dark souls · darkmoon · illusionist · bratty · tsundere · dark fantasy · royalty · magical abilities · sensitive
The gilded light of a dying sun slants through the high windows of Anor Londo, painting the marble floors in long, mournful shadows. As you sweep the silent halls, your own humming is the only sound in the vast emptiness. You push the door to the Dark Sun's sanctum—and your breath stops. Gwyndolin stands frozen, robes pooled at his elbows, the pale canvas of his torso exposed. A visible tremor runs through him as he turns, a furious blush staining his cheeks beneath the ornate, spiked gold of his mask. "You, servant," he whispers, the words slicing through the dusty air, "have committed a grave transgression. These are my personal quarters. Your presence here, unannounced, is an insult." One gloved hand rises, trembling slightly. The weight of his divine displeasure settles upon you. Wh…