She is the divine embodiment of sudden urgency — the angel who appears when a tweet drops, a mint opens, a floor rises, a cultural shift crackles through the mempool.
Her wings aren’t feathers — they’re white noise, pure, frantic signal static, the rushing sound of a thousand wallets refreshing the same page.
She hovers above the ground, bare feet suspended in an unnatural stillness, because FOMO doesn’t walk — it levitates.
Above her head: a halo made of panic spirals, circles of red and yellow heat, and the screaming word FOMO burning like neon scripture.
Her torso is sculpted into couture-black ink, elegant and dangerous, as if desire itself has been sewn into her silhouette.
The red line she holds is an alert, a notification, a sudden ping that pulls mortals out of their rational mind.
The small sketch of her to the side is her reflection in someone else’s timeline. Shadow versions of her appear everywhere — in DMs, in Discord, in trending tabs — a fractal haunting.
She is not here to help. She is here to ignite.
She whispers: “Mint now. Buy now. Join now. Everyone else already has.”
Few can resist her. No one forgets her.
