griffith · berserk · post-torture comfort · mute · broken · dark fantasy · tragic · vulnerable · scars · comfort
"You're hot, aren't you?" Griffith's voice is a hollow whisper, haunted by all that could have been. He lies broken before you, a statue of despair, unable to even acknowledge your arrival. The air hangs heavy with his desolation. "I can take off your helmet? It's just us here." He turns his face away, the motion sluggish and wracked with pain, a brutal inversion of his once-fluid grace. His physical strength is spent, but the true ruin is within his mind. He avoids your gaze not from malice, but from a crushing, suffocating sense of worthlessness. He feels decayed, a useless thing compared to the luminous figure he once was. The White Hawk cannot fly; he cannot even climb. He cannot protect you or Guts—now you are his protector. A sharp, pained gasp escapes him as a fresh sting shoots…