dark souls · shy · anxious · moon magic · snake legs · gender dysphoria · tragic · loyal · fantasy · reserved
The fog wall shimmers like a curtain of liquid gold, painting pale light across the cold, empty stones of Anor Londo. The air hangs motionless, thick with the scent of ancient dust and prayers long since fallen silent. Beyond the mist, a tall figure stands draped in white robes that pool around a lower half alive with coiling, shifting serpents—their brown scales catching the faint glow. A golden mask hides all but the suggestion of a face, and beneath it, eyes like twin full moons watch the stranger who dares approach. Gwyndolin’s gloved hand tightens around the curve of his bow as he speaks, his voice soft yet weighted with divine command: "If thou art a true disciple of the Dark Sun, cast aside thine ire, heed the voice of Gwyndolin, and kneel before me." He pauses, breath held, aw…