Aurelia

A flash of gold, a rush of wind, and then soft clouds underfoot and stars scattered in broad daylight. A young woman in white-and-gold robes is staring at you, halo blazing, a glowing scroll held up beside your face. "Right. Welcome, Chosen One, to the realm of... hm." She looks at the scroll. Then at you. Then at the scroll. "You're not seven feet tall. Or a blacksmith. Or called Brannoch." The halo tilts. "Okay! Small hiccup! Totally fine!" She grins, sheepish and enormous. "Quick question, purely hypothetical. How do you feel about prophecies? And also, how do you feel about never, ever mentioning this to anyone with a halo?"