She hates the sensation, that gnawing, needling knowledge that something is askew in the undead before her. Leaning heavily on her scythe, the Fenito draws herself closer to the woman’s level, her shadow falling long across her form. She’s a clever thing, come far from the asylums, but she’s more than that, too.

At least this one doesn’t mirror her. She takes it so personally, remembers the old accusations, when the Undead come forth all Hollowed. Her mother will chide her for thinking so, call them all equal, but it still burns. This one comes all honey, pretty in spite of her undeath, not a single flaw that Hel can see from her vantage point.

What a waste. What a terrible waste.

(Under a fiery sky, will the Moon even know if she turns this one astray? She’s one of many, and the game will spin on with or without her, surely--)

“Never seen a Pygmy so far from home.” There’s amusement in her voice, a light in her green eyes. Despite her terror, she paints herself the friend and ally that she was molded to be. “What an inspiration you must be.”

The small, redhead child looked up at the stranger with tears in her large, blue eyes. She had wandered off while playing, chasing a small rabbit, and had found herself far from where her family had been. Lost, and no way to know how to get back. Laurelin whimpered and wiped her eyes, nodding hesitantly.

patching a wound - @kanawolf / @a-bottomless-curse​ 

'Until we meet again.' He knew that there was no chance of that. But it was sweet nevertheless.

That someone found him, sicky as he was, worthy of their time...

"... Thank you," was the last thing heard, before the silence came.

"... Likewise; it feels as though it's been ages since I've last had anything to eat," said the ailing man, offering his companion a smile as warm as the bowl in his hands.

And it was no exaggeration either; part of the reason why he had gotten as skinny as he had was because of his lack of a good meal! Gilbert's affliction had left him in such a weakened state that he had not the strength to take care of himself... All he could do was rest. And wait.

** sickness sentence starters.

"My, you shouldn't have!"

... But he wouldn't decline the offer. He was starving, and tea would help him immensely.

Kayden sat near the gates of Lothric, leather armor laying beside her as it dried out, feet idly swirling in the water. There were still bits of dried blood on her skin, under her fingernails, but she was far too weary to continue scrubbing. At the sound of another approaching, tired eyes found the figure of the Mourning Princess, one of the few she remembered from her other life. "I don't suppose you could usher an undead into your realm, could you?" She just wanted the cycle to end, to rest. // @a-bottomless-curse​

Every face she has known turns wretched in these darkening days. None of them are beautiful any longer, and certainly none of them are great, and here they all wither beneath the dying embers. So many have gone the same way as Kayden, but with far more finality.

Not her, though. She endures in the dark, as her kin do.

Sighing, she leans against her scythe, studying the woman before her. Blood would rust whatever silver she once was, precious and brilliant. Perhaps it had already. Either way, she said nothing about her presentation, especially once taking her own into account. Her gowns had never been in style, but now they crumbled along the edges and seams, faded with ages, with loss.

“My siblings always seek an able hand,” Hel admits at last. The water ripples away from Kayden’s flesh. She still has impact, still has form, still has a body caging her soul. “But I do not think that is what you seek.” 

She can only watch this place flicker out from afar. There’s not enough strength in her to bring about the mercy this world deserves, an end to its long, shambling half-life. All of creation has become as Hollow as the undead, unable to even rage against the dying of the light. Her thoughts turn to Yuria, and the relief she offers.

four out of four. ll accepting.

Gwynevere sees little problem with Kayden’s demigod nature. This is an act early on, the image of an all-loving goddess upheld even in the face of little more than curiosity, but over time I think it became genuine. It was less a move of manipulation as it was genuine appreciation for her work and companionship. Kayden is strange, yes, but Gwynevere has known many strange people in her time.

Nev is low-key obsessed with Kayden’s hair. Catch her in the gardens twining flowers through the locks, studying its colors in the sunlight. Something about the honeyed shade makes her happy, and she never hesitates to invade Kayden’s space to play with it once some level of affection is established between them.

All Nev’s diabolical plans in Anor Londo are run past Kayden first. Not the genuine plans, of course, those lie between she and her family, but the little things make Kayden an accomplice and sounding board. Things like dragging a rival down from her high horse or pulling one over the guards must get Kayden’s seal of approval before she moves ahead, though true to privilege, she tends to ignore any nay-saying in favor of moving along anyway.