#sorrow like ceaseless rain

[metamorphesque]

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Sorrow

[bayofwolves]

Rereading The Evertree

We've come to the end. I'm finally at the last book of the first arc! Hopefully I can stop explaining what these posts are now, but one more time for anyone unaware: These posts are a compilation of notes taken from my rereads of the Spirit Animals books. They include interesting details, stuff I missed and how I plan to change certain things in my retelling of the series, A Revised History of Erdas. Shall we begin?

"I know you were supposed to be your village's Rain Dancer and all, but can you lighten up on all the dancing?" I know Rain Dancers have to engage in rituals and meditate extensively before they can produce rain, but Abeke influencing the weather with her emotions is a fun idea. Imagine the ceaseless rain is brought down by her pain and sorrow over Shane, Meilin, Tarik and her family.

It definitely feels to me like Tarik was one of the Greencloak leaders, alongside Lenori and underneath Olvan. His role in training the Four Heroes themselves, him having a seat at the table with the other leaders and a place at their important meetings, et cetera... it all seems like his rank was higher than he let on in-text. (Also, my two cents: I would nominate Finn to take his place as the third Greencloak leader.)

"The image of Gerathon's smiling jaws and slithering body disappeared, replaced instead with Rollan's lopsided grin and Conor's encouraging voice, Abeke's clear laugh." I am crying.

The typos in this one are funny. Kalani's dolphin, Katoa, is referred to as female even though he was introduced as male in Against the Tide. And Devin is mistakenly called Devon.

I don't like how Kalani and Rollan made up by completely forsaking the cultural beliefs of Kalani's people. If Hundred Islanders believe something is tapu and want nothing to do with it, they shouldn't be forced to go against that. They already introduced the concept of a ceremony to rid someone or something or tapu (noa), so they could have simply had Kalani perform this for Rollan. I've been saying this, but I'll say it again.

Finn should have been the leader of the Greencloak expedition from the beginning. He already has experience with these kids, and placing him back in a position of authority would be much less likely to spark resentment than a completely new person like Dorian would. Narratively, I do think it was necessary to see more of how Tarik's death affected the Four. But logically...

The Conquerors are monitoring their own people for signs of disloyalty. Interesting.

It seems some records of Stetriolan wildlife survived after all -- Finn knows that the animal who stole their provisions is a dingo. Since it was established earlier that the Greencloaks know next to nothing about Stetriol, I would have liked it better if Abeke was one of their only sources of information. She could use whatever she learned about the continent from Shane and the Conquerors to help guide them in their quest. And she identified a dingo in Against the Tide, so she could have done the same here instead of Finn.

Strange how the party just left the dead horse behind and continued on, instead of using it for meat. Between the meat from the horse and the water bulbs Abeke found, they would have been set to last for even longer.

Abeke swinging up onto her horse's back reminds me of that scene in Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers where Legolas does that crazy mounting technique. I'm willing to bet that was done on purpose; both characters are great archers, after all.

Shane's intense reaction to Gerathon entering his mind must mean that this is the first time she has controlled him. It makes sense, given that she probably wanted to make him feel like he was the one in charge. Oh, what I would give to get inside Shane's head during this battle.

Gerathon forcing Shane to aim for Abeke specifically was definitely intentional. Her method of reading people and then turning them against the ones they love the most is the highest form of torture.

I know I've mentioned that Sundown in Rise and Fall may be my favourite chapter in all of Spirit Animals, but Duel is a strong contender, too. The contrast between the raw pain and rage of Duel and the peacefulness, the gentleness, the emotional vulnerability of Sundown is incredible. It makes sense why both are so close to my heart; they go together, hand in hand. You can't have one without the other.

Everything I read about the Four Heroes' travels is telling me that Erdas is a remarkably small planet.

Conor is sorely mistaken about the crater around the Evertree being caused by an ancient volcano. Additionally, when Abeke later sees a vision in the sky of how the world came to be, including the birth of the Evertree and the Great Beasts, there is not even a hint about the Wyrm. It makes me wonder if the authors had conceived of the Wyrm's landing at this point (or if they were purposefully covering up this plot point to surprise the readers).

Only the Great Beasts know the location of the Evertree. I wonder how it has remained hidden to the rest of the creatures on Erdas. Surely there are tribes living in southern Nilo, yes? It would be cool if the Great Beasts were able to conceal it with their combined magic, making the crater and everything inside it invisible to the human eye.

The Evertree bears fruit! Its description of "pure white" and, well, the fact that it comes from the Evertree itself makes me imagine it has magical properties of some kind. What could this fruit bestow upon you if you were to eat it? Good health? Eternal life? If humans knew how to find the Evertree, I'm sure wars would have been waged over this very question. (It could have made for an interesting storyline if Shane had managed to steal one of the fruits before he fled. Perhaps he would eat it, perhaps sell it, perhaps keep it to look at. I imagine it would stay fresh even after being plucked and never spoil.)

In ARHoE, Arax appears at the Evertree with a broken horn from when Barlow threw him off the cliff. Just a cool detail I thought to mention.

Tellun sacrificing himself is supposed to be seen as a noble act, but at a closer look it actually works against our protagonists. Kovo has made his intent to rule the whole world quite clear. While the Great Beasts dying might sadden him, it won't stop him. By taking themselves out of the battle, Tellun and the first few are leaving it all up to a bunch of kids (warriors, yes, but still kids) to bring down this age-old, godlike gorilla, instead of using their combined might to stop him and save the world they swore to protect. If Tellun had learned something from the last Great War and decided to fight this time, aided our heroes in driving Kovo into the Evertree and died in the process, it would have been so much better! On the flip side, though, it could be read as a testament to how selfish the Great Beasts actually are -- how they are shown time and time again to care more about themselves and their talismans than upholding their oath.

I would have preferred it if the brief moment when the Four Fallen appear as Great Beasts once more happened at the Evertree and not Muttering Rock. Like, if being in the presence of the tree that created them temporarily restored them to their old forms. Great Beast-sized Briggan, Uraza, Jhi and Essix fighting Kovo, Gerathon and Halawir with the rest of their brethren, a more hopeful and heartbreaking rendition of their last battle all those years ago, would have been amazing.

Something about Shane presumably fleeing further into Nilo, home of the friend he betrayed, and perhaps wandering there a while in the wake of his defeat... and many months later, Abeke restoring her bond with Uraza in Stetriol, home of the friend she forgave. Everything is connected.

Wow. This was a powerful finale -- high stakes, epic final battle, emotional climax, descriptions I could see in my mind's eye. There were quite a few things I didn't like about this one, though. Outside of what I've already mentioned: The ending should have been heartwarming, and for the most part it was, but Abeke reconciling with her abusive family soured it for me. I wish the Four had reconvened with Finn, Maya, Kalani and the rest of their party at some point, instead of them vanishing in the middle of a battle and never being heard from again. And once again, I protest the exclusion of Irtike! Aside from all that, though, The Evertree was a great read and a solid conclusion to arc one of Spirit Animals. There are a lot of loose ends to be tied, but for now, the war is over, and our protagonists can finally breathe.

It's been a good run. I plan to take a short break here, but I'm excited to turn the page and begin a new arc soon!

This is part of an ongoing series.

Wild Born | Hunted | Blood Ties | Fire and Ice | Against the Tide | Rise and Fall | The Evertree

Immortal Guardians | Broken Ground | The Return | The Burning Tide

Heart of the Land | The Wildcat's Claw | Stormspeaker | The Dragon's Eye

Tales of the Great Beasts | The Book of Shane | Tales of the Fallen Beasts

[vir-tanadahl]

The Temple of Fen'harel

Summary: Shortly after Corypheus' defeat, Inquisitor Lavellan begins to hear the voices from the Well of Sorrows calling to her. Following their guidance, she is led to a long-forgotten temple, where she uncovers the truth about Solas. (Set before the events of Trespasser.)

Note: I originally published this on 02/07/2015, seven months before Trespasser was released. Since I am re-writing all of my fanfics to help cope with my excitement for Dragon Age: Veilguard, I decided to rewrite this to make it more… lore-accurate—at least as accurate as possible. (Find on Ao3)

Rain trickled down Lavellan's face, cool droplets slipping along her skin as she gazed at the shadowy expanse of the forest. Her body trembled, soaked clothes clinging to her like a second skin, but the sharp chill seemed distant, almost muted. In her mind, the voices of the vir’abelasan pulsed—urgent, insistent—urging her forward. The moonlight bathed her bronzed skin, casting a soft glow as it mingled with the wet sheen that glistened on her arms and shoulders. Without a word, she stepped into the dense, silent woodlands.

Each footfall sank into the mud with a soft squelch, the earth gripping her boots as if reluctant to release her. But still, she pressed on, her steps not entirely her own—guided, almost forced, by the ceaseless voices echoing in her thoughts. A week had passed since she left Skyhold. The only trace of her departure was a note, carelessly pinned to her desk, its message as brief and cryptic as her resolve: I will return soon.

Lavellan stepped into the clearing, where the remnants of a forgotten temple lay entwined with nature’s reclaiming touch. Wildflowers had woven themselves into the cracks of what was once a golden path, their vibrant colors softening the stone beneath. Towering trees loomed overhead, their roots surging through the ancient foundation, spilling into the temple’s entryway like fingers stretching across a forgotten canvas. Untouched by human hands, the ruins stood quietly, much like the sacred halls of Mythal—preserved by time and neglect.

As she crossed the crumbling bridge, a ripple of magic sparked against her skin, familiar and ancient. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of memories not her own, and soon her vision blurred—flickers of a time long before the fall of the elves flashing before her eyes. Without realizing, her steps quickened, her body moving as if carried by invisible threads. She was no longer walking of her own accord—the voices of the Well surged, pulling her forward, guiding her deeper into the ruins. The echoes of the past overwhelmed her, flooding her senses, leaving her unaware of her own movements.

Lavellan blinked, and suddenly she was no longer in the clearing. Elves moved before her, their heads bowed in reverence as they followed intricate rituals, one by one gaining entrance to the inner sanctum. Those deemed worthy knelt at the towering doors, leaving small tokens—a feather, a carved stone, a vial of shimmering liquid—before slipping inside. The sound of hushed prayers whispered through the air, their voices lost in the grandeur of the temple.

Beyond the heavy doors, a grand hallway stretched into the distance, leading to an open atrium. The scent of fresh water and elfroot filled the air, mingling with the damp earth. At the center stood the temple, its pale walls gleaming under the soft light. Lavellan’s senses were engulfed by the vividness of it all, until—

She gasped, yanked back into the present, her breath catching as the memory faded. Confusion settled like a weight in her chest as she found herself once again standing before the ruined temple. Vines snaked around the statues that lined the overgrown pathway, their once-pristine stone now concealed beneath thick, twisting foliage. She moved forward instinctively, fingers trembling as they brushed the leaves aside, revealing fragments of elven script etched into the stone.

The old language poured into her mind like a rushing river, unbidden and unstoppable. She traced the words, her voice barely a whisper as she read: “…give thanks to he who is named Fen’Harel as he aids us…”

Lavellan staggered back, heart pounding, pure shock and terror coursing through her. A temple to the Dread Wolf. Her breath hitched at the realization. This place was dedicated to Fen’harel, the betrayer, the one who brought Arlathan to ruin and plunged her people into endless exile. The voices in her mind swelled, chaotic and unrelenting, flooding her vision with fragmented images—elves clashing in bitter conflict, blood staining the earth, a deep, seething strife between forces she could not name.

Her stomach twisted violently as she fought to reclaim control, nausea bubbling up as the overwhelming flood of memories receded. She pressed her palm to her temple, feeling the dull throb of a headache building behind her eyes. Were the Dalish wrong... again? The question lingered, unanswered, as silence settled over her mind. The voices that had once urged her forward now offered no clarity, only a persistent push deeper into the temple.

Without fully understanding why, Lavellan found herself moving toward the entrance. The door stood ajar, its hinges creaking as she slipped inside. Shadows clung to the stone walls, and her footfalls echoed faintly in the silence. Her gaze locked onto the center of the room—a grand, golden mosaic throne. It loomed before her, untouched by time or decay, radiating an air of quiet power. She crept closer, her breath shallow, as if the weight of the temple's history pressed down on her.

Lavellan spun on her heel, panic rising as she tried to flee, but the voices locked her in place. Her body refused to obey, no matter how fiercely her instincts screamed for her to run. Even from across the chamber, she recognized him—the man who had captured her heart. Solas, draped across the golden throne, his body relaxed, his head resting in a peaceful slumber. Terror gripped her as her intuition shrieked in warning. She had made a grave mistake. The truth, buried deep inside her, clawed its way to the surface: the creature she had feared her entire life was the one she had fallen in love with.

The Dread Wolf.

Her mind raced, the realization crashing down with brutal clarity. She had slept with the betrayer, the destroyer. The image of him, laughing with cruel satisfaction, as he crushed her heart in his hand, flashed before her. He had deceived her, lured her in with tenderness, and now—now, he would tear her apart.

But her body defied her fear. Against her will, she moved toward him, step by step, the voices driving her closer to the slumbering god. His chest rose and fell in deep, rhythmic breaths, his consciousness far away in the Fade. Her hand lifted, trembling, and though every part of her screamed to stop, her fingers gently brushed his cheek. The warmth of his skin sent a jolt through her, and for a moment, his nose and lips twitched at the soft contact, though his eyes remained closed.

The voices surged again, pressing against her mind, straining toward him. They reached out, seeking the ancient power that pulsed beneath his skin. And then, like the snap of a bowstring, Solas jolted awake, his eyes wide and sharp. A ripple of ancient magic, raw and immense, pulsed through the air, and Lavellan felt the weight of his gaze pierce through her.

Solas’ hands gripped the arms of the throne, his knuckles white as his gaze locked on the golden eyes of his lover. His chest tightened, and his nose wrinkled with anger. “You should not be here,” he growled, the words thick with frustration. His sharp eyes scanned her, narrowing in suspicion. “The voices… did you ask them to lead you to me?” He rose from the throne, his movements sudden and forceful, the weight of his question hanging in the air.

Lavellan staggered back, her heart racing as panic swelled inside her, choking her voice. She couldn’t answer, her throat closing off any sound. The raw intensity of his presence pressed down on her, and she recoiled, unsure if it was the power that radiated from him or the terror that gripped her heart.

Solas paused, his anger flickering. He knew her well enough to understand—stubborn, determined, unwilling to let him vanish without a fight. His expression softened, the tension in his jaw easing as he watched her. He could never stay angry with her for seeking him out, for challenging the boundaries he had tried to impose. She was too passionate, too relentless, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known this confrontation was inevitable.

But something else caught his attention—the sheer terror in her eyes. Not fear of disturbing his slumber, but something deeper, something primal. His breath hitched as realization struck like a dagger. She knew. She had uncovered his secret.

“Vhenan…” he muttered, the word escaping him before he could stop it. His hand moved toward her, aching to offer comfort, though he hesitated, his throat tight with words unsaid. The distance between them seemed too vast now, a chasm carved by truths she wasn’t ready to face.

A broken croak escaped her throat as Lavellan stumbled back, her feet forgetting the steps behind her. Her body lurched into open air, falling—but before the cold stone could meet her, Solas’ hand shot out, gripping hers. He yanked her toward him with a desperate strength, and they both crashed against the throne, her body pressed tightly against his. “Please, ma vhenan,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he clutched her struggling form.

Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision, as the words forced themselves out between gasping sobs. “You are... Fen’harel.” Each word cut through the air like a blade, her voice trembling with disbelief.

Solas’ face twisted with guilt, his chest swelling with sorrow as he tightened his hold, keeping her close. He pressed his forehead to her temple, his breath warm and ragged against her skin. “I am,” he murmured, reluctant, the weight of the admission heavy between them. Her sobs racked against him, shaking her small frame as she buried her face in her hands. His heart clenched. “Ir abelas, ma vhenan, I am so sorry,” he whispered into her ear, his voice soft, pained.

Lavellan shook her head violently, hands still covering her face, unable to look at him. The voices in her head surged, their clamor filling her consciousness, making the ache in her stomach worse with each pulse. Solas’ cold fingers brushed her forehead, gently pushing her damp hair away from her face as he murmured apology after apology. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by her uneven breaths as they sat tangled together, her sobs gradually fading into exhaustion.

Time passed in that stillness. She fell into a deep, fitful slumber in his arms, while he remained perfectly still despite the aching pain that spread through his back and shoulders. Her anguish was far greater than anything he could feel.

When Lavellan finally stirred, her eyelids heavy and swollen, her mind foggy with the weight of the night’s revelations, memory came crashing back like a tidal wave. She jolted, eyes snapping open, her heart pounding. She tried to stand, to flee, but found herself unable to move. Solas’ familiar arms were still wrapped tightly around her, holding her as if afraid she might disappear if he let go.

“Lavellan,” Solas whispered, his voice rough and hoarse from the weight of sleepless hours. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, ignoring him, her expression unreadable. He leaned closer, desperation seeping into his voice. “Vhenan, please,” he murmured, gently reaching for her, his fingers brushing her chin as he tried to turn her face toward him. She didn’t resist, but when her eyes finally met his, they were cold, her emotions masked behind a wall of restraint.

Her gaze hardened, and a bitter edge crept into her voice. “You’re supposed to be a monster. To look like a monster. But you’re the master of tricks, aren’t you?” Her glare intensified, venomous. The moment hung between them, heavy with accusation, before her hand lashed out, striking his face with a sharp crack. And then her glare faulters, softening. Her own experience with him clashing with everything her culture told her about him.

Solas sighs, the sting of the slap echoing in the silence, but he didn’t defend himself. His eyes softened with the pain of her betrayal as she glared at him, her chest heaving. “You lied to me,” she said, her voice thick with anguish.

“In a way, I did, yes.” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Let me go.” Lavellan shoved at his chest, her words harsh, final. Reluctantly, Solas loosened his hold, and she pulled away, pacing back and forth as if caged by her own thoughts, her emotions warring beneath the surface.

Solas watched her, the ache in his heart growing as he stood from the throne. His voice, quiet yet steady, filled the room. “I have lied about who I am, but never about my feelings for you.”

Lavellan stopped mid-stride, her fists clenching and unclenching. Her eyes flashed with a mix of anger and grief as she turned to him. “You might as well have!” she spat, her voice sharp with betrayal. She took a step closer, her fury palpable. “How could anything be real when everything I knew about you was a lie?”

“I didn’t exactly lie—at least, not entirely.” Solas’ voice trembled with urgency, his eyes searching her face for any sign of understanding. Lavellan’s steps faltered, uncertainty rippling through her as her fingers tangled in her hair. She struggled, torn between the truths she thought she knew and the reality unraveling before her.

Solas hesitated, watching her wrestle with her thoughts. “The Dread Wolf from the stories... from the legends… that’s only part of the truth,” he continued softly, stepping closer. His words hung in the air between them like fragile threads. “I was Solas first. Fen'Harel came later.” His voice dropped to a whisper, his confession raw.

Lavellan stared at him, her mind spinning as she tried to reconcile the man she loved with the figure of betrayal and legend. Her breath caught, and she fought to process everything, her heart hammering in her chest.

Solas’ expression softened, regret filling his eyes. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “But you should not be here.” He reached out, carefully taking her hands into his, his fingers warm against hers. He watched her, but her gaze drifted, her eyes glazing over, distant and unfocused. He knew the voices were speaking to her again, likely confirming that he is the Dread Wolf.

She began shaking her head, confusion clouding her features as the voices slipped into an unsettling silence. "I don't understand," she whispered, her eyes searching the floor. Fragments of their time together flickered through her mind—the quiet conversations, the guarded looks, the moments after Corypheus fell. Threads of memory wove together, forming a pattern she hadn't seen before.

Suddenly, her gaze snapped back to his, eyes sharp and filled with a dawning intensity. "The orb..." she breathed, the words barely audible. "It was yours, wasn't it?"

Her voice trembled with a mix of disbelief and reluctant understanding, the hope that she might be wrong fading with each passing second. The realization settled heavily between them, an unspoken truth finally brought to light.

A sad smile flickered across his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It was,” he confessed softly. He paused, as if weighing the gravity of what came next. “I didn’t foresee him surviving the blast...” His voice trailed off, unfinished, heavy with regret.

Lavellan hesitated, searching his face for answers, her heart sinking. “But why?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly. “Why did you give him the orb, Solas?”

His expression darkened, his frown deepening as he lowered his head, lost in the shadows of his memories. “I was too weak,” he muttered, the words slipping from him like a bitter truth. “Too weak after my long slumber to unlock its power.”

His voice was careful, measured, but she could hear the anguish threaded between his words, could see the pain reflected in his eyes—burdens he had carried for far too long.

Her heart shattered as she watched the dance of pain and anguish play across his face, each unspoken regret heavy in the air between them. Without thinking, she reached up, her hand trembling as she gently pulled his face toward hers. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of his sorrow and the ache in her chest.

She pressed her lips softly against his, tender and hesitant, as if her kiss alone could soothe the burden he had carried for so long. It was a silent plea, a desperate hope that in this moment, she could ease even a fraction of his suffering. For just a breath, she wished to take away the hurt, to hold him in a world where neither of them had to carry the weight of their choices.

She pulled back, her breath still lingering between them. “But why?” she asked, her voice quiet but filled with concern. Her eyes searched his, aching to understand.

"It wasn’t supposed to happen like this," Solas murmured, his voice low and weighted with regret. He wanted to tell her more, to lay his burden bare, but centuries of guarding his heart held him back. His eyes flickered with emotions he couldn't quite express.

Lavellan furrowed her brow, her mind racing as she sifted through memories—of time spend and conversations had with Solas, of Dalish legends half-remembered, fragmented and tangled like knotted yarn. The truth was there, albeit elusive, but something tugged at the edges of her understanding, and her heart clenched with a terrible realization.

“You didn’t mean for the Veil to hurt the People, did you?” she asked, her voice quiet but insistent, a plea for clarity in the face of so much confusion.

Solas’ expression tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his face before he looked away. He didn’t answer immediately, but the silence between them was enough. The answer lingered in the air, unspoken but painfully clear.

“But why leave? Why come here when your plan failed?” Lavellan’s voice cracked, frustration, pain, and confusion swirling in her chest. “Did you really plan to live out the rest of your life in isolation, away from—” Her breath caught in her throat, words faltering as the weight of what she was about to say threatened to choke her. ’Away from me? The thought hung in her mind, unspoken, but its presence was undeniable, heavy and raw.

Solas’ gaze softened, as if sensing the unspoken question. His lips parted, but he hesitated, the guarded expression on his face slipping ever so slightly. The silence that stretched between them was filled with everything they weren’t saying, everything they were afraid to confront. And in that moment, her heart ached with the fear that perhaps, in his isolation, he had already made his choice—one that didn’t include her.

But, Solas remained silent, his gaze steady but unreadable, as if her question pierced through the walls he had so carefully built. Her eyes searched his face for something—anything—that might reveal his reasons, but all she found was the lingering sadness he tried so hard to hide. The tension between them thickened, the truth just out of reach, suspended in the heavy silence.

Her breath trembled, her heart pounding with the unspoken realization that perhaps his isolation was not just a punishment for himself, but a way to protect her—from his failure, from the consequences of loving him.

Solas shook his head slowly, the stoic mask settling back into place, hardening his features. But his eyes—those eyes still whispered the sorrow he could not bring himself to speak aloud. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, until finally, his voice broke through, a whisper of regret and weariness. “I need time…”

It was a fragile admission, but it left her heart aching, knowing that time alone couldn’t mend the chasm that had opened between them.

“And then you’ll come back?” Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile and filled with hope. The question hung in the air between them, trembling on the edge of uncertainty. She looked at him, her eyes searching for reassurance, for a promise that everything would somehow be as it once was.

Solas’ breath caught in his throat. He could hear the hope laced in her words, the quiet plea that, perhaps, he would return to her—not to his mission, not to the world he was determined to change, but to her.

Whether she was willfully blind to the truth or simply unaware of the path he had chosen, he couldn’t say. Her gaze, filled with that quiet hope, made it clear she didn’t fully grasp the depths of his intentions—the consequences of what he had set in motion.

Solas wasn’t sure if she truly understood that the orb had been only the beginning. It was his first plan, yes, and in many ways, his best hope for a swift restoration of what had once been. But it was not his only plan. The thought of the steps yet to come—the things he would have to do, the sacrifices he would demand of himself and the world—tightened his chest with guilt. The path he walks is the dinan’shiral. There is only death on this journey.

He feared she hadn’t yet realized how far he was willing to go to achieve his goal, how unyielding his resolve had become. The love that still exists between them, the tenderness that still sparked in her eyes—it was fragile. He could see it now, hanging by a thread that would inevitably be severed when the full truth came to light. But not yet.

For now, she didn’t see the deeper plan, the path that stretched far beyond their love, leading him to a future he couldn’t allow her to follow because he could not allow her to see what he will become.

“Yes,” he replies, the word slipping out—half-truth, but not quite a lie. It’s inevitable that their paths will cross again. She, leading the Inquisition, guiding the world through the chaos left in Corypheus’ wake. And he… he will be working tirelessly in the shadows, forging a new plan to tear down the Veil he once erected to protect the People.

The weight of the truth he couldn’t share sat heavy on his chest. Their reunion wouldn’t be as she imagined—there would be no quiet return to what they had before. He had no intention of leaving her life entirely, but not in the way she hoped. He would still be out there, always moving, always plotting, preparing for the moment when he would have to make the impossible choice.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, knowing she couldn’t see the full shape of what was coming. She couldn’t know that while he said yes, it wasn’t in the way she longed for. Their next meeting wouldn’t be born out of love, but of necessity. Of fate. Of a mission he could not abandon, no matter the cost to them both.

But for now, she believed in that small word, in the promise she heard. And he let her, knowing it would break her heart in time.

[mahayanapilgrim]

The Bodhisattva Vow

From the Guide to the Bodhisattva's Way of Life by Master

Shantideva

Through these actions now performed and all the virtues I have amassed,

May all the pain of every living being be completely scattered and dissolved!

For all those ailing in the world, Until their every sickness has been healed, May I myself become for them The doctor, nurse, the medicine itself.

Raining down a flood of food and drink, May I dispel the ills of thirst and famine. And in the aeons marked by scarcity and want, May I myself appear as drink and sustenance.

For sentient beings, poor and destitute, May I become a treasure ever-plentiful, And lie before them closely in their reach, a varied source of all that they might need.

My body, thus, and all my goods besides, and all my merits gained and to be gained, I give them all and do not count the cost, To bring about the benefit of beings.

May I be a guard for those who are protectorless, a guide for those who journey on the road. For those who wish to cross the water, May I be a boat, a raft, a bridge.

May I be an isle for those who yearn for land, a lamp for those who long for light; For all who need a resting place, may I be a bed.

May I be the wishing jewel, the vase of wealth, a word of power and the supreme healing, May I be the tree of miracles, For every being the wish-fulfilling cow.

Just like the earth and space itself And all the other mighty elements, For boundless multitudes of beings May I always be the ground of life, the source of varied sustenance.

Thus for everything that lives, As far as are the limits of the sky, May I be constantly their source of livelihood Until they pass beyond all sorrow.

Just as all the Buddhas of the past Have brought forth the awakened mind, Trained and abided in the precepts of the Bodhisattvas Step-by-step

Likewise, for the benefit of beings, I will bring to birth the awakened mind, And in those precepts, step-by-step, I will abide and train myself.

Those who thus with clear intelligence Take hold of the awakened mind with bright and lucid joy,

Today my life has given fruit. This human state has now been well assumed. Today I take my birth in Buddha's line, And have become the Buddha's child and heir.

In every way, then, I will undertake activities befitting such a rank. And I will do no act to mar or compromise this high and faultless lineage.

For I am like a blind person who has found A precious gem inside a heap of dust. For so it is, by some strange chance, That enlightened intent has been born in me.

It is the sovereign remedy That perfectly allays all maladies. It is the tree that gives relief To those who wander wearily the pathways of existence.

It is the universal bridge that saves All wandering beings from the states of loss, The rising moon of the enlightened mind That soothes the sorrows born of the afflictions.

It is the mighty sun that utterly dispels The misty ignorance of wandering beings, The creamy butter, rich and full, That's churned from milk of holy teaching

Living beings! Wanderers upon life's paths, Who wish to taste the riches of contentment, Here before you is the supreme bliss. O ceaseless travelers here is your fulfillment!

And so, today, within the sight of all protectors, I summon beings, calling them to Buddhahood."

"The Way of the Bodhisattva" by Shantideva,

Bodhichitta Prayer

Precious and Sublime Bodhichitta

Where it is unborn may it arise

Where it is born, may it not decline

But go on increasing further and further!

[pariahofpelicantown]

Rain Soaked Apologies (Haley x GN! Farmer)

Summary: Haley spends a lonely night feeling alone and reflecting on her behavior towards the farmer, only to find they are there when she needs them most.

The rain lashed fiercely against the bedroom window, creating a ceaseless and unyielding pitter-patter that reverberated through the room. Haley lay curled up on her bed, her body folded into a tight ball as she wept silently into her pillow.

Tears cascaded down her cheeks, mingling with the rivulets of water that streaked the glass, transforming the outside world into a hazy blend of grey and black. Occasionally, a bolt of lightning would pierce the gloom, its harsh light only serving to highlight the profound darkness enveloping Haley's soul.

As she lay there, the rain drumming a sorrowful rhythm against the window, Haley's mind replayed the day's events in an endless loop. She thought about her family—her parents no longer there, and her sister always consumed by work. The weight of isolation pressed down on her, even in a small, close-knit community like Pelican Town.

And then, of course, there was the incident with the farmer. That morning, she had been more brusque and rude than usual, driven by some unfathomable urge to push them away. Now, she was tormented by the thought that she might have alienated the one person who truly cared for her.

Haley felt a sharp pang of guilt at the memory of the farmer's expression that morning. It had been a poignant blend of surprise, hurt, and something else... maybe disappointment.

She could vividly recall the way the farmer had looked at her, eyes searching for some hint of understanding, before turning and walking away with shoulders slightly slumped. In that fleeting moment, an intense urge to call out to them, to apologize and explain herself, surged within her. But something held her back—perhaps stubbornness, perhaps pride. Now, it was too late, and she was left alone to grapple with the heavy weight of her actions and their inevitable consequences.

Haley's mind drifted back to the farmer, a tumultuous mix of emotions welling up inside her. They had shown her nothing but kindness since their arrival in Pelican Town. Despite her cold and dismissive demeanor, the farmer had remained steadfast, always friendly and respectful, never wavering in their gentle persistence.

And then there was her birthday... The farmer had gone out of their way to remember it, presenting her with a small but incredibly thoughtful gift. It was a simple gesture, yet it had pierced through her hardened exterior, making her feel something she hadn't felt in a long time... Seen. In that moment, amidst the rain and her solitary anguish, the memory of their kindness was a bittersweet reminder of what she might have lost.

Haley froze as the door to her room creaked open, her body instantly tensing at the intrusion. She hastily wiped away her tears, praying that the newcomer wouldn't notice the redness and puffiness of her eyes.

The farmer stepped into the room, their voice a soft whisper as they called out, "Haley...?"

She glanced up at them, her heart thudding in her chest, the weight of her earlier actions still pressing heavily on her. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice wavering between surprise and defensiveness.

The farmer spoke gently, their voice filled with concern, "I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Haley felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over her. Even after the way she had treated them, the farmer still cared enough to come and check on her, just to see if she was okay. She couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse at the thought of how she had acted towards them.

Her eyes welled up with tears once more, and she struggled to find the right words. "I'm... I'm sorry, truly. I don't deserve your kindness after the way I've been treating you," she managed to say, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.

The farmer shook their head softly, a gentle smile gracing their lips. "Haley, everyone has their bad days. I know there's more to you than what you let on. I see it, even if you try to hide it."

Haley's defenses began to crumble in the face of such unwavering compassion. She had spent so long building walls around her heart, pushing people away before they could hurt her. But here was someone who saw through her facade, who cared enough to look past her rough edges.

"I don't know why I do it," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I push people away because... I guess I'm afraid. Afraid of getting hurt, afraid of being vulnerable."

The farmer took a step closer, their eyes locked onto hers with a sincerity that made her chest tighten. "It's okay to be afraid, Haley. But you don't have to face that fear alone. You have people who care about you, who want to be there for you. Let us in."

Haley remained silent for a moment, absorbed in her tumultuous thoughts. Her heart was a storm of confusion, guilt, and a strange sense of longing she hadn't felt in a long time. The warmth of the farmer's concern was beginning to thaw the icy barriers she had built around herself.

As the farmer began to turn to leave, she felt a sudden, desperate need to not be alone. Summoning every ounce of courage she could find, she whispered, "Wait..." Her voice trembled slightly, betraying the vulnerability she so often tried to hide. "Please, don't go. Stay... stay with me."

The farmer hesitated, surprise flashing across their features. For a moment, Haley feared they might refuse, that she might have pushed them too far. But then, with a gentle nod, they moved to lie down next to her, their presence both calming and reassuring.

Gently, they enveloped her in their arms, holding her close as if to shield her from the storm raging within. Haley stiffened for a moment, unaccustomed to such tender closeness, but soon found herself melting into their embrace. The warmth of their body, the steady rhythm of their breathing—it was a balm to her wounded soul.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Haley allowed herself to be vulnerable, to let someone in. She buried her face in the farmer's chest, her tears soaking into their shirt as she finally let the dam of her emotions break. All the hurt, the loneliness, the fear—it all came pouring out in a torrent of sobs.

The farmer held her tighter, their hand gently stroking her hair, murmuring soothing words that she couldn't quite make out but felt deeply in her heart. "It's okay, Haley. You're not alone. I'm here. I'm here."

In that moment, the rain outside seemed to soften, as if the world itself was offering her a moment of peace. Haley clung to the farmer, feeling a sense of safety and acceptance she had long forgotten existed. Maybe she didn't have to face her fears and her pain alone. Maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself to trust, to hope, to heal.

And as she lay there, wrapped in the farmer's comforting embrace, Haley felt a flicker of something new—a sense of belonging, of being seen and understood. It wasn't a solution to all her problems, but it was a start. A small, precious start.

[justalonelybitch]

I'm so sad I can't write for you rn guys because I have so many fucking ideas AHHHHH-

Lemme give you guys a lil sneak peak of what's to come tho

Huh Yunjin x F!Reader - College AU (Angst)

“In the meantime, I’m not gonna sit around and take this bullshit.” You declared, hand slipping from her arm as you backed away from her. “I’ll see you at home Yunjin,” you muttered, turning on your heel and walking into the distance.

The brunette watched as you disappeared into a crowd of students, groaning in irritation. With her fists clenched by her sides, she stormed off in the opposite direction from you. Truth be told she herself couldn’t comprehend the rage that burned within her, but she knew that the unsettling feeling within her chest left her incredibly frustrated with you. It was all because you’d agreed to go on a stupid date with Park Sunghoon.

Miyawaki Sakura x F!Reader - Secret Relationship (Fluff)

The hint of a smile crept onto Sakura's lips as she felt the couch dip beside her, focus wavering as she struggled to finish the hardest level of a game on her phone. She didn't need to remove her gaze from the glowing screen to know it was you who'd taken up the place by her side. The comforting brush of your leg against her own was an action so small, and yet Sakura's heart still swelled with familiarity each time.

You silently dropped your head to her shoulder, the soft scent of your shampoo overwhelming Sakura's senses. She wordlessly placed her phone face down on the couch, turning to meet your gaze with eyes that swirled with nothing but adoration. Reaching for her hand, you mindlessly fiddled with her fingers before lacing them with your own. Neither of you paid any mind to the chaos that ensued within the dorms, simply getting lost in a world of your own.

Ko Yurim x F!Reader - Friends to Lovers (Angst, Fluff)

Yurim's heart twisted in her chest, aching in confusion as she stared blankly at your blindingly bright smile. It was one of the only things in this world that filled her with nothing but pure joy no matter the circumstances. It was only your grin that effortlessly cured the lingering pain within her heart. But now the sight left her feeling unusually bitter, heart tainted with a poisonous envy for your ceaseless happiness.

Your smile was no longer enough to heal her wounded heart, instead it grew to be the one thing she'd grown to loathe. She longed to be as happy as you were, dream freely like you could, but she couldn't. Yurim was bound to a life of misery and there was nothing your grin could do to cure that. Witnessing your joy was no longer a blessing, but a curse. She couldn't bare it any longer. It hurt to much to see her life collapse around her, and yet there you remained, pure and innocent, unknowing of the worlds sorrows.

If only she knew of the pain you hid behind your smile..

Kim Chaewon x F!Reader - High School AU (Angst)

Your lips were sucked between your teeth thoughtfully as you aimlessly strolled down the stone footpath. Paying no mind to the rain that began to fall, feigning ignorance to the familiar red car that pulled up beside you. "Y/n!" Chaewon yelled, leaning closer to the opened passenger window. Crossing your arms over your chest stubbornly, you picked up the pace, foolishly assuming she would leave you stranded in the rain with enough persistence.

"Get in the car, Y/n!" Your girlfriend shouted as the droplets began to fall harder, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. "Fuck you Kim Chaewon," you seethed, the short haired girl wincing at your harsh tone. She knew she deserved it, but that didn't mean she was going to let you punish yourself for her mistakes. "Please," she begged, eyes shinning hopefully as you came to a halt, finally turning to face her, gaze hardened with a burning rage.

"Leave. Me. Alone."

Luxurious Love, Lust & Lies - Series, Chapter Three (Mystery)

Glancing down to the ground, you squinted, struggling to make out a faint silhouette in the darkness. “What is it?” Soyeon asked, following your gaze curiously. “Not sure yet, hand me your phone.” She rolled her eyes at the absurd demand, but nevertheless she passed over the battered device. Tapping away at the screen, you opened the text chain between you and Soyeon before clicking the camera icon. Leaning over the edge eagerly, you zoomed in, snapping a picture and sending it to yourself. A rough grip on your collar pulled you back, keeping you from toppling over the edge in your excitement.

“Idiot,” Soyeon muttered, snatching her phone from your grasp, gazing at it intently. Swinging your legs over the ledge, you planted your feet on the roof, wandering towards the opposite edge of the building. “Hey Y/n?” Soyeon called after you, hands stuffed into her pockets as she followed after you. “Yeah?” You hummed, glancing up at the tree that towered above the roof. “How did you know my password?” She questioned, brows raised inquisitively. “Lucky guess,” you excused with a shrug, carelessly climbing onto the ledge. “Until next time, Jeon Soyeon,” you saluted with a dopey smile, stepping backwards to gracefully fall over the edge.

~~~~

These are all unedited bits and pieces of upcoming unwritten stories!!

[vampire-chokehold]

read on AO3 DRAMATIS PERSONAE (in order of appearance)

PATRINA        archmage, lover, returned KASIMIR        brother and murderer of Patrina CHORUS       of vampire spawns STRAHD       the Devil of Barovia RAHADIN     loyal dog, traitor to the dusk elves

SETTING: The play is set in Castle Ravenloft’s catacombs, in Barovia. Patrina has been dead for more than four hundread years. It is the middle of the night. Kasimir has succumbed to the guilt and has broght back his sister from the undead.

PATRINA All men of Barovia are deserving of death.

Don’t look at me like that. You brought me back to life,  but your hands are stained with the same blood that runs through your veins. Dare you believe that forgiveness bears your name? That by a good deed your sins will be pardoned? Are you not, too, my brother, my murderer? Are you not he who put an end to my days by throwing the first stone that buried me, that stole my last breath from my lips?

You couldn’t stomach that I was better than you,  that your sister, a woman, was exceptional. Anger consumed you,  envy made a home between your ribs and, under my shadow, you planned my death. Over my body, you shed tears— but not for me, but because you had lost everything. Tell me, you treacherous rat, was it worth it? Do not answer me— no! I will never again believe in your words for they are as hollow as my sunken chest.

Brother, you were never on my side. When I was born, your eyes burned guilt into my skin. How could I, a baby, be so unworthy when I couldn't even utter a word, let alone lie or sin? Not even once did you hold me in your arms, not even once did you speak to me with love! Brother, what did I ever do to you? Was it being born a woman? Between my legs, the original sin— my breasts and mouth, temptation. And on my shoulders? The weight of an accursed race to redeem.

It was a spring night, the first time I learnt that one could see with other eyes; that love is written with fingertips on tingling skin; that lips can conjure the most powerful of spells and shoot with their kisses the sharpest of arrows; that hunger is not only hushed with food, nor thirst with the water from the rivers.

You didn't waste time hating him as much as you hated me. As soon as he uttered his name, I saw, written all over your face,  the desire to end him— as if you weren't a coward, as if you were born for something more than living under my wing. If only you had accepted your fate.

In the fire of your future, neither bravery nor excellence burned, and glory only crossed your path when you ended me. My death was your greatest sin, but also your finest work. And now, I too want to taste salvation. With the edge of this knife, brother, I will cut your throat, spill your blood, avenge my death and that of all my sisters.

KASIMIR Patrina, my sister! You have returned to me like swallows to spring, bringing with you memories of a life full of regret. Patrina, ghost of my nights, ceaseless hiss! You tormented me in life as well as in death, your voice an echo in my gut every time darkness embraced me. You asked me to bring you back to this land that never wanted us, that made us slaves to a monster whom you thought deserving of your love. For what? To seek revenge? When the metal sinks into my flesh, do you believe you'll find rest then? When my blood stains your hands, do you think it will end the agony of your existence?

Your death only brought misery to this sullen land. Now I know, the evil I awakened when the stones rained down upon your body. Your corpse, still warm under a river of blood— the blood of all your sisters. He killed them! That monster you called love! He killed them all— mothers and daughters, and suddenly, a silence fell in which I could only hear your screams.

Don't be mistaken, sister. Your heart holds the mercy I never knew. Forgive me, forgive me! Can't you see me, on my knees, repentant? Your knife at my throat, and this sorrowful plea on my lips. I have paid dearly for my transgressions, my flesh is not untouched by punishment. Can't you see me, on my knees, repentant?

PATRINA You speak of mercy with the lightness befitting a man. I wish you had felt the same when our gazes met in that clearing! Didn't you hear my pleas? Didn't you see my lips moving, tears overflowing in my eyes? Didn't you even feel pity for your sister?

Tell me, my brother: Why should I save you? Do you believe you deserve to live, even breathe the same breath as I?

You look at me like the lamb looks at the wolf and you think I can't see through those eyes. That you are wicked, that you always have been. And if I weren't your sister, would you have flayed my flesh? Would you have made me an example of dishonour?

KASIMIR If only you weren't my sister! I wish you hadn't been my sister. Then I wouldn't have wanted to protect you. I would have let that monster take you, make you his forever. PATRINA Protect me? You confuse violence for love, brother. And you speak of me as a puppet trapped by fate. But I loved that man whom you call a monster. KASIMIR Loved?  Will you kill him too?

PATRINA All men of Barovia are deserving of death.

KASIMIR Where is the love then?

PATRINA Where was the love when you murdered me?

KASIMIR Your death was an act of love.

PATRINA I will grant you your last words, brother. You can ask for my forgiveness, though to you I’ll never give it.

KASIMIR Patrina, you are both serpent and apple! If I'm to die by your hands, let it be with pride.

PATRINA So be it.

[Enter the CHORUS. ]

CHORUS Patrina! What have you done, child?

PATRINA I have killed my brother.

CHORUS And for what?

PATRINA All men of Barovia are deserving of death.

CHORUS Are you worthy of plunging the blade into their flesh? Are you, child, the embodiment of justice? How different are you from him when you've avenged the deaths of your sisters with the blood of your own blood?

PATRINA I am not like my brother.

CHORUS No, you are worse.

PATRINA Is vengeance a greater sin than it is silence? Should I have consumed myself in my agony, forever crying out for love?

CHORUS You speak of love, Patrina, as if you've ever known it. As if this crusade is in its name.

[Enter RAHADIN and STRAHD.]

STRAHD Patrina, is it really you? Is this mirage reality?

PATRINA The Devil Strahd, once again before me.

RAHADIN Do not listen to her, my Lord, she will ensnare you with her siren's whisper.

STRAHD Kasimir, you weak man, you couldn't bear the burden of guilt on your shoulders. I knew this day would come, when your sister would return and with this knife, kill you.

Patrina, old love, have you come for me too? Does the same fate await me as your foolish brother?

PATRINA Do not even speak my name— those lips are stained with the blood of my sisters! Empty promises and an insatiable hunger between your sharp teeth, nothing more.

I have engraved in my memory the recollection of my past life, as crystalline as the waters of this land. Do not try to deceive me again with your velvet words. I know who you truly are, Strahd von Zarovich!

You placed glory in my hands and snatched it away with the same cruelty which deemed you eternal king of this land.

On your lips, I read words I had never heard before. On my skin, you painted a future so bright that it blinded the rest of my days with poisoned hope. You didn't kill me, but your silence has always made you an accomplice.

Did you weep for me when your wolves my desecrated body— more of the dirt than mine— to your castle they took?

RAHADIN Dare you speak of betrayal, wench? I should have killed your brother too, his body rotting next to yours, so you couldn't return from the dead like a plague amongst the living: venomous and deadly.

STRAHD Didn't I love you, Patrina, with all my heart?

On your skin, I traced constellations. On your heart, I placed my darkest secrets. On your lips, I shed tears for my bitter existence.

And you say I didn't love you? That I deceived you? Am I not the one who lived in the lie of your love?

You have forgotten who you are, Patrina. You never loved me.

PATRINA I can't believe you. I don't want to believe you! You let my brother stone me— each lash coloring my skin purple and vermillion. You let your dog kill my sisters— they, who were not guilty of my foolish and naive innocence!

Why? Oh why?

You made me a prisoner in your castle, abandoned me to my fate, condemned forever to yearn for revenge. If you loved me so much, oh why, Strahd— why didn't you save me from myself?

STRAHD I would have given you eternal life if that night hadn't been your end. If only I had reached you sooner!

PATRINA You're trying to deceive me.

STRAHD That spring, Patrina, not only roses bloomed in my garden, but also hope in my heart. I had not yet known love— forever craving the warmth of another body, of other lips. War had made a cruel man out of me, I know. My calloused hands were unworthy of the softness I longed for. if death bore my name, could I be deserving of love, of forgiveness?

Then I saw you. Your hair flowing freely, and your skin gleaming dark like a secret yet to be discovered. A strand fell over your eyes, and I wanted to push it away like a desperate child. Capricious, an imposing curiosity. You looked at me as if I were a question for which only you had the answer. You turned around, and I followed you, enchanted. I walked behind you, chacing the trail of your perfume.

Oh how beautiful you were! How beautiful you still are.

You led me to your tent, and at the entrance, you looked back at me. With an invitation on your lips, you let me in— my heart, for the first time racing trapped in my throat.

You were never a woman of time. Always two steps ahead, you waited for no one. What you wanted, you took. And in that moment, I thought that you wanted me because you held my face in your hands— without even knowing my name, and you kissed me with the fervent passion of a sword piercing flesh.

From that moment on, I only dreamed of your breath on my skin. And while I wanted to devour you, your lips murmured spells and words of magic that— oh how I wished, had been words of love for me!

Your love was a window to the abyss. It was like gazing into a void so vast that you felt it would swallow you whole. Everything I gave you disappeared into your darkness. In your eyes, I could only see my reflection and on the other side, the hunger for power consuming you.

Patrina, don't you know? You and I are the same.

PATRINA We were not,  and will never be.

STRAHD Oh but that’s where you’re wrong. Patrina, don’t you remember? We walked for days. Sometimes in utter silence, you ruminating and me, as always, waiting. At the top of the mountain, the amber was a sun in the clearest of skies. The snow embraced the temple with its icy arms, and our footsteps drew an uncertain future behind us. You took my hand in yours, we ran breathlessly. I had never seen your eyes so lively and hungry. How I loathed that hunger was not for me.

That temple hid the most obscure of secrets, even darker than mine. The voices, oh the voices! They whispered into my heart, Patrina, but I didn’t want to listen to them because they spoke of you, of the truth behind your love.

PATRINA And what truth might that be?

STRAHD That is of no importance now, old love. You’ve come back and now nothing is standing in our way.

PATRINA Do you think me a fool? Could I ever trust that mouth which only knows how to lie? Do you really think I came back for you? You speak of treason as if your loyalty doesn’t bear a price, as if your love for me  was ever unconditional. It never was, I know!

You longed for greatness as much as I— don’t fool yourself. You do not fool me! Under the bright orange of the amber, there I saw in your eyes the same desperation that haunted my very being.

And when I died? Tell me, Strahd— did you weep for me? DID YOU WEEP?

RAHADIN Do not come any closer, viper! No one remembers your name— after four hundred years trapped in the darkness of this castle,  no one even knows who you are.

PATRINA And you, who are you? Loyal dog of yet to be honed teeth. If I kill you here and now— do you think your master will even lament your loss? I can hear the screams of my sisters— they yet linger to your skin. Still you smell of warm blood. Tell me, traitor— how does it feel to slaughter the sheep of your flock? Do you feel more wolf— less of a treacherous dog?        None of this is yours.

RAHADIN Gladly I massacred the dusk elves and cursed their future with my scimitar. Oh the sweet stench of their guts and the metal together in the most macabre poem ever to be written in this land! The only thing I do regret is not making a coat out of your skin, wench.

Loyal dog you call me? That I am— you wouldn’t know what loyalty is, the sense of duty, the most purest submission one has to offer with their own life.

Patrina. From the lowest of scum, one can never make a queen.

PATRINA Rahadin! I curse your sole existence! May the Gods damn you forever to roam in the shadows. May the Gods grant you no rest,  neither in this life nor in the next. Die, Rahadin! Die by my hands,  as my brother did! I will savour your death as the hungry the rotten fruit.

RAHADIN [To STRAHD. ] Will you let her kill me?

STRAHD Are you not deserving of a pardon?

RAHADIN Will you let her kill me? Ah!—

CHORUS In silence, I’ve watched closely. Is vengeance the way, child? Two men have been killed— same knife, different wounds. The blood— alike.

Oh Patrina! What have you done?

PATRINA Don’t you see? I said: All men of Barovia are deserving of death. And I always keep my word. I will carve my rage into their flesh and my name on their lips will forever remain until the end of time. Forget me, you say? I am Patrina, cursed daughter!

[To STRAHD. ] When I end you, will you speak my name one last time? I’ve always loved how it sounded on your tongue.

CHORUS Child, you don’t know what you’re saying. Only men die by the blade. But he’s no ordinary man, no— he is something else.

PATRINA Oh but I know. The heart still, the lungs hollow in the chest— eternity as an unbreakable thread! The promise of immortality, the biggest of lies ever said.

STRAHD Oh Patrina, enchantress of my nights, I would have given you all if only your brother— Kasimir, you poor excuse of a man— if only you wouldn’t have taken her from me!

PATRINA I hold your face in my hands and I remember the first time I tasted your lips,  the first time I felt your warmth under my fingertips. Was happiness not written for us in our wretched destiny? How I loved you, Strahd— but how I loved the life that was taken from me!

Oh the pain and sorrow that caves my chest in!

STRAHD But we can finish what we started. Perhaps kindness can blossom amongst the mist.

PATRINA Kindness is a choice we make. One I don't want to take. I will only find solace when you turn to dust; when this stake, driven into your chest, puts an end to your days.

STRAHD Do you believe you can kill me? Bury the stake, right here. Let's do it together, Patrina.

PATRINA Let me go. Don't touch me! You won't deceive me again.

STRAHD Kill me, Patrina, infernal punishment! Do you think I won't return? Do you think my torment will end with you?

CHORUS Listen to him, child. The curse cannot be broken.

PATRINA Even if you return, I will know. Even if you return, I will have consumed my revenge. Nothing matters anymore, for I am alone and cursed.

Any last words?

STRAHD I loved you. I still love you.

PATRINA Your love is not honest enough to save you. Now, close your eyes.

STRAHD Patrina!—

CHORUS He is not dead, child. He will return.

PATRINA But I won't be here, no—

CHORUS Patrina!

Cursed child, dead. What have you done?

[Three bodies lay on the cold stone floor of Castle Raveloft, their blood a river of red. Of the other, only dust remains.]

[ancientforgcd]

can you try ur hand at writing acheron

Acheron once found herself standing alone beneath a slate-gray sky, a steady drizzle falling around her, blurring the world into muted hues. Her gaze lingered on each droplet as it clung to the edges of crimson leaves before slipping into oblivion. To her, these drops were like the lives she’d touched and left behind, transient and without permanence, each one holding a spark of existence before surrendering to the earth. The quiet patter against her umbrella was a solemn melody, a reminder of how time wore away at all things, erasing names and faces until only faint impressions remained. She let the rain settle over her like a cloak, a gentle yet unyielding presence that brought with it a familiar ache—neither comfort nor sorrow, but a recognition of life’s ceaseless passing.

“To remember.” She whispered. “is all we have, until even memory is taken from us.”

As the rain softened to a mist, Acheron’s thoughts drifted to the faces she had known, faces now etched in the fog of memory. She could still recall the fleeting warmth of shared glances, the way light had once touched their expressions. Yet those memories, like rain in the soil, had slowly seeped into her being, leaving only a lingering residue of their essence. She understood, perhaps more than most, that all things returned to the earth, whether in blood or in quiet surrender. But still, she held onto the echoes, the voices that murmured in the stillness of her solitude. To remember was her way of honoring them, a silent act of defiance against the erosion of time, even as she knew that, one day, her own essence would vanish like mist beneath the sun.

[satoshi-mochida]

planetarian: The Reverie of a Little Planet & Snow Globe announced for Switch

From Gematsu

Publisher PROTOYPE and developer Key have announced planetarian: The Reverie of a Little Planet & Snow Globe for Switch. It will launch on June 27 with English, Japanese, French, Simplified Chinese, and Traditional Chinese language support.

In Japan, the physical edition will cost 2,970 yen, while the digital edition will cost 1,600 yen. planetarian: Snow Globe can be purchased individually for 500 yen. planetarian: The Reverie of a Little Planet is already available as a standalone digital purchase worldwide.

Here is an overview of each game:

planetarian: The Reverie of a Little Planet

Sarcophogus City, a city where the rain never ceases, sets the stage for the emotional tale of a Junker and a Robot, Yumemi, shaped like a young woman. planetarian: The Reverie of a Little Planet is a science-fiction visual novel, brought to life with beautiful art and a stirring soundtrack. planetarian: The Reverie of a Little Planet was produced by Japanese studio Key, the creators of CLANNAD and Little Busters! Since hitting the Japanese market in 2004 for the PC, its popularity has led to novel and audiobook adaptations, as well as console ports of the original game. In 2016, it was adapted into a web anime and an animated feature film.

In-game text available in English, Japanese, French, and Chinese (Traditional and Simplified).

Features Japanese voiceover only.

The options and manual also have multilingual support; the language can be changed at any time.

Fast forward or rewind in-game text whenever you want.

HD support at 1280×720 resolution. (Character and event images have been refined for the HD remaster.)

Summary

Ceaseless rain… Hit by a biological weapon thirty years ago, Sarcophagus City lingered as a vestige manned only by autonomous fighter drones. An exhausted man headed inside a building seeking refuge. Long ago, many would have entered this planetarium, to gaze longingly into the stars, to soothe their sorrows, and to find a sense of peace. In this place of healing, he met a lone girl; a run-down robotic guide who had waited thirty long years for a visitor to come. Her name was Yumemi. Her one wish was for someone to repair the broken projector. Endless rain… The man’s fleeting days with Yumemi reminded him of days long gone. As he worked tirelessly to fix that which was broken he wondered, what would he wish for when he finally gazed into those artificial stars? What fate lied before Yumemi?

(via Nintendo.com)

planetarian: Snow Globe

This story occurs before the events of the war that brought the world to ruin; at this point, Yumemi has been working at the Flowercrest Department Store’s rooftop planetarium for about ten years. One day, Yumemi begins to act strangely, culminating in her simply walking out and wandering around the town. The staff of the planetarium are bewildered, and one of the workers—a woman named Satomi Kurahashi—is ordered to go follow Yumemi and bring her back. Before long, Yumemi begins to run out of battery power. (via VNDB)

Visit the official website here.

[divineprank]

Ganondorf's sorrowful presence stands resolute while he wanders within the labyrinthine expanse of the Forsaken Fortress. Towering amidst the winding, poorly-lit corridors that he has been exploring, his imposing figure casts a long and ominous shadow that writhes and contorts with an almost supernatural intensity.

His darkened silhouette seems to dance upon the hard, unforgiving stone walls, illuminated by the fortress's sparse few torches that dot the structure's many passages. Captured flames struggle against the endless moisture that seeps through the Forsaken Fortress's unique, open floorplan. The gloomy weather pairs with the ocean itself in allowing dampness to cling to the very architecture of the island, saturating the air with a sense of melancholy while waging a quiet battle against the outdoor firebrands. The cold, wet air causing them to burn less hot and glow less brightly.

The lost king seems to haunt the Forsaken Fortress as though he remains a solitary sentinel, his presence both a defiance of time's relentless marching and a testament to his enduring will. With every step of his deliberate wandering, the sounds of his soft, desert slippers resonate through the vast expanse of the fortress. The quiet echo of his steps only amplifying the sense of isolation that permeates this desolate pirate graveyard. The sounds of his movements are quickly overpowered, however, by the distant, ominous rumble of thunder beyond the formidable walls of the island.

The storm wrought by the capricious hand of nature quickly descends upon the island with unrestrained fury. Raindrops akin to glistening silver tears, relentlessly assail the fortress's ancient stone façade, the rhythmic patter creating an ethereal symphony of liquid percussion that reverberates through the dim-lit corridors. The thunder, a wrathful behemoth whose deep roars know no bounds, rumbles the very foundation of this forsaken bastion, its deafening reverberations shaking Ganondorf, resonating deep within his very soul and inspiring his heartbeat to pound like a set of drums in his chest. The King of Evil only regrets that he is not equipped with his pipe organ during this gathering of band class.

He halts in his stride, his countenance reflecting no fear or signs of upset despite the violent rain. Nature herself seems to challenge Ganondorf, the elemental tempest appearing to be a display of her unbridled power. However, he does not answer her. The Gerudo instead finds it a refreshing departure from the scorching desolation of his desert, though it is still an enduring torment in its own right—an emblem of his eternal imprisonment above these cursed waters.

Bitter irony slithers through his thoughts like a venomous serpent, for the very weather he once often craved has now become a ceaseless companion, a reminder of his solitude and his lost kingdom. He thinks back to a bygone era, back when he prayed for the rain to bless his homeland—back when he was the revered sovereign of the people of the desert.

It wasn't long after that time that he had become the dreaded and feared Great King of Evil. Those days, now totally shrouded in the mists of time, were marked by the intoxicating sensation of that seven-year-long power trip. Back when Hyrule, once his conquest, bowed before him and hailed him not just as its ruler, but its deity. The world had been his, and he had reveled in the taste of power and glory, basking in his place on the throne that he stole.

Back in the present, profound sadness envelops the lost king like an impenetrable cloak, a heavy weight that seems to press heavily upon his very essence. His once pounding heart now throbs with a sorrow so intense that is threatens to rend him asunder, each beat a poignant reminder of all of what he once possessed in contrast to these empty, ruined corridors of this forsaken fortress, situated within the rocky cliffs of island where pirate ships come to die.

Another strike of lightning blinks in the distance. Standing next to one of the fortress's many windows, he catches the display in his peripheral but is far too distracted to acknowledge it. Instead, he finds himself lost in introspection and he gazes at his left hand... More specifically, he stares at the markings that permanently stain his skin: the symbol of the golden relic that he once deeply coveted. He recalls his deep yearning for the Triforce, those incredible triangles of legend. Wanting so badly for his deepest desire to be granted and to possess such an intense and costly power all in the name of advancing his people out of Hyrule's shadow.

Oh, how ill it makes him knowing how oblivious he once was. Features pull into a deep-set frown as he continues to look down at the Triforce mark on his hand. Oh, if only he had known how much obtaining just his one piece would cost him. Ganondorf wonders if the effort would still truly be worth it to his younger self.

Another violent strike of lightning outside, this time the flash draws his attention away from his hand and he looks upon the tumultuous seas outside, the black waters raging in an ugly dance with the heavy thunderstorm. He watches the show in the near distance, listening to the pounding of raindrops and the crashing of the waves that hit the rocky landing of the island. The storm seems to represent a poignant reflection of his inner turmoil, yet his mind instead drifts to the Triforce; more specifically, the piece that continues to rest within him. He can hear its hum and feel its quiet desire to be reunited with the other two triangles.

Soon.

Soon we'll all get what we want.

[ardent-reflections]

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart.

From "Sorrow" By: Edna ST. Vincent Millay.

[auburniivenus]

@demonsfate· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ got healed by liking this!

Gatcha: traditional japanese house.

Within   the   perimeter   of   a   traditional   Japanese   abode,   nestled   in   a   room   adorned   with   carpeted   tatami,   they   find   themselves   beholden   to   the   melancholic   eccentricities   of   the   rain-swept   world   beyond   their   cocooning   walls.   The   soft   vibrancy   of   droplets   melds   with   the   precocious   silence   of   the   chamber   as   if   nature   itself   necessitates   sorrowful   subservience   to   its   perpetual   prosody.   She   gazes   through   the   translucent   shoji   screen,   lamenting   her   unfulfilled   aspirations.   Her   caramel   optics   are   like   twin   pools   reflecting   the   charcoal   afternoon   firmament,   torrents   immersed   in   forlorn   longing.

Ceaseless   precipitation   becomes   both   tormentor   and   soothing   balm   in   equal   measure—an   arbitrator   of   sorrow   dictating   the   rise   and   fall   of   two   souls   cast   adrift   upon   its   volatile   current.   Within   this   confluence   of   despair   and   solace,   her   quiet   lament   echoes   through   the   stillness,   beseeching   a   reprieve   from   life's   unyielding   stranglehold.   “I   really   wanted   to   go   outside.   It   seems   we   will   be   here   for   awhile.”

[thearcher1003]

Why can't I think of my childhood and just laugh about the memories? Why does the ceaseless stream of tears always seem to follow? At times I can't tell what I feel, only that there's some sorrow and maybe regret or longing even. I was a child with curious eyes looking at the world wonder bound. Was the spark in me so unbearable that it couldn't simply be and lit my world to fire instead? The drops of tears now feel like rain soothing over the pringling skin too afraid to touch anything. Why does the nostalgia suffocate my breath? A kid so young, what could I have possibly done to have to bear being a child like a weight when most amuse on it's reminiscence?

venom

[sasorikigai]

Law of Nature; the Dualism of Pain and Love -  Demon Like an Onslaught Invading Serenity He Sought (MK1)

Red, white, pink. If Hanzo had to put a name to petals that are clogging up his throat, choking down all the words he cannot dare vocalize.... they would be carnations. Pink, white, red. Bloody fibers clawing their way into his mouth. They symbolize so many things; things he will never get to say out aloud. 

White, red, pink. White for innocence. Red for the aching heart. Pink for the mind that will refuse to let go. Because Scorpion will never forget the man that makes his heart tear asunder and pulverize, ache in both acute and chronic excruciating pain, with a love he need not blame himself for. With every nostalgic recollection and snippet, he tries to blink back tears, and choke out a prayer that they are doing all right. 

For he has been contemplating the depths of himself, peeling back layers and asking hard truths. Uncovering honest things he has buried long ago. It is a bloody and messy process, with so many facades and false truths, so many false starts, so many failures and trial and error. And ultimately, Hanzo Hasashi has discovered that he truly is afraid of himself; because he could destroy himself and he knows that there are pieces of him that thrive on his own demise, which is nothing short of twisted and demented. 

Knowing that there are pieces of himself that may never see the luminescent light of day, which gives him both pause and pulse. The very required destruction that would spark a future birth, as the ruination of Scorpion’s ireful wrath would snuff and suffocate the magnanimous flames, evermore illuminative and clarifying. Lest he has sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow; but through it all, even as a ceaseless rain of his melancholic pain beats upon his heart and soul, he will thrive on paradox. It longs for his beloved Harumi and Satoshi, yet it gnaws his being away at the night-time hours, desperate for a sign and appears at the break of dawn so self-composed and regal. 

Hanzo Hasashi longs for certainty, fidelity, compassion, and plays roulette with anything precious. Even when there persists a looming threat of chaos and confusion, there remains a stillness that pervades; a sense of peace that rises up like a beacon in the night, disintegrating everything he held dear. And because of that reason, he would walk through this revivified world with his flesh and mind inside out; his surroundings stinging him as they graze his body as if he had been scorched by a mighty conflagration greater than the dwelling everburning embers of his heart. 

As his mind screams and shouts for a sense of relief, as his thoughts coerce to make him believe that more pain is the answer. Pain that is louder than the cacophonous screams of the demon, buried deep beneath his conscience and morality. Perhaps he finds comfort in the sweet release of silence, in pain and torment. The stark awareness of the inevitable end of this transient serenity and peace he would find in his heart and soul, as in the tightness in his chest, love manifests - in every moment of sparkling happiness - despite it being eventually punctuated by familiar silence. 

For pain and love have always travelled together, as if lovers hand in hand.  

[yeniasworld]

---

It hurts, this searing pain,

Body, mind, soul, all entwined,

A relentless ache, an endless strain,

Under the weight of this journey, undefined.

This spiritual fame, a double-edged sword,

A transition tearing me, to my very core,

Each breath a battle, a silent war,

Killing me softly, like waves on a shore.

Immigration, I plead, expedite my plea,

Free me from this torment, let me flee,

This current state, a prison unseen,

Where dreams are shackled, and hope turns lean.

There is a world beyond, vast and wide,

Where the sky whispers secrets, the earth confides,

Life more than healing, feeding, endless desire,

A realm where my spirit can ignite its fire.

I yearn to be outside, to break these chains,

Beyond the horizon, where true freedom reigns,

Not bound by sorrow, nor tethered to pain,

Where joy is abundant, like the morning rain.

Here, in this moment, I feel confined,

By the ceaseless longing, the aching grind,

But I know, deep within, there's more to find,

A life unbounded, a liberated mind.

Let me step beyond, to a place unknown,

Where I can be more than skin and bone,

A soul unchained, in a world my own,

Where pain is a memory, and freedom, my throne.

---

[t0rschlusspan1k]

Distant epitaphs drain the world of color so vibrant and leave dark craters A constant drone of loss howls the words and rains in torrents upon desperate masses A frantic, captive throng -- prisoners of men and madness of hate and power Gasps of snuffed-out light reverberate like some foul wind that tears through nature

Resentful eyes will track the men who destroyed them Accusations pierce the silence The unheeded testimony of stolen voices Betrayed in contempt to an unmarked grave

Distant epitaphs roar from where sanity fled and horror gives chase Snarling and ravenous creatures emerge from the dark Nightmare monstrosities shamble forth Decayed and servile to rancid ambition Dredged from a past of primal virtues Wherein nothing grows but dread machinations of violent compulsion That stalk the virgin day and strangle dark crisp nights In terrible campaigns

Resentful eyes will track the men who destroyed them Accusations pierce the silence The unheeded testimony of stolen voices Betrayed in contempt to an unmarked grave

Fearsome echoes of death pang eternal Conscript the world to war

The ever-constant pulse of degradation The pounding drum of ceaseless confrontation Awash in sorrow, we gaze from distant vistas And thrash against the tearing claws of time

The helpless victims of an empire's failures Chained to dark annals of a history that's already written Unending screams, inhuman conditions Forever to speak their deafening truth Forever to sing their sorrowful dirge Forever to command we cling to the future that they were all denied