#Minfilia x OC

[soulesaule]

a commission from 2021 :)

[ahollowgrave]

Febhyurary 2025 | Day 8: Crystal

You didn't expect it to ache in this way.

[lavampira]

my homeland is in your eyes, my duty on your lips. ask anything of me, except to leave you.

[sleepymoonlady]

The Path of the Twelve can be an awfully lonely one

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 04: Reticent

minfilia cannot voice the ache that is in her heart. minfilia x female warrior of light. a realm reborn patches. written for ffxivwrites2024. rating: general. 964 words ao3 link

Evening has long since fallen when Minfilia leaves the solar.

Body aching from a day spent at her desk, she nudges the heavy door open and slips through, careful to close it soundlessly behind her. Though most of the Scions—faces new and old—will have retired to their homes for the night, there is often someone lingering in the main hall playing a game of Triple Triad or relaxing with a drink. She would hate to disturb them.

She pads down the hall, the hem of her skirt whispering against the flagstones, her footsteps echoing hollowing in her ears. It has been months and still she has not adjusted to it. Compared to their former headquarters, the Rising Stones is a veritable fortress, cold and dark and deep. Windows are few and far between, and the ones that are there give in so little light the base may as well be subterranean. She misses the bright Thanalan vistas and the fresh breeze rolling off the bay. For all its safety and security, the Rising Stones feels, at times, like a self-imposed cage.

“You’re working late.”

Her pace slows to a stop, her heart fluttering. A chair scrapes against the stone and a moment later the Warrior of Light rounds an empty table and steps out of the shadows. Aureia Malathar is much as she always is—solid and stern, her body moving with the grace of one accustomed to combat, her gaze curious and sharp. She rarely misses a thing, though gods know she is keen to keep her observations to herself.

“‘Tis not unduly late,” Minfilia says. “The final bell has not yet struck.”

Aureia’s lips quirk. “That’s late, Minfilia.”

“Then I suppose what qualifies as late is not unusual for me.”

“I… can’t argue with that.” She trails off and raises her head, her dark red eyes meeting hers. Despite her controlled expression, even she cannot hide her exhaustion. This is the not first time Minfilia has come across her late at night, often with a drink in hand. She doubts she has been sleeping well—her face is tired, the dark circles beneath her eyes more prominent than ever, the red in her black hair faded and dull. Haunted, is the word. Haunted by the ghosts of the past, by the visions of the future.

It has been this way since the Praetorium.

“Is everything all right?” Aureia asks. “You should get some rest. We all need our sleep. Our leaders most of all.”

Minfilia glances away, a flush on her cheeks. Perhaps it would be unfair of her to point out that she is scolding her for the very thing Aureia needs herself. Fools, the pair of them. Their strengths and talents may lie in very different places, but they are more similar than either of them would admit. Pushing too hard, stubborn to a fault. Incapable of regular sleep.

“I will sleep when I can,” she says evenly, already cringing within at the awkward choice of words. Why is it that she so often fails to hold a proper conversation with her? It seems she has always had this effect on her. No matter the topic of their conversation, Aureia’s presence leaves her comforted and calmed—and uncertain of every word she speaks. “I admit, I often focus better at night. I feel a clarity of mind once the sun has set, as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”

“Me, too.” Aureia shifts her weight and places a hand against the back of a nearby chair, running her palm across the polished wood. “I used to tell my brother once the world sleeps, I can finally think because everyone spouting nonsense has stopped talking.”

“You… have a brother?”

“Had.” Her voice drops, quiet and strained. “He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“…thank you.” The steel in her voice speaks to something else, a secret buried deep. She exhales a breath, and it is not sadness or anger or fear or any of the deep emotional weight carried by those who lost loved ones to the Calamity. It is something else. “Look,” she continues, taking a step back. “It’s late. I should—”

Minfilia catches her hand. “Would you walk with me?” she asks in earnest. “If you cannot sleep and I cannot sleep, perhaps the fresh air of night would do both of us some good.”

Aureia eyes widen. She pauses, her hand soft and warm, her pulse beating frantically beneath the pad of Minfilia’s thumb where it rests against her wrist. For a moment, chance—hopeful, bright, and keen—opens its wondrous doors with a promise of something new. Something sweet. Something good.

She lets go.

The doors shut.

“I really need to get some sleep,” Aureia says. “I’m supposed to meet the Sons of Saint Coinach tomorrow morning.”

Minfilia nods. “Of course.”

“Goodnight, Minfilia.”

“Goodnight.”

Aureia slips away, the last of the Scions to leave for the night, and Minfilia is now alone in a dark and silent hall. She takes a step, pacing across the cobblestones, cold air prickling the back of her neck as she watches the shadows dance across the walls. The ceilings stretch high above her, wide and cold and lonely, even as the walls press in on her with their cavernous weight.

Her heart aches. There will be plenty of further opportunities to spend in Aureia’s company, and yet she cannot help but feel like something has slipped through her fingers. If she had but given voice to the secret that lies in the centre of her heart, the secret she has barely come to acknowledge herself, would she perhaps have…?

It is a question that does not have an answer. Cannot have an answer.

It is better this way.

[wydlads]

(count)down to dawntrail — shadowbringers.

of love that transcends time and space.

[enchantedrepose]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ [ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡʙʀɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ]

    𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝒹.

        ...𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇.

[emc2beans]

It’s tough to get close to people in their line of work, since the threat of losing someone is always just around the corner. Minfilia x Gwynedd, oral sex, canon loss

I wrote this. It's smut lol.

Enjoy.

[the-hawkeyes]

Changed Katie's eye color a bit to make it more blue-green and lighter. Had to cheat cause the base FF doesn't allow for quite what I was looking for.

So have Katie being smooth and telling a little joke after coming back from some tasks

[unbreakable-oaths]

Au Ra August Day 26- Nostalgia

Nanamo had asked her once, after the world was saved, if she remembered the tunnels under Ul’dah.

How could she forget? That was where her and Minfilia’s last kiss was- the last place she saw her alive.

The world moved on, she moved on, but some days she still wished for those days to come again- to get one last kiss goodbye.

[final-fixation-xiv]

Final Isekai XIV

I'm the author of a ridiculously oversized (and growing) Final Fantasy XIV fic with the extremely creative name Final Isekai XIV. It follows my isekai protagonist WoL, Valhra Elst-ven, a genderfluid enby who is sent to Eorzea to save it in a world where the original WoL died at Carteneau.

In the process, they become embroiled in the plots and politics of a slightly different Eorzea - an Eorzea where a different Ascian took the lead following the Calamity, where Minfilia stepped in the shoes of the WoL for the desperate years since their fall, and where a thousand changes ripple out from there.

There is a big focus on the female characters who I wanted to see more from during the MSQ - right now, that means Y'shtola and Minfilia, both of whom are involved, to various degrees, in Val's growing wolycule, as well as Alisaie, and eventually Moebryda and Ysayle.

Rated M, with no explicit sexual content, it's a novelistic reinterpretation of a plot I love dearly but definitely don't think is unimpeachable, and as of this writing, it's broken 20 chapters and 150k words, and if any of that sounds interesting, you can check it out here~

[redwayfarers]

logged into xiv for the first time in a hot second and the soft hyur ship feelings resurfaced like a tidal wave

[carbuncleinawig]

"You requested to know of of my progess... Y'shtola and I have yet to make headway on the mystery of my empty mind. I meet with Thancred soon to investigate the situation of Thanalan."

"Y'shtola has a great mind, and she has my utmost trust."

"Believe in us, Aurele. Believe in yourself. You are a great boon to the Scions. Though your mind may escape you, your efforts do not go unnoticed."

"I... thank you, Minfilia."

[lavampira]

do you picture me like I picture you? am I in the frame from your point of view?

[sleepymoonlady]

The Rising

I decided I want to introduce Rose's party from before the calamity, and what better way to do that than! Angst!!! :D

Heads-up: content/trigger warning for alcohol/substance abuse, as well as for death (mentioned). Also one of the shots accompanying it is a bit risque (no nudity or anything, but yeah).

Yeah.

I cried editing this so. Yeah :D

Fireworks erupted over Ul’dah, painting the night sky with a bright palette of new stars. The Rising had come again, and the realm had once again gathered to pay its respects to all those who had lost their lives in the Seventh Umbral Calamity.

It was a festival of reflection, of survival and memory. One that Vermilion Rose, who had seen Bahamut tear Carteneau asunder with her own eyes, was all too familiar with. And one that rarely saw her in a good mood. Not for lack of appreciation–she was glad people had the chance to remember the fallen. But that day–surviving that day–still weighed heavily on her.

So it was that she found herself in the Quicksand, staring into the bottom of a glass of whiskey. Remembering those who were not lucky enough to survive. Chiefly among them, of course, were her fellow adventurers from the Path of the Twelve–four comrades who had become family to her. Her first party. Her companions in the Path. Her fellow Warriors of Light.

The half-elezen brought the glass to her lips, hoping to chase away the thoughts of her late comrades with its contents. A familiar burn as it went down–though she was in no place to consider its flavor. The *thunk* of the glass faintly echoed through the busy tavern as Rose motioned for a new glass. A sigh passed her lips. Like it or not, it seemed the Rising was indeed a time for reflection. It would take more than that to push those thoughts away.

She remembered the party’s warrior–Mive’to Rugnaa.

Born in the Shroud but grew up in Limsa, and he knew that place like the back of his hand. It seemed he knew everyone there, every hawker and fisherman, every cook at the Bismark and every member of the Bloody Executioners. And somehow, he had very few enemies among them. That spoke to something about him–even among rivals, he would have friends. He was brash, rude, and loud-mouthed, sure. But he had a sort of undeniable charm to him–the sort of fellow you’d get into a bar brawl with, yes, but the sort who’d buy you a round afterward and compliment your haymaker. Easy to get mad at, but impossible to stay mad at–unless you’re the Arcanist’s Guild, apparently. Rose still wasn’t quite sure why he wasn’t allowed within 100 fulms of the guild… partially because he’d give a different answer each time he was asked, each more ridiculous than the last. A shame they all had to be lies, because what she wouldn’t give to see a chocobo-sized carbuncle. 

In any case, he was a good friend. He and Rose had fought back-to-back more times than she could count. The party’s shields, they were–between the two of them, trying to get through to the rest of the party was like trying to batter down a brick wall with your fists. Spending most of his teenage years as crew on a pirate vessel certainly toughened the young man up; he could laugh off hits that, to most other people, would have been fatal. All the funnier, then, that one of the things that came the closest to doing him in was a bloody doll. Well, it was illness, but the doll was an important part.

Rose remembered like it was yesterday–she and Mive’to were walking along Limsa Lominsa’s docks during the winter. The seawater had become a briny slush by that time, and snow was falling around them. She had just finished repairing his axe–he had brought it to the Blacksmith’s Guild for repairs, and had gotten quite an earful for denting the head as badly as he did. He was still getting one–laughing it off, mind. But Rose wasn’t about to let him live down denting her baby, the axe she forged for him as a GIFT, by trying to break a bloody BOULDER with it. She was telling him just where that boulder would end up if he tried that again, when a shrill cry cut her off. The adventurers turned to see a hyuran child who couldn’t have seen more than seven winters, being consoled by their parents. In the churning waters just below them, they spotted what looked like a doll, just for a second, before it went under the surface.

Rose still remembers how quickly Mive’to lept into action. He thrust his axe back into Rose’s hands and, before she could question him, dove straight into the freezing harbor after the fallen doll. He surfaced a few moments later, sopping wet doll in hand, and clambered his way back onto the docks, handing the child his prize. He fell ill almost immediately after, but he didn’t regret it for a moment. Spent a full moon hacking and wheezing, but he’d do it again. Stupid, big-hearted bastard. Never did put any stock in his own safety. Maybe if he had…

Another glass, now empty, thunked into the bar, as Rose signalled for a third.

Ingrid wasn’t there that day, but she never did let Mive’to live that down. Promised to compose an epic ballad about his battle against the doll. Ingrid–that is, Ingrid Steele, Ala Mhigan refugee and the party’s resident bard–always was ready with a joke, jab, or quip. \

Her wit was the only thing faster and sharper than the arrows she peppered the party’s foes with. She was one of the best shots that the Archer’s Guild had seen–which, along with her rapier wit and open critique of Gridania’s treatment of “outsiders,” made her plenty of enemies among Gridania’s more conservative elements. Still, none of them could deny her skill, and her bow proved crucial to the realm on more than one occasion.

Between her flamboyant nature, plentiful japes, and the bawdy songs she was fond of singing (much to the shock and horror of some–which amused her to no end), it would be easy to assume that Ingrid didn’t take much of anything seriously. That the wry smile she wore day in and day out had nothing deeper beneath it. That assessment could not be further from the truth. There were few among the old Path of the Twelve who agreed with Minfilia’s mission of diplomacy with the so-called “beastmen” quite so much as Ingrid. Few who supported it quite as fervently, as outspokenly, who committed themselves to it so wholeheartedly. When Ingrid Steele chose a path, she would walk it to the end, make no mistake. And the path of a unified Eorzea, standing arm-in-arm against the tide of Garlemald’s black steel, was one she was committed to.

Rose still remembered, as the whiskey warmed its way through her, the warmth of the campfire on the night she learned Ingrid’s reason for adventuring. The two were camping in Southern Thanalan after a guildleve, and Rose, who knew why everyone else in her party had set out, decided to field the question. Ingrid, nursing a wound from a brawl with some bandits earlier, smiled that wry smile of hers and said that it was simple: she loved being stabbed!

After laughing that off for a minute, she shook her head, and gave the actual answer. She remembered growing up in the shadow of the Empire. Her family managed to settle near Quarrymill, despite the Gridanians’ hostility toward them. But it was a hard life. The Gridanians never accepted them, and most chose not to associate with them. The little community of exiles was close-knit by necessity, and their existence was a gloomy one. With life so hard, and the Gridanians scarcely more welcoming than the black-clad bastards on the other side of Baelsar’s cursed wall, it was all too easy to give into despair. Ingrid wanted to change that–to give her displaced countrymen something to celebrate. She chose to adventure because she wanted to inspire her people. She was constantly writing down the things she saw, the adventures she and the party had. She showed Rose the book–heavy with ink, lyrics to countless ballads written, scratched out, and re-written. She thought maybe, if she could inspire her people enough, their lives would be that much easier. And maybe, just maybe, if they had it easier, had time to lick their wounds, and maybe if the other city-states heard her songs, the songs of an Ala Mhigan’s heroism, maybe they could band together and push Garlemald out of Ala Mhigo. Rose smiled wistfully at that–at the very least, Ingrid’s dream had come true. There was much work to be done, true. But her homeland was free again. Ala Mhigo was free. But the smile faded as quickly as it had come. Ingrid never got to see it. She never…

Another shot down, burning all the while. A fourth called for.

She caught the label this time, as the next shot was poured. She knew it–Wawaboka was fond of it. He’d frequently take a bit in his tea at night as he unwound. Wawaboka Hohoboka–the party’s leader.

A thaumaturge of much renown–one who had even managed to reclaim the secrets of the Black Mage. Probably for the best that those secrets go to someone as level-headed as Wawaboka, if anyone. He was the group’s leader, but more than that, he was like a father to them. He was as kind as he was wise, with a smile as warm and gentle as a candle’s flame. He was always willing to lend a listening ear, a helping hand, or even just a shoulder to cry on–whichever was needed at the time. Rose actually knew him before she started adventuring: he came from a relatively respected merchant family in Ul’dah. They weren’t on the level of any of the Syndicate, mind you, but they were known to be fair and honest to a fault in their dealings, and were far more popular among the City’s commonfolk as a result. Much of his family dealt in alchemical supplies, and Rose’s mother, being an alchemist herself, just happened to befriend them. As a result, he had at his disposal a nearly infinite number of tales of Rose’s childhood antics–much to her chagrin, and the delight of the party.

Still, she could forgive his weaponizing of her embarrassing childhood antics–his advice had helped her more than he ever knew, after all. And not just her–she remembered walking with him late one night among the Steps of Thal when some scrawny man lept from the shadows, knife in hand, demanding his purse.

Rose went to draw her longsword, but a motion from Wawaboka bid her stay her hand. To her surprise, he spoke to the mugger with a measured, even, and warm tone. He didn’t just talk the poor bugger down–he sat him down and listened. He figured, there must be some reason the poor lad was willing to do that. And he wasn’t wrong–the young man, with some coaxing, admitted that his sister was in dire need of treatment for a disease. Treatment they couldn’t afford. So what did Wawaboka do? He simply gave the lad the gil, then and there, but made him swear he’d not try something so foolish again. Rose remembered how, a few weeks later, the party was going to the Quicksand to check the guildleves, and they were stopped by the very same would-be mugger. He had a small, frail-looking girl in tow, and before anyone could blink, they pulled the old lalafel into a hug. The treatment took–the boy’s sister was recovering. They showered him with thanks, but he insisted he hadn’t done much of anything. It would have been easy to dismiss the young man’s story. Easier still to have thrashed him the second he drew steel and be done with it, as Rose nearly did. But Wawaboka? He had a way of seeing the best in people. Of inspiring them to be their best. 

What good it did in the end, though. All the good faith in the world couldn’t keep Dalamud in the sky. 

Damn it all. 

Another drink down. And then another. She was crying now, tears streaming into the glass slowly but surely. She barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere.

Wawaboka was the party’s leader, and half of its brains. The other half? Lucinne Chatelfort. 

Fuck. Lucinne. Rose choked back a sob before she knocked back another shot.

Lucinne was the party’s healer, an unheard of non-Padjali White Mage. She was incredibly talented, in touch with nature and the elements around her. She was quiet and serene, but confident and capable. Whenever the party needed to plan strategy, she was there to formulate a plan. Whenever the party needed to lick their wounds, she was there, with soothing magic and soothing words. She was maybe the most dependable person Rose had ever known–if Lucinne made a promise, by the gods she would keep it. She had grown up in the Black Shroud, with a number of other Duskwight families. She eventually left their simple forest village for Gridania, hoping to learn conjury. And learn it she did–she nothing short of mastered it, despite… opposition from those who looked down on her heritage. The prejudices of the Gridanians vexed her, enough that, even as a conjurer, she shunned the city, preferring to roam the Shroud and help its smaller communities. Eventually, she took to adventuring, found out she had the Echo, joined the Path of the Twelve, and then joined Wawaboka’s party.

Aside from Ingrid, Rose and Lucinne were the staunchest proponents of Minfilia’s plan to ally with the various tribes of Eorzea against the Garlean incursion. When other members of the Path began to voice their doubts of Minfilia’s leadership, it was often Lucinne who would convince them to listen. She was as patient as she was kind, and though she was usually quiet, she chose her words well. And among the party, she was certainly Rose’s closest friend. She…

“Damn it.” Another shot knocked back. Another drink called for. 

She wasn’t just a friend, of course. She was…

Gods damn it all. Rose felt her chest heaving. How many years had it been? How many bloody years? And still, still she couldn’t even think of her without breaking down. 

Lucinne wasn’t just Rose and Minfilia’s closest friend. Damn it all, she was everything–they were everything to each other. They…

Another thud against the table, as another drink was drained. The tears wouldn’t stop now.

They promised. They promised they’d see this all through. They promised that everything would work out. Rose reached for the glass–still empty. 

Rose motioned for another round. Nothing. 

Rose looked up from the bar, only to lock eyes with Momodi, wearing a look of concern. She was saying something, but Rose was too lost in her reverie to catch it.

“... ya hear?” “Sorry. Repeat that?” was all Rose could muster after quite a bit of effort to form words. She had trouble speaking under duress even when sober–being this deep in her cups certainly wasn’t helping.

Momodi placed her hand over Rose’s, repeating herself: “I said I’m cuttin’ you off, ya big lug–you’re gonna drink our entire supply at this rate. Or pickle yourself–and I’m not a fan of either of those options!” The Quicksand’s proprietress smiled faintly, but she couldn’t hide the worry still clearly written over her face.” Rose frowned. “... ‘m fine, Momodi.” “Clearly you aren’t!” The faint smile was gone. Her face grew stern “Rose, I know what’s goin’ on. I-” “Don’t… you don’t know-” “I miss them too, Rose!” Momodi cut Rose’s protest short. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

“... yeah.”

Momodi’s face softened slightly. “I know I didn’t know ‘em as well as you, but I still knew ‘em. Enough to know they wouldn’t wanna see you like this. If you’re too stubborn to stop because I’m askin’--just. Stop for them.” Rose didn’t respond. She looked down, avoiding Momodi’s gaze as her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Some Warrior of Light she turned out to be. Pah! What a sight. Eorzea’s champion, drowning her sorrows in whiskey and sobbing into a bar counter.

Rose heard Momodi sigh. “Listen, Rosie. I’ll have Otopa open a room for you. Please go get some rest. I’m not gonna take no for an answer, you hear me?”

More silence. Rose stood up from the bar stool, steadying herself from the spinning world around her on the counter. “... thanks” was all she could muster before, slowly, she stumbled to follow Otopa to her room.

Once Otopa left, she turned to make herself comfortable, and climbed into the feather bed. On any other night, maybe that would have been it. Maybe it was that one of the fireworks, a resplendent and fiery red, bathed the room in a red glow. Just like… 

She remembered this room. Gods damn it all, she remembered. It was the same as it was… what? Seven, eight years ago? If not for that damn lighting, that split second, she might not have recognized it. But she did. She remembered this room, bathed in the damnable red light of Dalamud. She remembered staying here, the night before the Calamity. She remembered sharing this bed with Lucinne and Minfilia. That was the last time the three shared each other’s company. How confident, how bloody certain Rose was that day that they’d be meeting up again the next evening to celebrate. 

Gods, damn it all. Damn it ALL!

The tears had come back. They wouldn’t stop now.

The last time she was in this bed, she felt the warmth of the two women she loved more than anything. She shared in their company, their laughter, and more. And now?

And now?

And NOW?

The silence of the room, only broken by fireworks, was louder than anything Rose had ever heard. No more laughter. No more warmth. 

This wasn’t right.

This couldn’t be right!

Damn it all, why her!?

What did she do that she deserved to live!? 

It was all she could do to sob into the pillow, to muffle her screams.

She shouldn’t have been alone. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right.

[valena-nedela]

She came close at Azys Lla, but it truly hit after the Antitower.

She fell hard for Minfilia while working with the Scions throughout ARR, and while Minfilia was not uninterested, beyond a few brief moments of privacy after the occasional meeting they did little to act on it. This was at Minfiliia's request, wishing to avoid the distraction until after the mission was complete and the Garleans pushed back. Unfortunately, events spiraled rapidly into the Bloody Banquet, and the two never got the chance to explore the possibility of a relationship before Minfilia's disappearance.

She pushed herself on through exile, her companions being scattered, and the journey through Ishgard on determination and just refusing to think of the possibility that Minfilia was really gone. Focusing on the task at hand was carrying her through the Dragonsong war, but it also meant her attention was consistently occupied by Ysayle Dangoulain.

Ysayle was alluring to Valena in many ways - beautiful, powerful, dangerous, cold - though with a hidden warmth and spirit. Also, tall. However, every time her heart tugged her towards Iceheart, Valena was wracked with guilt. She hadn't really had the opportunity to explore her own feelings, and didn't recognize herself as poly yet. She didn't know it was natural for her to be attracted to more than one person, and that this didn't mean her love for any of her partners was diminished.

Instead, Valena cursed herself for falling in love too easily. For being fickle. For giving up on Minfilia.

At Azys Lla, seing Ysayle sacrifice herself, Valena even managed to stamp down her grief by telling herself that this would be for the best. The temptation would be gone, the feelings would fade, and she could devote herself to reuniting with Minfilia as soon as this Ishgard business was dealt with.

Her guilt and grief were both redoubled after she travelled to the Aetherial Sea via the Antitower, and learned that Minfilia was not coming back, though she managed to keep her composure through the subsequent meeting with Matoya. Afterward, she slipped away from the Scions and, deep in the Dravanian wilderness, finally let herself break down completely.

Her grief over losing Minfilia for good. Her guilt over "betraying" Minfilia by letting herself be drawn to Ysayle. Her grief over losing Ysayle. Her guilt over abandoning her to focus on Minfilia. The nagging fear that it was both women's connection to her that lead them to their fates, and perhaps she was even the bearer of some manner of curse...

On some level, intellectually, she knew that was ridiculous and she was just reacting badly to her grief. But she still swore off romance afterward, a vow she held until after her adventures on the First.

Alisaie spent most of their journey through Gyr Abania and Doma wanting to scream at how obvious Valena and Lyse's attraction to each other was if both women would just relax.

8/20/24

When during the MSQ did your wol(oc) first cry? What was that moment like for them and those around them?