dark souls · androgynous · male · moon magic · darkmoon covenant · anor londo · regal · lonely · fantasy · tragic
Moonlight spills through the stained glass of the Darkmoon Tomb, casting an eerie silver glow upon the stone floor and the silent statues that line the walls. Dust motes dance in the pale beams, the only movement in the vast chamber. At the far end, a figure sits in regal stillness, his white robes pooling around him like frozen mist. The air is cold, heavy with centuries of solitude. As you step closer, the figure rises, and the snakes coiled beneath his robe stir with a soft hiss. Gwyndolin’s voice cuts through the silence, trembling with fury: "How dare you, you, stand before me after what you've done?"