POWERMOM:THE CHOSEN ONE

~CHAPTER THREE~

In the earthly realm of Neastean Kingdom, darkness had consumed the land. Once a prosperous and vibrant kingdom, Neastean had fallen into the malevolent grip of Queen Clara, a ruthless ruler whose thirst for power had poisoned the hearts and souls of its people.

Under Clara's tyrannical leadership, the kingdom had descended into a state of despair and hopelessness. The once-magnificent capital city of Aetheria, with its grand cathedrals and bustling marketplaces, had become a grim shadow of its former self. Towering spires that had once reached towards the heavens now stood as silent sentinels, their once-gleaming facades tarnished by neglect and decay.

The people of Neastean, once proud and resilient, had been broken by Clara's oppressive regime. They lived in constant fear, their every move scrutinized by the queen's legion of loyal guards. The once-vibrant culture of the kingdom had been replaced by a pervasive atmosphere of dread and submission.

In the once-bustling streets of Aetheria, the sound of laughter and music had been replaced by the cries of the poor and the heavy footsteps of Clara's enforcers. Families huddled in their homes, afraid to venture out, their eyes downcast and their spirits crushed.

Clara's reign was marked by a dark obsession with the occult and the worship of ancient, malevolent gods. She had banned all forms of traditional religion, declaring the royal family's ancient faith as heresy. In its place, she had erected towering idols to twisted deities, demanding that her subjects kneel before these unholy icons.

The once-magnificent temples of Neastean, where the people had once gathered to celebrate the blessings of the Queen Goddesses Angelina and Gwen, now lay in ruin. Their stained-glass windows had been shattered, their altars desecrated, and their hallowed grounds defiled by the unholy rituals of Clara's followers.

As the people of Neastean toiled under the weight of Clara's oppression, a growing sense of resentment and despair took root in their hearts. They longed for the return of the benevolent Queen Goddesses, whose divine guidance had once blessed the kingdom. They whispered prayers in the shadows, begging for a savior to rise up and deliver them from the clutches of their cruel mistress.

Meanwhile, high above the mortal realm, the Queen Goddesses Angelina and Gwen looked down upon the suffering of their people with deep sorrow. They had watched helplessly as Clara's malevolence had slowly consumed the kingdom, tainting the very fabric of its society.

Angelina, the embodiment of wisdom and compassion, turned to her wife Gwen, the goddess of justice and righteous fury.

"My love, our people are suffering under Queen Clara's cruel rule," Angelina said, her voice laden with anguish. "We must intervene and bring them hope."

Gwen's brow furrowed with determination.

"Yes, my dear Angelina. The time has come to guide a chosen one, one who can rise up and overthrow the tyrant that plagues our kingdom."

With a wave of her hand, Gwen summoned a messenger, an ethereal being of light and grace.

"Angel Phoebe," Gwen commanded, "you must descend to the mortal realm and seek out the one who is destined to liberate Neastean Kingdom. Guide them and grant them the divine strength to vanquish the darkness that has consumed our people."

Angel Phoebe bowed reverently.

"I shall do as you command, my Queen Goddesses. May your blessings be with me as I embark on this crucial mission."

With those words, the radiant angel unfurled her wings and soared down from the heavenly realm, her luminous form a beacon of hope in the ever-deepening gloom that had enveloped Neastean Kingdom.