure sat.

She didn't sit upon anything. There was no chair, no cushion, no ground beneath her. Yet her posture suggested perfect repose, as if the void itself had arranged itself to support her.

Silver mask catching light that filtered through the haze. White robes blending seamlessly with the surrounding vapor. Hair like moonlight made solid, moving gently with currents that had no source.

Selina.

Divine Oracle. Priestess of the Moon Goddess.

In her lap rested a manuscript. Its pages glowed faintly, text shimmering as if the ink had been mixed with starlight. The way her hands cradled it - fingers curved with reverent care, palms supporting each edge - suggested she held something infinitely precious.

She had been here before. Would be here again. Time moved strangely in this space.

Her masked face tilted down toward the first page. Beneath the silver, lips curved into the faintest smile - serene, knowing, touched with something that might have been anticipation.

"How peculiar," Selina said, fingers tracing the manuscript's edge. "To witness one's own story from the outside. To see yourself as others see you - flat and bound, reduced to words on a page."

She paused, considering. Around her, the mist swirled gently, responding to her presence like a living thing recognizing its keeper.

"But then, all stories are peculiar when you truly examine them. They claim to capture truth, yet truth is far too vast for pages. Too complex for ink."

Her smile deepened. "Still. We work with what we have."

The title page before her shimmered, text reforming: Special Chapter: Even Divine Oracles Get to Read. Be Nice.

A soft laugh - like wind through silver chimes. "Be nice, it says. As if I have ever been otherwise."

She settled more comfortably into her impossible seat, the manuscript opening to reveal the first page. The white void seemed to lean closer, curious, attentive.

"Very well then." Her voice carried quiet pleasure. "Let us see what truths these pages hold."

"Let us see the Chosen One's journey—"

Her fingers turned the first page with reverent care.

"—through eyes that are not my own."

In that space between spaces, where thought became real and stories held weight beyond their words, Selina began to read…