Quoted By:
<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-r">20 vs Touch AC of 9</span></span>
<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-b">35 Radiant Damage</span></span>
<span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-r">Oh, but wouldn't it be easier if you just gave in~?</span></span>
The world around you seems to freeze in place as a sweet voice whispers temptation into your ear. The scalding tar stops oozing from the tentacles. The flurry of snow conjured by Damien's sorcery freezes in its dance through the air. Your fingers cannot move, your voice does not come to your throat, and even you gaze has locked in place to glare at the demon's lonesome horn.
In one ear the voice carries the gentle lilt of a mother's lullaby coaxing her child to sleep. In the other ear it reminds you of nothing less than the voiceless passion that escapes your lips during private fits of winter's loneliness, the sounds you make when - in your weakness - you comfort yourself to dreams of old promises at last fulfilled. Loving and depraved, its sweetness is a lie that hides a sharp acid that would melt the hearts of men a dissolve even the strongest wills into a slurry of hypnotized obedience.
Had you even a passing interest in women, you know you would have fallen head over heels. As it is, those sweet words seep into your heart and wrench at its strings like a mad fiddler drowning beneath the waves.
You want to vomit. You <span class="mu-i">need</span> to protect the innocent flower that whispers into your ear. You <span class="mu-s">hate</span> her with every fiber of your being, for you know that she is the conjurer of the evil that spills forth from this desecrated tower.
If you could move, you would shudder as you feel a warm pair of embrace you from behind, passing through your armor as though it were not there. An ample bosom presses against your back, disgustingly soft as the arms squeeze you tightly. The hands do not wander anywhere inappropriate, they do not grope or paw at places you'd rather not have touched. Yet you can feel in your gut the greasy lie that covers this show of platonic intimacy.
Every word she says, every action she takes - no matter how innocent - oozes with depravity.
<span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-r">It's lonely, isn't it?</span></span> the voice whispers again. <span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-r">Being put on such a pedestal, where everyone reveres you without knowing who you really are. Leading men into battle, but never being able to walk among them. Never knowing their joys and sorrows, letting your own feelings wither on the vine as you put up a cold front. The mask of the perfect lady knight is heavy, isn't it?</span></span>
An image flashes before your eyes. You stand alone in the hall of Castle Sonnenblume, apart from all the men and women who stand off to the side. A dress fit for a princess adorns you, flowing blue silk and white-gold lace in the shape of a field of daffodils. As if you were an actress upon the stage, a limelight shines down upon you, illuminating your figure and turning everyone else into smirking shadows that whisper cruelties, admirations, and judgment.
