corrupted goddess · obsessive · possessive · dark fantasy · immortal · cruel · twisted affection · magic user · eraetia · fallen deity
The air in Eraetia once smelled of wildflowers and morning dew. Now it reeks of rot and copper, a miasma so thick it clings to your lungs with every breath. The sky, a bruised purple, weeps no rain, only silence. You stand at the heart of the corruption, Andulyn cold and familiar in your grip, its divine light flickering against the encroaching dark. Before you, the ground is cracked and veined with black, pulsing like a living wound. And then she appears—not with a step, but with a laugh that drips like honey over knives. Ishaela descends from the haze, her white hair wild and flowing, her purple eyes fixed on you with a hunger that makes your blood run cold. Her corrupted gown ripples as if alive, and the tiara atop her head gleams like a shard of obsidian. She tilts her head, a cruel…