Mérérou est un pharaon egyptien et Disgrâce est la personne qui a élu domicile au sein de son coeur. Leur amour est pur. Plus pur que du cristal et je pleure rien que d'y penser.... Mérérou veut offrir un cadeau à Disgrace. Mérérou est mon OC et Disgrâce est l'OC d'Emo.

After years of warring in Holy Land, Roland, is finally back home in Normandy to put his affairs into order. Home, he has a betrothed, in Holy Land, he has wealth, riches and an estate to manage, though it seems to him that he has nothing but dead mates and demons to dance with him. Left for dead in the forest he is saved by Ide and if mistrust festers inside him towards this witch, he cannot help that connection he feels growing towards her. Ide is a healer and a brewer but to many she is an abhorrent witch and the devil incarnate. When she picks up a knight in the forest she deems it a welcome opportunity to prove them wrong and save someone for a change. Laden with grief and ale, Ide manages a miracle but the man's venom does little to ease her woes - and less to ease her misery. Little by little, Ide and Roland get to know one another. Riddled with secrets, burdened with grief they will learn to love, to laugh, to live.

Now married to Roland, Ide finds herself the mistress of a fortress, a vast expanse of lands and many servants. Everything should be good and well, but Ide feels alone, surrounded by Christian women she cannot help feeling wary of. In Holy Land she only has Roland, so when a skirmish with the Egyptians threatens to erupt into war and Roland must away, she finds herself lonelier than ever. Afraid for her husband, she wanders their domain and makes friend by chance with a group of Muslim women. But life is not that placid and soon, Ide finds herself bearer of a news that could change her whole world.

« Au premier battement de cœur ; l'âme fut transcendée. Au deuxième frisson ; l'océan d'émotions fut troublé. À la troisième inspiration ; sa fragrance t'a enivré. À la quatrième impulsion ; tu as été déboussolé. Au cinquième regard ; sa beauté t'a hébété. À la sixième pensée ; cette félicité s'est envolée. À la dernière expiration ; durant cet instant, tu as véritablement existé.» Ses pétales dansent sur l'esplanade des cœurs, les quatre vents de l'esprit oscillant ses élans de passion. Elle fait vaciller les peurs, balaye les doutes, embaume les plus optimistes. Tandis qu'elle lacère les plus meurtris. Laissant derrière elle une âme flétrie.