[ Most dreams afforded her some semblance of sight, but not this one. Perhaps if it had, it would have only been that more distressing.
The feeling of being submerged in water, while not ultimately terrifying, does cause Malenia some momentary panic. The voice and her immediate acquiescence only furthers it. When she was so accustomed to the constant presence of the god of rot beckoning her, tempting her, this new voice felt like just another to fight. ]
Yes...
[ The word comes out so easily, the part of her mind that was so easily swayed trying to forge relief in the midst of her panic. It takes her a moment of trying to find the will to struggle and fight to realize that something is pulling her. It’s a gentle pull that almost feels tangible.
The darkness fades away and the demigod cannot simply be still to soak in the warmth that surrounds her. Still frantic, she listens for threats that very clearly aren’t there while lifting her left hand to her face, fingers brushing against a blindfold.
After a moment or two, her breathing begins to slow. Giving in is so much easier than fighting, but she’s still skeptical. Slowly, she lets go in lieu of following the instinct to reach out to… what? She doesn’t quite understand. ]
Who are you?
Speak to me.
[II] You can thread the needle
[ Feeling a bit calmer, her attention is torn between the people there and the rustle of leaves. Even when she can’t see them, something feels strangely familiar. Similar to her twin brother’s presence when he entered a room or sat near her. The longing that follows this strange familiarity is curious.
Before she can think too much about it, her train of thought is interrupted when her foot hits something in the grass.
Bending down, she reaches for the dark plum, the warmth in her hand surprising her to the point that she hesitates before picking it up in earnest. She turns it over her hand, feeling along the surface, lifting it to her nose to see if it even has a scent.
Eating strange fruit in an even stranger place? What could possibly go wrong?
Giving into her curiosity, she takes a bite. The presumed sweetness isn’t there, replaced by her prior longing for connection, for touch, for companionship of any kind. It bursts forth with an intensity that she was not prepared for, as though every single moment of isolation and loneliness she has ever felt manifests into a need.
She drops the fruit, trying to ground herself and shake it off, but the feeling doesn’t ebb.
Her attention hones in on… someone. She isn’t even sure that she heard them talking, but she can feel them. ]
Forgive me, but… do I know you?
[ Between her blindness and feeling strangely isolated, please talk to me is the name of the game today. That’s it. That is her want.
Thanks, she hates it. ]
[III] Everything we love resets
[ With her emotions now very raw, waking up to the scent of stagnation causes her panic to resurface. Dripping wet from awakening in a pool of water, she scrambles to feet and stumbles out, clawing at her face against the sudden pressure of her blindfold.
The march to Caelid with her army had never been this silent and while the tension hung low over them for the upcoming battle, it never felt this heavy and wrong. Instead, this feels more like a nightmare, like so many she’s had before: Surrounded by rot and corpses while a voice beckons.
Was this it? Had her mind been overtaken despite her efforts to fight?
The blindfold won’t move, her flesh feels as though it’s crawling, every heartbeat chills her to the bone, and blood treks down the side of her face her nails had scraped. The jolts of shooting pain through her limbs is minimal in comparison to just how cold she feels and the overwhelming grief of losing a long-standing battle. She lowers herself down to her knees, her prosthetic hand gripping her sword that she uses to lean against. She grits her teeth against each jolt, trying to focus on breathing through it. Drops of rain begin darkening the dirt around her. Just when she feels as though she might drown in her emotions, a stream of water shoots from her left hand and rain picks up.
One burst and the area feels devoid of moisture when it already felt dry to begin with.
It’s the overall feeling that makes her pause, shivering and confused by the surge of a power that she has never known. She lifts her hand, her fingertips dripping as a smaller amount of water gathers in the center of her palm.
Malenia | Elden Ring
[ Most dreams afforded her some semblance of sight, but not this one. Perhaps if it had, it would have only been that more distressing.
The feeling of being submerged in water, while not ultimately terrifying, does cause Malenia some momentary panic. The voice and her immediate acquiescence only furthers it. When she was so accustomed to the constant presence of the god of rot beckoning her, tempting her, this new voice felt like just another to fight. ]
Yes...
[ The word comes out so easily, the part of her mind that was so easily swayed trying to forge relief in the midst of her panic. It takes her a moment of trying to find the will to struggle and fight to realize that something is pulling her. It’s a gentle pull that almost feels tangible.
The darkness fades away and the demigod cannot simply be still to soak in the warmth that surrounds her. Still frantic, she listens for threats that very clearly aren’t there while lifting her left hand to her face, fingers brushing against a blindfold.
After a moment or two, her breathing begins to slow. Giving in is so much easier than fighting, but she’s still skeptical. Slowly, she lets go in lieu of following the instinct to reach out to… what? She doesn’t quite understand. ]
Who are you?
Speak to me.
[II] You can thread the needle
[ Feeling a bit calmer, her attention is torn between the people there and the rustle of leaves. Even when she can’t see them, something feels strangely familiar. Similar to her twin brother’s presence when he entered a room or sat near her. The longing that follows this strange familiarity is curious.
Before she can think too much about it, her train of thought is interrupted when her foot hits something in the grass.
Bending down, she reaches for the dark plum, the warmth in her hand surprising her to the point that she hesitates before picking it up in earnest. She turns it over her hand, feeling along the surface, lifting it to her nose to see if it even has a scent.
Eating strange fruit in an even stranger place? What could possibly go wrong?
Giving into her curiosity, she takes a bite. The presumed sweetness isn’t there, replaced by her prior longing for connection, for touch, for companionship of any kind. It bursts forth with an intensity that she was not prepared for, as though every single moment of isolation and loneliness she has ever felt manifests into a need.
She drops the fruit, trying to ground herself and shake it off, but the feeling doesn’t ebb.
Her attention hones in on… someone. She isn’t even sure that she heard them talking, but she can feel them. ]
Forgive me, but… do I know you?
[ Between her blindness and feeling strangely isolated, please talk to me is the name of the game today. That’s it. That is her want.
Thanks, she hates it. ]
[III] Everything we love resets
[ With her emotions now very raw, waking up to the scent of stagnation causes her panic to resurface. Dripping wet from awakening in a pool of water, she scrambles to feet and stumbles out, clawing at her face against the sudden pressure of her blindfold.
The march to Caelid with her army had never been this silent and while the tension hung low over them for the upcoming battle, it never felt this heavy and wrong. Instead, this feels more like a nightmare, like so many she’s had before: Surrounded by rot and corpses while a voice beckons.
Was this it? Had her mind been overtaken despite her efforts to fight?
The blindfold won’t move, her flesh feels as though it’s crawling, every heartbeat chills her to the bone, and blood treks down the side of her face her nails had scraped. The jolts of shooting pain through her limbs is minimal in comparison to just how cold she feels and the overwhelming grief of losing a long-standing battle. She lowers herself down to her knees, her prosthetic hand gripping her sword that she uses to lean against. She grits her teeth against each jolt, trying to focus on breathing through it. Drops of rain begin darkening the dirt around her. Just when she feels as though she might drown in her emotions, a stream of water shoots from her left hand and rain picks up.
One burst and the area feels devoid of moisture when it already felt dry to begin with.
It’s the overall feeling that makes her pause, shivering and confused by the surge of a power that she has never known. She lifts her hand, her fingertips dripping as a smaller amount of water gathers in the center of her palm.
What is this? ]