#(&) anri ➽; SOFT FOR A KNIGHT.

[hawksblooded]

⤖ indie & selective ALIZEBETH KENWAY,  a fandomless original character from own lore.

⤖   generic fantasy & fandom verses available. strictly 18+ .  ⤖ sideblog to @henosiis. written by KAT ⤖ affiliated with @fishermcn, @swordluck

Exploring grief, DUTY, acceptance, friendship, misfortune, necessity, justice

[swordluck]

⚘ @sunmad // cont.

Fading sunlight clung to the edges of Miriam’s robes, soft and radiant as star-fire. There was an undeniable purity to her, but also a disquieting stillness – a veneer as flawless and fragile as finely blown glass.

“Please, you owe me nothing,” Anri said simply, warmly. Her fingertips lingered in the cool water, keeping the silent company of minnows – those scale-flanked creatures with no purpose other than the fragile continuation of their existence. “I do not seek repayment. Kindness is its own reward, now more than ever in these dark times.”

Her gaze lifted to meet Miriam’s own, searching beneath the gossamer layers of chastity and devotion, penance and worship. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the crackle of the fire filling the spaces between them.

“You are strange to me, Miriam of Carim,” Anri said at last, her smile kind and touched with quiet curiosity. She studied the delicate profile of the woman beside her – beautiful, radiant, ethereal. “Blessed, perhaps. This world is quick to gut and devour the fleece-coated. And yet, you seem largely untouched by its horrors, as though they cannot lay their claws upon you.”

Awe shimmered in her voice as her petal-soft gaze lingered on the intricate veil, the bound hair. Every other Carim-born maiden she had ever glimpsed had been cloaked in the foreboding shadow of their assigned knight, their purpose tethered to another’s blade. By comparison, Miriam seemed vulnerable, painfully alone.

Perhaps this woman, too, had suffered loss so profound it could not be spoken.

“A testament to your spirit, I suspect. A testament to your resilience.”

A familiar ache bloomed within Anri, a hollow space carved out by the absence of Horace. Her gaze retreated, returning to the water, where golden ribbons of light pierced the rippling surface, pooling upon the silt at the pond’s bottom.

“I am glad to have been of service to you.”

In the absence of a sworn knight, this maiden would have her shield, her sword, for as long as the winding, bone-riddled road bound them together.

[confessthysiins]

🌿// @swordluck

The shrine is dutifully decorated, red flowers and evergreen sprigs in careful arrangement among the many candles that cast flickering shadows upon the stone cell’s walls, like the spark of life on the altar’s impassive stone face. Anri discards her helmet, lets out a small gasp as she makes her way closer, looking around in quiet amazement. But wonder transforms to worry when the shrine-keeper’s hooded figure, huddled at the feet of the Goddess’ statue, remains motionless at her approach. Blessed with the crow’s keen senses, he is usually up and about, feathers displayed in welcome, when she visits the shrine. Not this time. “ Oswald? ” she calls out meekly, steps hesitant at first turning to hurried strides. In an instant she is at his side, kneeling before his cloaked form, a hand reaching out to his frail shoulder.

He wakes slowly, black eyes opening to her worried face, her furrowed brow. “ Ah, dear Anri… what is it? Why do I wake to see sadness on thy fair face? ” he croons, half-birdsong and half-whisper. She strokes his jet-downed cheek with a knuckle before pulling him into her arms. “ I feared for you. For a moment I thought you were dead. ” She swallows a sob. Smooth talons raise to rake through her fine blonde hair, gently picking at the tresses. “ Oh, my dear girl. Shhh. I was only resting. ” He redresses from their embrace with a smile on his avian features. “ Time has no hold on me anymore, and I wager Death does not want me either. Perhaps thou art the last one, my knight, who still looks at this old crow with some tenderness in thine eye. ” “ Do not mock me, Oswald, I beg. There are more who care for you. Perhaps my worry was foolish, but… ” He chuckles, a rook-like noise too deep for his weak frame. 

They are sat thus before each other, and before the altar to the Goddess of Sin, Anri’s hands resting on his cloth-wrapped arms, and his’ upon hers steel-clad. She lets out a sigh of relief as she looks once more upon the small shrine, adorned and adored by his delicate attentions. A girlish laugh escapes her, and Oswald’s feathered brow shifts in interrogation. There is a rumbling hum in his chest. “ Yes? Is aught amiss? ” She gestures to the garland draped around the stone Goddess’ neck, woven evergreen, crowned with the red jewels of the mistletoe. “ There’s an old tradition, in Astora… ” she begins, but a talon gently brushes along her full lips and her voice dies down with it. “ I know the one, ” the crow-man replies, and she thinks she can see a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes. But when he leans towards her, slowly, carefully, the kiss he bestows on her soft mouth is chaste and humble. It speaks only of those tender feelings between them, and nothing more. Love and no desire, a promise of remembrance.

“ I care for thee as well, my dearest Anri. ”

[swordluck]

Fire had always been foreign to her.  A furtive thing, coaxed to life in the cathedral’s grates – something to be fed, prodded, sustained.  It had been an instrument of illumination, of destruction, of wonder.

As Laurentius conjured that delicate bead of flame, she found herself transfixed.  It danced over his fingers like a living thing, weightless and bright, a wisp of molten gold against the ashen air.  It was almost unbearably beautiful.

And then he spoke, likening his craft to a conversation, to understanding, to her – and she felt it, warmth unfurling in her chest.  She had not known she could be seen in such a way.  That all her shattered pieces, gathered and reassembled, could be regarded not as broken, but as something worthy of celebration, of love.

Lips brushed hers, woodsmoke-soft, fleeting as the touch of a drifting spark, and when Laurentius pulled back, it was to rest his forehead against hers.  Anri’s eyes fluttered shut as the flame dissipated, vanishing into the void – but its pebbled warmth remained, curling into the hollow spaces where doubt and fear had nested like dark-winged birds.

Anri exhaled slowly, as though releasing something long held in the cage of her ribs.  Then, with every shred of the gentleness she possessed, she reached for his hand.  Her fingers curled around his, calloused against calloused, a knight’s grip, tender in its insistence.  She did not pull, only guided.  An invitation, not a demand.

Together, they sank to the pallid and wind-scored ground, where the sand was greyed with the ghosts of a thousand cinders, the remnants of old pyres.  It crumbled beneath them, fine as powdered bone, clinging to the folds of armour and cloth alike, settling into the lines of their palms like relic dust.

A cradle of life and death.  She let herself sit with it.  With him.

“You have the heart of a poet,” she murmured, her voice shaped by the touched smile that dressed her lips.

Laurentius had spoken of pyromancy as a conversation – an understanding between the caster and the world.  A give and take, as simple and immutable as the lake tide meeting the shore.  Was that not what he had done with her, too?  He had found what remained in her, had held it in his hand, had breathed upon it, a most gentle resuscitation.

His warmth bled into her skin, into her bones, into her marrow.

“You coax warmth from the cold, light from the dark,” Anri whispered fondly.  “You take something as wild and consuming as flame, and you cradle it, shape it, teach it to dance.  You burn.  That is a kind of love, I deem.”

For so long, she had looked backward, tracing the ruins of what she could not save, what she had left behind.  But now, huddled in the hush of ash, she allowed herself to sit beside Laurentius and imagine something different.  A glimpse of a future, one that was tender despite the world’s teeth, despite prejudice, despite old wounds.  They could make something from nothing.

“It is you who has kept me warm in this cold, who has carried me when I was sure I would fall.  It is your light I look to, again and again.”

A breathless pause, then –

“Laurentius, you are the only thing I wish to hold and never relinquish.”

And then she kissed him, fierce as fire, slow as the gathering of kindling before the blaze.  It was not chaste, nor fleeting.  It was gratitude and devotion and unfettered adoration, the wordless vow that if he was to be her steady hand, then she would be the warmth he returned to.  That she would burn for him too.

Laurentius listens as she speaks. He can hear the hurt: the cracks in her voice, spidering through the sound gleaming veins in giving glass. He marvels at it, because even as every bit of her shattered on its own, she held together. She cohered herself again and again, every morning, from so many scattered pieces. She brought herself up and she marched forward and now - now, she saved people. She made it here. She made it to him. She saved him, too - first there from the depths, and now here in the shrine. Her heart? She might as well have handed him the First Flame, burn-bright, for as much as it has done to change him, to make him anew in these last few days.

"It isn't often I hear pyromancy described as honest," he says, after she concludes, that echo of a smile catching on her face the way light catches in a crystal facet. "Certainly, there's not much in the way of guile to it - you...you sort of have a conversation with the world, and if you're any good at it, the world listens, and together you create something. A flame."

He conjures a little orb above his right hand. It hovers and sways - perfect control. Of course, it would be; the sphere is tiny, tightly bound, a bead of ochre glow swirling gently in the air before her.

"It's a little like talking to a knight, maybe," he says, letting the orb drop to catch it just above his fingers - an inch of space or so between the ball and his manchette, where he begins to rotate his hand and wrist, letting the little flame roll and dance between his outstretched fingers like one of those juggling balls a street performer might use. "Like finding out she's a capable, brave, noble woman with a heart like a hearth, and one night she kisses you, and she tells you all about herself, and you find yourself falling even more in love with her, over and over again."

He flicks his little finger, arcs the flame up and over the back of his hand, turns the hand up again and catches it neatly on his palm.

"She sort of has a conversation with you, and if you're any good at all, you listen, and together you create something," he says. "It might be a flame. It might be a kiss. It might be that you just create a smile on her lips that's worth more than every ounce of gold you've ever held in your life. But you create something."

He leans in, and kisses her gently - a little peck on her lips, then rests his forehead against hers as he lets the orb dissipate.

"That's pretty honest, I'd say," he chuckles.

[luckydxy]

@austerulous liked for a starter !!

The sounds which echoed off of bleak basement walls were surprisingly comforting. Someone hummed a nonsense song inbetween gentle chatter with unknown others who never seemed to respond in kind. The crackle of fire & clinking of cookware intermingle with soft steps & inquisitive tuts. Anri would awaken upon a cot, tucked in carefully with a red hood & dusty blankets, to the peculiar sight of another young woman squatting by a fireplace, fueled by bits of furniture if the hacked up chairs scattered here & there had anything to say. Helm & blade were set aside on a corner table ; a purposeful distance from their owner. Ara wanted to make use of herself, but she wasn't so thrilled with the potential of being shanked by an injured knight. Surely the other woman would understand?

Sensing her guest stirring, Ara perks. Dropping ladel into the great metal pot she'd been attending & promptly patters towards Anri with frightening urgency. Ara looms over injured knight, grin unsettlingly wide, & places her hands squarely against her own hips. She giggles.

"You almost lost your head, friend!"

[a-bottomless-curse]

voice meme.

bold what applies to your muse, italicize situational ones. feel free to add your own suggestions and carry it on.

► ACCENT

“country” │ “backwoods” │ “sailor” │ “upper class” │ “city slicker” | foreign speaker │ refined

► ELOQUENCE

educated │self-taught | uneducated | doesn’t use conjunctions │ shortens words | omits entire words on occasion | mixes up words │ just makes up their own words! │ archaic english │ dependent on mood or setting

► TONE

loud │ soft │ room volume │ high pitched │ low pitched │seductive │velvety │ speech impediment │ abrasive │ gruff │ shrill │ booming │ matter-of-fact │ toneless │ husky │gravelly │ breathy │ nasal │ barking │ chatty │ condescending │ musical │ suave │ world-weary │ brash │ authoritative

► HABITS

refers to self in third person│ incorporates different languages/terms/sayings │ uses gender-specific terms │ adapts to audience │ changes pitch around animals or children│ shifts tone when lying │ gives others nicknames │ uses terms of respect towards others

► OTHER BITS

• She frequently incorporates different languages / terms in her speech, but especially so when she is: thinking through something difficult, writing poetry, drunk or otherwise fairly intoxicated, and when she is feeling either extremely soft someone, or when she is feeling particularly frustrated.

• She uses a mix of endearments and titles for those she cares about. While she will use such endearments like "dear", "darling" and even "love", depending on the person, she will refer to them in such ways as "My darling knight", "Dearest warrior" and similar titles as a way to show her respect and her caring for them.

• Even though her voice is quite soft, she is fairly good at doing impressions and mimicry, with her favorite sounds to mimic being that of bird calls / birdsong.

► VOICE CLAIM REFERENCE

I don't have an official voice claim for her (mostly cause I'm indecisive lol) but these videos are what I imagine resembles her voice (when speaking and when singing) the voice

voice claim: Gingertail (Singing) - Elden Ring Song of Lament

Marcella Lentz-Pope (Speaking) - Lamb (LoL)

tagged by: @of-forossa and @umbrclflame (thank youuuu!)

tagging: @farumazula, @accendible (anri!), @wolfdivined, @abysscl, @sinnhelmingr, @crimsonlocks (laurence?), @royal-dragonslayer-ornstein

[arcstral]

—  memoir;  shame.  —

Altea, now a prosperous maritime nation yielding surpluses of fish, fruit, and grain at every season’s turn had started out as only a fishing village.

Without a proper representative to send to Archanean parliament, the fittest young man had always been chosen to deliver their share of the taxes instead. This man was Anri. Before the slaying of a dragon that levied him to fame with shining Falchion in hand, this was all.

Anri’s baseborn roots combined with his feats later in life asserted that he was popular amongst the common-folk, but not amongst the Archanean nobility. Unlike the founding heroes Cartas, Marlon, or Ordwin, he was a peasant grown into the larger shoes of a king. Iote of Macedon built his legacy much from the same stock, if not by worse as a former Dolhrian slave, but the nobility did not see this as great an offense.

It was not Iote who fell for a princess twelve stations above his own, after all.

And in terms of martial prospects, it was not Iote who reached for an unattainable goal of heaven when all others believed it was the ground to which he better belonged.

No, that man had been Anri.

Years later, dregs of the contempt yet remain. It was still to Archanea that they paid taxes and tribute, to repay the subsidy used to form their kingdom during the rule of the original Hero-King. Because while Anri was the hero who ended the war, he was neither rich nor royal, and he required the same amount of help that he ever gave his continent. And so, even if the reasons were obvious, the conclusion that Marth reaches is still most strange to him:

Prince Marth, heir to Altea’s throne and Anri’s modern successor, is not well-liked amongst the Archanean boys of finer breeding. These noble sons of the mainland coalesced seasonally in Pales, just like Marth. They know who he is but do not ask him to play when he sits idle around a table while his father talks politics and commerce with theirs. Or to share in their tea and biscuits.

Choice pieces of the castle cook’s soft puffy bread, baked in the mornings and dressed specially in honey, are picked clean from the plate before they have had the chance to pass into the Altean prince’s hands. Marth is not one for sweet, sugar-rotting things so the secret exclusion does not scald. He knows it was meant to.

All of this suits him just fine in the end. Merric is all he needs for a playmate, after all, and a number of his father’s younger knights will indulge him to masquerade as monsters and dragons for the wooden end of his mock sword. Elice as well, sometimes, when no one is looking and reprimands her for being unladylike. Naturally, there is nothing that these young masters offer that his bannermen and his friends back in Altea cannot. Still. Marth finds himself listening with hearing that is far too sharp.

“..Oink, oink! I’m Anri and at night, I make my bed in the swine yard with pigs!”

“Hahaha!! No, no, wait--I’m Anri, and Medeus can wait! I have to go harvest my crops!”

When Jagen or his valets are not there, the same gaggle of noble Archanean youths always clamor noisily as they pass him. Their comments inspire a round of high-pitched giggles amongst themselves, ugly and uncomfortable to Marth’s ears. His eyes scan a line of his stratagem book that replays twice in his mind. His courtly poise keeps him still, precociously immeasurable even at age ten, but every part of him is abuzz with the impatience to return to Altea’s insular comforts. When will father’s business conclude?

“I bet he bathed once a month and the Falchion is filthy because he used it to pick his teeth..!”

Another clap of laughter, louder than it was. The blood picks up in his ears as his indirect tormentors draw closer. He sits very, very quiet. Rather than confront them, he takes every effort to remind himself that he is Altea’s fifth generation prince. Royalty is in his blood no matter what Anri was.

The thought is admirable, but not always successful.

The back of the princeling’s neck burns bright red. Their footsteps pass him by.

[korvyna]

As her soft lips pressed against his jaw, he felt a spark; a subtle tingling sensation rippled down his neck and behind his ears where they turned warm. In a moment there was solace, and the knight graciously appreciated it. In this moment, he quietly pondered to himself their endeavors together - their hardships, their sorrows, their losses and their accomplishments.

Nay, there was but little left until Korvyn knew they would both be at ease. Aldrich's terror called to him from the distance, and soon it would be over upon their due arrival to the cathedral. Then, they would tread the world in peace, without a worry. Whether the world were to fall to darkness, or the bonfire would be rekindled once again, Korvyn knew he would find Anri again. He didn't wish to forget until that day when the chosen Undead would make their calling's due and succeed.

He would seek her out, again and again. As many times as he would be required to, to be in this moment with her for as long as he could do so.

Alas, the silence that passed was interrupted by the low, gentle voice.

❝ Wherever you may be, never forget, ❞ he murmured, tilting her head up to gaze upon her gentle orbs.

❝ Forget not this moment... Forget not my protection of you, ❞ he placed a gentle kiss upon her soft, rosy lips.

❝ That in this life and the next, I will always find you. Where you will need me the most, that I may always be there in your company. ❞ his fingers danced upon her arms as his forehead gently rested against her own.

His breathing was but in a gentle labour of their kiss, his breath captured by her lips. Oh, how he was enamoured by her kindness. Captivated by her beauty. Admiration in her strength. His eyes smouldered at the thought of this, of her person.

[exalted--zealotry]

Sophia knew that their children were's exactly rooting for Anri to do well in the joust. But it still seemed unfair to send him into the arena with nothing at all. So she had prepared something for him-- something he'd recognize. From long ago, when they were younger and had been celebrating the birth of their firstborn. "Here," she murmured handing him the small miniature portrait that had been painted long ago. Of her and Emmeryn and him midst blooming hydrangeas. "For good luck in the joust."

Ah; how truly blessed he was.

As the former exalt drops to a single knee, his hand, gloved and armour-clad, gently takes Sophia’s into his own. Countless battles, Falchion in hand, had rendered the crusader’s hands rough-- and far less comfortable for his beloved to hold than they had been in the past. Though the gloves may deprive him of the touch he truly craved, they would not stop him from pressing a gentle kiss to the woman’s knuckles-- truly, a knight and gentleman at heart, he was.

As he rises to his feet, Anri takes the portrait from his wife, before proceeding to hold her free hand in his own, face leaning ever closer to hers.

“Sophia,” he begins, his voice low and soft, “you honour me in a way that words alone cannot repay; I swear to you, I will win this tournament. For you, my love.”

[jamesfalt]

i found a vocaloid ranking list i made a few years ago last night so i was like okay imma remake this. there are like 100 vocaloids and i’m dying

VOCALOID

KAITO Songs used: Judgement of Corruption, Cantarella, Goodnight Song Rating: 6/10

MEIKO Songs Used: Evil Food Eater Conchita, Piano x Forte x Scandal Rating: 6/10

LOLA Songs Used: Memory, Halloween Requiem Rating: 4/10

LEON Songs Used: Halloween Requiem Rating: 5/10

MIRIAM Songs Used: Re:Sound, White Flag (cover) Rating: 6/10

VOCALOID2

BIG AL Songs Used: Last Dance Rating: 4/10

Camui Gackpo (Gakupo) Songs Used: Madness of Duke Venomania, ggrks, Dancing Samurai Rating: 7/10

GUMI (or Megpoid) Songs Used: Campanella, Saigo no Revolver, Masked bitcH Rating: 8.5/10

Hatsune Miku Songs Used: News 39, VOiCE, Pierrot Rating: 10/10 miku is supreme

Hiyama Kiyoteru Songs Used: Guilty Verse, A Clown's Tears Rating: 6/10

Kaai Yuki Songs Used: Disco Chocolatheque, Ikanaide Rating: 9/10

Kagamine Rin Songs Used: Kokoro, Butterfly on Your Right Shoulder, Quarrel with the Doppelganger Rating: 10/10 supreme

Kagamine Len Songs Used: Fire Flower, Butterfly on Your Right Shoulder, Gigantic OTN Rating: 9/10

Kobayashi Matcha Songs Used: ボーカロイド Rating: 5/10

Lily Songs Used: -ERROR, Lily Lily Burning Night Rating: 7/10

Masaoka Azuki Songs Used: 飛び出せ授業！ Rating: 6/10

Megurine Luka Songs Used: No Logic, RIP=RELEASE, Double Lariat Rating: 9/10

Nekomura Iroha Songs Used: Insomnia, Twinkle Smile Rating: 10/10

Prima Songs Used: Morning Light, Illusion Rating: 5/10

Ryuto (or Gachapoid) Songs Used: Fairy Dandelion, Error of Love Rating: 7/10

SF-A2 miki Songs Used: Shatter, miki miki Romantic Night, iNSaNiTY Rating: 7/10

SONiKA Songs Used: Repeat II, Could I Just,  Desire Rating: 6/10

Sweet Ann Songs Used: Japanese Boy, Saudade, In Verbatim Rating: 7.5/10

Tonio Songs Used: Treasure Rating: 6/10

Utatane Piko Songs Used: remember, Your Song Rating: 7/10

VY1 Songs Used: Paradichlorobenzene - VY1 SOFT MIX -, Invitation Rating: 7/10

VY2 Songs Used: A Clingy Boy Sticking for 15 Years, Fools Among the Stars ~Hikoboshi~ Rating: 7.5/10

VOCALOID3

Akikoloid-chan Songs Used: It's Your Fault, Let's Stop by the Convenience Store Rating: 8/10

anon Songs Used: Eden of Nobleness, Full Throttle Rating: 6.5/10

kanon Songs Used: Eden of Nobleness, Full Throttle Rating: 6.5/10

Anri Rune Songs Used: Hallelujah Super Idol Rating: 7.5/10 (rip cries)

Aoki Lapis Songs Used: Illusionary Funeral paradise, Roll in smoke!, Waltz for Yume Nikki Rating: 10/10

AVANNA Songs Used: Word.rar III, Frigid Hearts Rating: 8/10

Bruno Songs Used: Ballroom Breakdown Rating: 6/10

Camui Gackpo V3 Native Songs Used: Paranoid Doll Rating: 8/10

Camui Gackpo V3 Power Songs Used: RIP=RELEASE Rating: 9/10

Camui Gackpo V3 Whisper Songs Used: soundless voice Rating: 10/10

Chika Songs Used: Ai, Charming Kiss, ET CETERA Rating: 9/10

Clara: Songs Used: Ballroom Breakdown Rating: 8/10

CUL Songs Used: White Knight, Lonely Star Rating: 9/10

v flower Songs Used: Inokori Sensei, HYPERDONTIA, charles Rating: 9/10

galaco Songs Used: Lovely Secret, Goodbye to a Childhood Friend, Warning! Rating: 8/10

V3 Megpoid (GUMI) Songs Used: Ten-Faced Adult Rating: 8/10 Sweet Rating: 7/10 Power Rating: 7/10 Whisper Rating: 8/10

Hatsune Miku V3 Songs Used: World is Mine, Blushifying Phenomena 100% Rating: 10/10 still supreme

IA Songs Used: A Tale of Six Trillion Years and a Night, Imagination Forest Rating: 10/10 one of my faves

KAITO V3 STRAIGHT Songs Used: Bad Apple Rating: 9/10

KAITO V3 SOFT Songs Used: Meltdown Rating: 9/10

KAITO V3 WHISPER Songs Used: Hirai Hirai Rating: 10/10

KAITO V3 ENGLISH Songs Used: Addicted Rating: 9/10

kokone Songs Used: Nervous, cry for the STAR Rating: 8/10

Lily V3 Songs Used: Lily Lily Burning Night Rating: 7/10

Luo Tianyi Songs Used: Waiting in Vain, Not Too Hot in Tokyo Rating: 8/10

Macne Nana Songs Used: IROHA(common), Slow Starter Rating: 7/10

MAIKA Songs Used: HAYWIRE, En tu mirar, La Llorona Rating: 8/10

MAYU Songs Used: I Fall....and Stay Down, emerald city Rating: 8/10

MEIKO V3 POWER Songs Used: Love is War Rating: 8/10

MEIKO V3 STRAIGHT Songs Used: Romeo and Cinderella Rating: 6/10

MEIKO V3 DARK Songs Used: Ayano's Theory of Happiness, Hirai Hirai Rating: 7/10

MEIKO V3 WHISPER Songs Used: Hirai Hirai Rating: 8/10

MEIKO V3 ENGLISH Songs Used: Hello Rating: 9/10

Merli Songs Used: How many tears, Tori no Uta (cover) Rating: 9/10

Mew Songs Used: Yume no Chikara, Stella Rating: 8/10

OLIVER Songs Used: eTeRNiTY, desync Rating: 6.5/10

Rana Songs Used: Uraomote Fortune, Bad Girl Rating: 8/10

Ryuto V3 Songs Used: WAVEFILE Rating: 8/10

SeeU Songs Used: Hide and Seek, Leaving Donna Rating: 6.5/10

Tohoku Zunko (btw can i just say i love her and the whole concept of her being a vocaloid is so sweet) Songs Used: Pastel Imagination, On My Wingless Back Rating: 8/10

Tone Rion Songs Used: Caramel Macchiato Rating: 5.5/10 i just never liked her tbh

VY1v3 Songs Used: Rolling Girl -Rock ver.- Rating: 8/10

VY2v3 Songs Used: Hurting for a Very Hurtful Pain Rating: 8.5/10

Xin Hua Songs Used: Honey², Standing on Tiptoes Rating: 9/10

YANHE Songs Used: A Superior Youth, To Love To Kill Rating: 10/10 i just love her voice a lot??

YOHIOloid Songs Used: NeapolitaN, BURST FORTH Rating: 9.5/10 i mcfucking love yohio

Yuezheg Ling Songs Used: Nine-Nine Eighty One Rating: 9/10

Yuzuki Yukari Songs Used: Ferris Wheel Rating: 6/10 sounds like every female vocaloid looks off

ZOLA PROJECT Songs Used: Natural nobility of downfall Rating: 8/10

VOCALOID4

AKAZA/Otori Kohaku/Unity-chan Songs Used: SILENCE, Indulging: Idol Syndrome Rating: 6/10 again, sounds like every female vocaloid

ARSLOID Songs Used: Mischievous Function, RAINBOW Rating: 6.5/10 not really memorable

Camui Gackpo V4 listen man he always sounds the same just whatever 9/10

CYBER DIVA Songs Used: Korozashisakae's Mysterious Package, LOVE, Smoke and Mirrors Rating: 5/10 she sounds like miku without an accent lmao

CYBER SONGMAN Songs Used: Tightrope Rating: 6/10 he's ok

DAINA Songs Used: Rotary Dial, Pushing Daisies Rating: 7/10

DEX Songs Used: BLACK & WHITE, My Impulse, Different Seas Rating: 8/10

flower v4 Songs Used: Mind Brand Rating: 10/10 i'm biased

Fukase Songs Used: Alien Girlfriend Rating: 8/10

Megpoid V4 (GUMI) please i don't wnat to do this just she's gOOD OK

Hatsune Miku V4 SHE'S GOOD SOUDNING OKAY IT'S MIKU SHE'S SUPREME

Hiyama Kiyoteru V4 Natural Songs Used: Hey William Rating: 8/10

Hiyama Kiyoteru V4 Rock Songs Used: Liar Dance Rating: 7/10

Kaai Yuki V4 Songs Used: Deep Sea Girl Rating: 10/10 i love her

Kagamine Rin/Len i'm not doing them they sound fine probably

Macne Nana and her english probably the same as before i never really liked macne tbh even when she was an utau

Macne Nana Petit Songs Used: Senbonzakura Rating: 8/10

Megurine Luka V4 Songs Used: Last Song Rating: 10/10 i lvoe luka she is perfect

Nekomura Iroha V4 Songs Used: Ghost Rule Rating: 10/10 perfect vocaloid

Otomachi Una Songs Used: Hate It! Hate It! Huge Ego! Rating: 6/10

Rana V4 idr what i put for her before but whatever that was yeah

RUBY Songs Used: Heart's Lock, -ERROR Rating: 7/10 her hype was a let down

Sachiko Songs Used: Seasonal Feathers Rating: 10/10 I LOVE HER I DIE FOR DEEP VOICED FEMALE VOCALOIDS

SF-A2 Miki V4 Songs Used: Mind Brand Rating: 10/10 sHE SOUDNS SO MUCH BETTER???

Stardust Songs Used: Coming For You Rating: 10/10 GREAT GOLLY

Tohoku Zunko V4 Songs Used: Deep Sea Girl Rating: 10/10 i kepe giving them these but they all sound so good

VY1v4 Songs Used: iNSaNiTy Rating: 8/10

Yuzuki Yukari V4 god please this is my last one i listened to her onn voicebank it sounds really good ok i'm done

[hawksblooded]

( camp ) - our muses have sex in a tent

IF ANRI HAD TO name any quality of the hunter’s, it would be honesty. So when Alizebeth warned her that no matter what, she would not stop, even should the knight beg and plead, she took that to mean the night would be long and restless. A shiver had run down her limbs, ancitipation and uncertainty both sending her heartbeat into a gallop.

They had camped behind a large boulder on a misty plain, the tent pitched haphazardly among the stones. They’d been traveling through the fog, armored figures cutting through like knives. Exhaustion had caught up to them before they could cross the miry moor into more covered ground, and so against the hunter’s wish they had set up their humble lodgings in the nook of monolithic stones, a small haven of fire to drive away the gloom.

Shaded from the world, wrapped in murk like sealed away from all else, Anri had made the first mistake. She had walked up to the hunter as she undressed; “Let me help you,” she had said, and began to work at doffing Alizebeth’s armor, unclasping the half-undone pauldron, placing it delicately on the mossy ground, followed by a spiked gauntlet, a fur-lined helm. In the shade of their tent Alizebeth looked hewn from the same rough stone that surrounded them, all sharp edges and eroded scars. She hadn’t thought of the intimacy of it, had simply followed a strange and new desire to know. Steely eyes fixed on her like a hawk’s, and Anri thought she could see a glint of encouragement in their amber depth. She let fingers roam beneath the armor as she unfastened belts and untied cords, the hunter’s body open and accepting like a sheathed weapon. Hands glided over well-built, scarred arms, slowly dragged the gambeson off broad shoulders. The other woman had turned to face her, towering as Anri worked at the strings of her tunic. Her cheeks flushed rosy as she realized what she was doing; she tried to retreat, head held down apologetically, but Alizebeth stopped her, rough hands wrapping over hers. “It’s okay,” she had said simply. Anri looked up to her with worried eyes. “N-No, I just…” she muttered as she stepped away. The hunter took one long stride towards her, touched her pauldroned shoulder. “My turn.”

Anri is as bewitched. Laying on her back in the deep shadows where they had made camp, she is motionless with awe as Alizebeth straddles her. The hunter reaches behind her broad back and pulls her tunic over her head in a swift motion. In the dancing shade of their fire she’s a statue, chipped by time, gashed by neglect. Anri’s eyes fall on the deep scar that gouges her left breast to the collarbone, run down its riverlike length to a wide ribcage, the subtle dips of her chiseled abdomen. How strong she looks, how unstoppable, like a mountain, or the sea. “Are you sure?” the hunter asks, voice little more than a growl. “ No one will be there to stop me. I won’t let you go. Not even if you beg, not even if you plead.”  In the low light her eyes glow yellow, fixed on Anri like a predator’s.

The hunter’s warning rings clear in her mind like a prayer. She can live with that, she thinks. She has to know it, the taste, the feeling of her. What would it be like, to be loved by a woman not like a flower but like the soil, not like the rain but like thunder? Her answer comes in a curtain of black hair caressing the bared skin of her shoulders as the hunter softly bites her neck, a wide hand pressing at the dip where her thigh begins. “Anri,” Alizebeth says, “I’ll be good. But you have to want this.” Biting at her lip, more sure of wants than she is of words, Anri’s fingers comb her dark hair away, settle at the nape of her neck, pulling the hunter into a kiss. It’s a rough and hard thing, not like that of her gentle fire-lover, not in softness and love but in teeth. Fangs nip at the spot where she had bitten herself red, and Anri’s brow furrows with the ache. Long fingers drag along the skin of her thighs beneath her tunic and find the delicate hem of her undergarments, pull them down without ceremony. 

Every tender spot of her will be found, of that she is certain, every little weakness examined and pressed and kissed. But Alizebeth isn’t the type to save the best for last. She leaves Anri’s embrace to hike up her tunic further, baring a soft belly as pale as lilies and just as soft. The knight’s legs tense up in Alizebeth’s hands, her expression firm as she parts them to nip at the delicate skin inside, leaving a trail of rosy blooms. Her strong arms wrap around Anri’s waist as she pulls her closer, inhaling the sweetly acidic scent of her arousal. The knight’s cheeks flush a deep red and she closes her eyes tightly when she feels the tip of a nose through the hair, the warmth of the other woman’s breath. “Alizebeth, I-” She should have known - one who looks like a wolf loves like a wolf. Deliberately and with surprising skill the hunter begins the work of teasing whines and shivers out of her, tongue prodding at her lips, Anri’s hips held firm and still in her arms. With every lap at her sex Anri feels the heat in her stomach grow, rise to wrap around her heart, it’s beat quickening. She bites her own wrist to muffle the lewd sounds being driven out of her, a spirit of hunger exorcised in the wet heat of Alizebeth’s mouth. 

The hunter’s zeal at the debauched task is commendable. There is a tender determination, an earnest wish to please that seems so at odds with her cold demeanor; for even now, glistening lips open and panting, her face is closed, focused. All that matters is slaking Anri’s lustful thirst. The knight mewls when two long fingers part her lips and settle slow and deep inside her, curl and grasp in search of that delicate spot that sends her spine twisting like a serpent in Alizebeth’s strong arms. The hunter looms over her now, breath hot and sweet with the taste of her, palm rubbing against her as her fingers work the knight feverish.  “O-Oh, please, gods above, I’m-” she arches into the touch, all traces of propriety now gone and in their place the fervor of rut. Blood pounds furiously in Anri’s head as sharp teeth close on the soft skin of her stomach.

Pressure mounts, hot walls of tender flesh close around the hunter’s fingers and Anri’s hand wraps around hers as she climaxes. “Liz, please, I can’t- I can’t hold any longer,” Anri whines, hips bucking into the other woman’s wide hand, voice pitched high and raw with need. But her pleas fall on deaf ears. “Not yet,” Alizebeth replies, monotone eerie in the echo of Anri’s lust-filled voice. “Forgetful girl. I told you it would be useless.”

[swordluck]

Sunlight breaks against her skin. It runs down her cheek and drips upon her white-cloaked lap. Fabric flows and ripples as she steadily, with marble-tipped fingers, mends the scorch mark on her sleeve. A silent presence, quiet and contained, the maiden from Carim keeps her eyes low and her gaze averted. There is none she speaks to who should not speak to her first, save two. From beneath a lattice of ink-dark lashes, Miriam has watched the pair. She mends and folds her hands in prayer and at night she combs her hair, all while she feels a love blossoming nearby. 

She is so much the wraith at the door. As the restless spirits flock to the open throat of a sacrificial lamb, so the lonesome hearts strain towards second-hand warmth. Miriam tenderly worries at the hem of her robes, folds it this way or that to ascertain her approach. Her world is so narrowly constrained to her lap, where her too-clean hands work steadily, where she mocks piety with each passive stroke of her finger. It is best, to keep busy. Everyone had always kept busy around her, when she was younger. 

“Forgive me, it may not be my place.” Miriam’s voice drifts toward Anri, soft as fleece, when the knight settles by the fire with that afterglow of blush upon her wan cheeks. At long last, blue eyes open fully, stark and sudden, a candle lighting in the dark, and they peer at her dear friend with undue interest. “I’ve noticed that our resident pyromancer has taken quite a liking to you.” Her lips curl sweetly around this understatement. There is no trace of reproach or irony upon Miriam’s face, shining innocently by the flame. No, indeed, at the center of her stare, there seems glinting a quiet adoration, a joy. How long has it been, she wonders, since she has seen kind, harmless love? She all but forgot that it could exist in this world. She tried to forget. The ceremonial silver dagger strapped to her thigh keeps kissing her where she sits. 

“You would not keep me in the dark, would you, my dearest Anri?”

It was an uneasy peace.  A sanctuary in name more than deed, Firelink Shrine was a place where ruin met resilience, where crags stretched into the mist like fingers clawing at the heavens.  Here, the weary and the wayward gathered – a siren call to the lost, the desperate, the enduring.  Among the ruins, small camps had sprouted like deep-rooted weeds, home to the stubborn silhouettes of solitary wanderers and fractured groups, each clutching at purpose or design.

Caught in the amber of Miriam’s voice, Anri hesitated for a moment that felt suspended, timeless.  She sat by the fire, much of her armour shed like a serpent’s papery, cast skin.  Lips parted in the prelude to words that refused to come quickly, the weight of the silence between them pressing gently, insistently.

Between them, the bonfire sent sparks soaring into the night like fireflies in fleeting ascension, its magical resonance chiming endlessly.  Miriam, ever demure, ever measured, folded her hands in her lap, fingers busying themselves.  There was something about her question – delicate, girlish, almost pleased – that disarmed and intrigued Anri.

“I would never conspire to keep you in the dark, Miriam,” Anri replied at last, her voice shaped by the lilac-sweet cadence of sincerity.  Her gaze lowered to the pale crescent scar on her forearm, where the firelight danced and made it shimmer faintly, as though to remind her of its presence.  “But I do not know what light I can offer you.”

There was a gentleness in her words, a trembling honesty underscored by the faintest ghost of a smile at the corners of her mouth.  Anri’s mind turned over the thought of Laurentius like a precious stone, admiring their handsome and many-mirrored facets – his coarse laughter, his boundless curiosity, the way his hazel eyes seemed to hold their own fire when he spoke of discovery and flame.  He had been so kind, so affable, so unguarded.  A liking, yes.  A liking, and more besides. A loving, a tenderness that she had long suspected existed only on the far side of dreams.  Should she lick her lips now, she might still taste him there – smoke and salt and all things good, what little of it remained at the end of the world gathered into his swamp-born soul.

“Laurentius is very kind – tremendously kind to me,” Anri continued shyly, tentatively, as though unzipping her heart and spilling its contents might invite disaster, might tempt fate to take what she treasured, might doom their fledgling love to be delivered stillborn.  Unaccustomed to the art of girlish chatter, to the fragile intimacy of sharing so openly, she struggled to find words beyond: 

“He is warmth itself.” 

Like sunlight, almost too dazzling to look at, his goodness alive in the brilliance of his hazel eyes, his steady, capable hands, and the courageous heart that beat so righteously within him – its chambers raw, open, so ready and willing to house her.

Anri’s periwinkle gaze returned to Miriam, finding her friend’s expression steady and bright, like a candle sheltered behind a dome of glass.  Near, yet untouchable.  For all the quietude that cloaked her, there was something indomitable in Miriam’s composure, in the tireless precision of her hands as they worked the spoiled hem of her robe, their movements a study in purpose.

“You speak as though you know something I do not, Miriam,” Anri said at last, her tone lilting gently, playfully, brushing aside the solemnity like a veil drawn back.  “Tell me – what do you see that I am blind to?”

[swordluck]

⚘ @wanderingwolfwitcher // cont.

Water coursed over his scarred skin like molten silver, tracing every ridge and valley carved by time and battle.  Anri’s gaze lingered, captivated as always, but not merely by the sight of him, though she could not deny the feral beauty Eskel possessed.  It was the quiet comfort of his presence, the solidness of him, how the world shrank to just this space when he was near.  In these moments, the weight of her quest, his Path –  the blood, the ash, the endless press of death and horror – seemed lessened. 

Ever gallant, he kissed her hand.  The Witcher was capable of tremendous ferocity and violence, could mount her with gold-eyed passion, hammering her into bedroll, meadow, mattress – wherever the mood so took them.  And yet, he remained tender.

A kiss to the scar, then, to that unfinished bite.

Anri worked the soap into his skin, her knuckles grazing the ridges of old wounds.  She wondered, not for the first time, if his body ever truly healed – or if the memories of battle imprinted themselves too deeply to ever fade.    

“Mutations or no, I will tire you out,” she teased, her voice lilting with challenge, a sparkle in her blue eyes daring him to deny it.  It was in jest, knowing already that her mundanity was no match for his stamina.  “I will send you into sleep’s oblivion empty, humming.”

He gripped her then, large hands collaring her waist, drawing her near.  Water spray ricocheted off his solid form, covering her body in warm, cleansing mist.  Anri stared up at him, doe-eyed and adoring, aware of the insistent nudge of his arousal against her hip.  It was a dizzying feeling, to be so desired.

Palms roved lower, and she could feel the strength of those hands as they slid to the curve of her back, then lower still.  Her breath hitched when his lips met hers, Eskel’s kiss achingly slow, his mouth a well of worship that left her trembling.  The washcloth slipped from her hand, forgotten, as her sudsy fingers rose to rest on his shoulders.

Cascading water framed her flushed face, her lips parting on a sigh as his fingertips dipped into her, stroking where she was wet and wanton.  That touch sent fire through her veins as she rocked gently, instinctively, against him.  It was as if the world around them dissolved, leaving only the heat of the Witcher’s hands and the gentle roar of water filling the silence.

Eskel drank in her every reaction, his gold-flecked eyes alive with a deep, primal satisfaction.  It seemed to please him to please her.  Pleased him so that he sank to his knees, scattering kisses down her body as he descended, devouring her in worship.  Anri gasped when his hot, hungry mouth found her, clutching blindly at his shoulders, his damp hair, her knees threatening to give way as pleasure bloomed through her.  

She thought to speak, to tease him with some witty remark, but her voice faltered, replaced by a soft, tremulous moan.  Strands of sodden blonde clung to her flushed cheeks as she watched him, as she whispered his name, the sound barely audible above the steady patter of water.  Then, the best she could muster:

“The fair lady knight likes your ideas,” she moaned breathlessly.  “Very, very much.”

[swordluck]

⚘ @through-fire-and-flame // cont.

He lingered on her lips, a taste of smoke and water, an ember refusing to cool.  Anri had expected many things – silence awkward and heavy, perhaps even crushing disappointment – but not this.  Certainly not the flood of words that followed her kiss, spilling out in hushed reverence, a litany of sentiments so tender they struck her like arrows, each one lodging deeper than the last.  

For a moment, she could only stare, her breath snared in her throat.  His face was so close it filled her vision – he was all she could see, all she wanted to see.  The rough stubble of his jaw scraped softly against her skin, the faint scent of soot and damp earth clinging to him, rooting her in this impossible moment.  His lips brushed hers with every word, each syllable as soft as a moth’s wing, yet she felt their weight, their heat, as though he spoke not to her, but into her.  

Sobbing around a smile, tremulous and sweet, Anri’s hands rose to cup his bearded jaw, fingertips threading into the roots of his hair.  In Laurentius, she had seen the face of courage:  to thrive in the half-light of the swamp, to endure hardship, to leave home behind.  But this courage – his unflinching vulnerability, his immeasurable capacity for kindness – left her unmoored.  His voice was no louder than a whisper, but it resonated within her like the great bell that once tolled across Lordran, a sound carrying endlessly, reverberating in places she had not realised were hollow until now.  

Over cracks she had painted the veneer of a knight, remaking herself into the image of a hero she longed to be:  a figure to storm the cathedral, to shelter the frightened children in her shadow, to stand unyielding against the dark and the Deep.  Lifetimes spent playing at honour, a clumsy mimicry of the ideals she envied, and yet here he was, looking at her as though she embodied them.  

Another sob shook her, delirious and joyful.  Tears welled in her eyes unbidden, falling like tiny stars.

“Laurentius,” she murmured breathlessly.  “I – ”  

What could she possibly say?  That his voice, his warmth, the fierce kindness in his hazel eyes – all of it felt more like safety than anything she had ever known?  That she had never felt so seen, so known, so heard, so accepted?  The words lodged in her throat, too raw to release.

Instead, she reached for his hand and guided it to her cheek.  She nosed against his palm, breathing in the scent of him, the soot baked into every crease – the hands that cradled flame now stippled with her tears, her joy, her relief.  Let them hold her, as they held so much else besides.

“If I am home,” Anri whispered, her voice gentle and low, “it is because you are my hearth, Laurentius.”

And then she kissed him again.

[hawksblooded]

↣ ITS RED AND DEADLY BITE. //@swordluck

IT CLOSES BEHIND HER like a maw, the door to Anri’s room snapping shut quick as an arrow sprung from a bow. Alizebeth, briefly baffled, holds up her hands in submission. “Oi, what’s with the-” Immediately the knight’s hands close in around hers, pinning her to the wood. Blue eyes run the length of her jaw, up to thinly-pressed lips, and past her own to glance upwards. The hunter’s head tips along with Anri’s gaze to a humble wreath she likely crafted with her own hands - a beautiful little thing woven with evergreen branches, and at its heart a small sprig of mistletoe, gleaming bright and red-berried in the verdant circlet. “Ah,” the hunter smiles, and before she can say more the strong jaw she exposed with her tilted head is warm with the other woman’s mouth. 

The knight presses into her, entwines their fingers as she does so. Her lips trail the length of Alizebeth’s neck, lingers on a small scar. There’s ale on her hot breath, ale and that sweet taste of her own that the hunter finds so fascinating. “You’ve had too much,” she states, and for only answer Anri’s voice thrums against the soft skin of her throat. “Mmmmaybe.” The knight parts her companion’s legs with one knee thrust between them, wobbling as she falls from her tiptoes.  “Or maybe not,” she smiles. “Now come here.”

The hunter, all obedient dog, bends down, their interlocked hands lowering to her sides as Anri stretches up, closes the distance. Mouths hover briefly before one another, parting in anticipation. Alizebeth remembers it now, that expression of focus as they walked through the forest to the village where they now stayed, the knight plucking leaf and twig from bushes and trees in their journey. Where did she find that dreaded poison-fruit, that deadly berry that apparently spoke of love in her faraway country’s tales? Even she herself did not know. All she knows is that it hung prettily above her head, turning the hunter into the prey for one brief moment.

And the kiss Anri plants on her lips is just as brief, leaving Alizebeth hanging, mouth agape. Her broad hands tighten around the knight’s. “Now you’re just teasing,” she growls, leaning further to steal more of her companion’s sweet breath - but she leans back with a girlish giggle. “Maybe! Or maybe not.” A hum escapes Alizebeth’s throat, a rough and needy noise. Anri’s pretty smile runs along her scarred collarbone, down to her chest left bare by the deep neckline of her blouse. She nudges at the cloth with her small nose, trailing nibbles as she goes, tracing the curve of a breast she uncovers with deliberate patience. The hunter’s heart beats steady beneath the soft flesh, its rhythm quickening when Anri licks the dark bud that marks her chest’s peaks. Alizebeth stifles a groan. “You…” Anri doesn’t bother with a response, doesn’t need to - the hunter’s hips buck into the thigh pressed between her legs, and that is goading enough for her to give her nipple a quick bite. She can feel the muscles tensing in Alizebeth’s body, feel her hands tighten over hers. 

She knows she’s not really in trouble, not yet; why else would the hunter let her pin her so, like a caught animal, knowing fully that her raw strength was greater still? Alizebeth must be in a playful mood herself to let Anri tease at her so. But all good things run out. They must. “I’ll make you regret this, Anri,” she speaks through a barely held-back moan. “I will.”

Anri looks up into amber eyes, her cheek still pressed to the hunter’s breast. She pouts, the expression quickly turning to a smile when she asks:

“Do you promise?”

[hawksblooded]

❝ you don’t have to tell me how you got it. i just wanted to see. ❞

↣ SCAR PROMPTS. always open

“ No, I’ll tell you. ” I don’t mind talking. Not if its you.

Alizebeth’s arms are bared, brown and scarred in Anri’s soft hands. The sleeves of her blouse are rolled as she was preparing to cut wood for their humble campfire. They’re set up deep in the woods, far enough from any road to be unbothered by bandits and other unsavory highway-prowlers, bedrolls close to a large oak that shades them from the twilight sky.

“ That one… A striga, I think. Could’ve been a bruxa. Hard to remember, ” she says with a shake of her head that draws a curtain of black hair over her face. Anri’s soft fingers move down her bicep to her forearm, where a deep, half-moon mark glows pale. “ Ah, that one’s from my sister. ” The knight looks up quizzically. “ I didn’t know you had a sister. ” “ I used to. ”

Alizebeth’s own hand moves up over Anri’s, stretching the marred skin. It was a deep wound, once, gushing with grief. But now, old and faded next to fresh battle trophies, it looked subtle, forgettable. An indelible memory of a time long gone.

“ She… died. Of illness, ” the hunter recalls, head down. A deep breath escapes her. She doesn’t talk about her sister, not normally. But she feels like Anri has the right to know. Or perhaps - and she doesn’t want to admit this to herself - perhaps she feels like talking about it will keep the memory of Natalia alive just a little longer. Like she can hold her close again, and hold the memory of her embrace rather than that of her teeth.

“ She rose. Like you. But not like you. She wasn’t… herself. I… ” ...had to put her down. Like a bad dog, or a wounded horse. I did it with an axe. I had to kill her again. I had to. Strange to think about her sister that way; like an animal, like the things she kills for a living. Work and family always had a way of becoming one for her. She didn't know how to feel about that. Didn't know how to feel about the fact that she wanted to talk, if only to Anri. These were thoughts she kept close to her heart, not secrets but something more primal, more precious. Thoughts that circled her mind when she looked into a campfire's flame or held herself in her own arms in cold, ever lonely nights.

“ I don’t like to talk about it. ”