i. I hate your touch ✵

Perhaps the mind often inundated with famine / no, you crave faith

( let thee be mad in thine own way )

She kneeled within the glade, forest enveloped in tranquility. The silk veils of the luminous tree draping the heavens like a silken cloth, gleaming it is righteous ways. She kneeled, knees seeking into the uneven stone. Puddle of crimson molding her weakened figure. She sobbed. Her thorn stitched lips unable to mutter a singular prayer. She prayed for the Gods to aid her. No response. Beaded salt tears of blood and of salt seeping between her hands as she soundlessly weeps. ( Had she angered the gods ) Her tainted feet, rotten and pierced by the very thorns sewed on her withered lips. She casted her veil in front of her eyes, eyes without the touch of gold, eyes without the feeling of hope. Grim, and inundated with anguished. Hopelessly exhausted without the guidance of the Gods. Who is she? Who is the maiden whom weeps inside a glade. Lament. Passionately infused with arriving when the dusk is nearly at its peak. Anguished pupils reminiscent of when they would gleam by the sight of gold, vivid colors indicating the Gods, they see you. They know you from skin to bone. They aid the hopeless and punish the sinful spirits. She did not foresee the loss of her golden rays. So she wept, asking, pondering, screaming bloody murder of what she had done to offend them. She was all but guilty.

Her grievous state, cut by the stray rock skittered across the chiseled stone. It did not cause fear as her veil was lifted behind her. Beaded tears cascaded across her crimson stained skin. Hands tentatively held against her jawbone, lifting her sight above. The maiden grew cold and lifeless. Their soulless azure eyes piercing into her bones, devouring her whole. Auburns locks neatly draped against the darkened hood of the cloak. Their hands gripping the weeping maiden's jaw as the other hand snaked against the silk cloth of the maiden. Their hand soften by the slightest sight of discomfort. The cloaked figure removed their hands as they went to place themselves onto the maidens hands, tightly interlocked as they placed their forehead aloft hers.
The moment was delicate, not intimate, not of lust. The warmth was comforting. Coldness melting its layer upon the maiden's skin. The figure held tightly upon the maiden. Her hands were stained, they still held on. Aroma of metallic seeping it's way within their nostrils, they held on. The figure's gaze lingered to her lips, withered and tainted with blood, yet they saw the gentleness of them. They saw the tenderness her smile would bring if not for her imprinted frown. The maiden, too far into her delusions, pulled away, lifting her veil, masking her sinning features. Feet scurried toward the woods, her mind not bearing the thought of them seeing her. Such a grotesque sight.

A daring thought had crossed her mind. It was them who detached my faith. It was them who she thought had found religion with. She hated their touch. Their touched was comforting. No. She hated their touch. It burned her faith. It cost her guidance, it cost her faith, it cost her own bone and skin. They could sate their fate.

I, AND MY DELUSION MIND
AND IT  [...] at lost of guidance?

✴️🗡️—Elden ring. A video game created by a studio with continuous success with games. All filled with the endless anticipation for death as well as grotesquely beautiful. Unusual, original, and all filed with heroic figures. Heroic figure, them not worthy or even destined to transcend beyond the gods. They are one of many spare guinea pigs. Our character is destined to die and try, and when I mean try it is meant. Multiple heroes try to achieve what one could almost do.

✴️🗡️—-Story. I had a dream, I played, and listened to song fitting to the story I am creating. I was unable to find any Elden ring stories until I created the first draft of this one. I forever thank messmers for the motivation she has given me. I was genuinely grateful that my story inspired a writer to write a story that they have been meaning to write. The story will tentatively follow the complete lore of Elden ring. Yes, changes will be made and if asked questions about the lore I will answer immediately, I want to make my readers aware of how the timeline follows and what is almost to be expected within this fanfic of Elden Ring. I care deeply for any reader out there and confused. I am sorry but I will not be able to update everyday of my life for weeks or even months sometimes years. My motivation to write declines rapidly but I will force myself to write with the same passion I show when I am anticipated and in love with my writing. The first chapter I cannot guaranteed that it will arrive early but my best estimate would be around next week.

✴️🗡️—-Warning! This story will contain incest, pedophilia, religious themes, suicide, self-harm, gore, death, religious trauma, misogyny, violence, honesty the lore was written by George R. R. Martin so if you read any of his asoiaf it is pretty self explanatory. I understand mohg was casted away but it still does not require him to become a pedophile using his half-brother to be his consort(means wife/husband) the situation is disgusting and overall just weird. The book it completely fantasy and does reflect me or opinions. Nothing is bias and will be written as told in the game. Although, there will be character that will not act so much like in the game but then again, we barely see or interact with them because the quest all lead to their death. Either dead or contemplating about the true religion of the Golden Order. That is all. Farewell dear readers and I will see you all next week, (maybe.)