#verethinks

[vermilionsun]

I just think Mhin'd be pretty vulnerable in general when it comes to spicy time—but having wings?

That's a WHOLE 'nother level of intimate and vulnerable

Like, maybe they're not even that big—small enough they could hide them with their cape, somewhere between a crow-dark (sleek and maybe a little ominous) and dove-grey (soft, delicate, and "pure") colour, maybe somewhat squashed or healed weirdly in some places because they'd broken them in the past

And for the sake of this au let's say their shirts are open in the back because otherwise their wings fold weirdly and it'd kinda hurt/be annoying. Maybe they always keep it on.

Maybe the MC would've seen the glint of feathers before, like quick flashes of dark sliver.

Now, what if Mhin straddled them; knees on either side of their hips, breath just a little too uneven, eyes darting everywhere except their face. What if their fingers hooked under the collar of the cape, and the MC tried to tell them they didn't need to, but words die on their tongue.

What if Mhin slides the fabric down slowly, like they're peeling off a layer of skin. It'd fall with a soft rustle. And then, the wings unfold... but not gracefully. Not at all.

They'd unfurl—hesitant and cramped. One of the feathers near the base is bent the wrong way, another quivers where it used to be clean-cut.

Made for hiding, not flying.

"Don’t look at them," they murmur, voice hoarse. "They're just… there."

The MC sits up a little, slow enough not to startle them, letting their hand hover near the curve of their back, not touching yet.

"Can I?"

Mhin hesitates. Then, they give the smallest nod.

When the MC's fingers brush along the ridge where feathers meet skin, they shudder—not from pain.

Their wings twitch once; reflexive, embarrassed

"They've broken before," they whisper, barely audible. "Got in the way. Never healed right."

The MC trails their hand down one battered edge. "Still part of you" they murmur against Mhin's neck.

Mhin's breath catches before they relax in their hold, hair brushing against their cheek. Their wings curl inward—instinctively shielding both of them away from the rest of the world.

[vermilionsun]

Night(mare)

— Vere

The first time he gained awareness in the cell, he couldn’t move. It was completely dark, and he lay shivering—naked in the newfound shackles choking him. He barely could open his eyes to watch his breath take shape from the cold temperature that matched the one in his… Heart? Existence debatable.

He couldn’t hear anything for minutes—hours—perhaps days. There was no taste but the salt of sweat and the occasional sting of tears shed more from disorientation than pain, unable to distinguish any of the moving shadows. His vision faltered—flickering and failing into something even more pitiful and rather pathetic than the human one. He didn’t smell much either—nose stuffy from both the air and his own weakness.

Maybe the cold—the same cold he loathed—was the only thing keeping him alive. It clung to him like a second skin, seeping into his bones, piercing through his ribs and spine. He didn’t dare move. And even if he tried, he’d be met with more cold.

The memories returned like the frost: sharp, but unfocused. There was… Snow. Definitely snow. And the researchers around camp. And the fire—

A door opened somewhere, and harsh golden light spilled in. His ears and tail twitched involuntarily as he squinted his eyes open.

He stood right there, over him. Pristine white coat gleamed, as if mocking his filth. But his eyes… They stayed cold. As cold as this room. As cold as him.

He knelt. His long fingers pressed to the other’s burning forehead, clinical and indifferent, as if he were nothing but another failed experiment. He was checking for the fever—he knew he had one. Losing divinity was never meant to be kind to the body.

After all, gods deserved to die forgotten.

He straightened, called out a confirmation to someone beyond his field of view. His figure blocked everything else—bastard wouldn’t even let him see where he was.

He didn’t look back. Not once.

The door shut behind him, and the light died with it. After everything, he couldn’t even meet his eyes. Was there shame carved into his face he didn’t want him to see? Or had he erased it long ago?

He let his head fall back against the stone floor.

“Damn you, Kuras.”

[vermilionsun]

Ｗａｉｔ Ｆｏｒ Ｍｅ

Leander’s magic licks the walls of the crypts, dripping light across muddy water and stone. Waste splashes at his boots, Adders snapping at his back, but he doesn’t slow.

The tower.

Ais claws forward, Ocudeus bangs its head against the inside of Ais’s skull like a hammer; it shrieks and coils and the Soulless scream along like a cursed cacophonous choir. His body is breaking but he doesn’t care; he drags himself, palms shredding on stone, counts in breaths that are too few. Just one more step, then another, then another, and another one; crawling if he has to.

Just get there.

Vere tears through the alleys, shadows lunging like even hungrier beasts. His very own keeps trying to peel away, wrapping and pulling like wet cloth and he laughs, because laughing is still a thing he can do and the city hates him for it. They cling, drag, try to smother him into nothing, but he bares his teeth and runs faster.

Watch me, catch me if you can.

Mhin vaults rooftops, spring from one to another and each landing rattles through their whole body. Eyes scan the vines, the cracks, the weakest point of entry. The city sprawls like a trap, an unreadable map but they refuse to be late again. There has to be a way in.

Find it.

Kuras runs, each step thundering through. His lungs burn - a visceral, carnal, human burn - but still he runs. He hears things that aren’t there, and drags them with him, even as the city groans beneath him.

Wait for me. I’m almost there.

Inspired by: Wait for Me

[vermilionsun]

Oh I'm SO waiting for a Leander player to go, "You're not the man I married."

[vermilionsun]

As many words as I may ever learn to use, in every language I speak or write, I will never be able to capture what Kuras feels for them.

Because how do you explain to anyone the ache of thousands of years spent adoring life, only to fall—utterly, irrevocably—in love with death? How do you confess that you crave the fire that ruined you, the one that burns you still, metaphorically and otherwise, even as you fight not to condemn them with your touch?

How do you explain the way your ancient heart drums in your chest with a rhythm you've never known before? How you look at them like they're divine, even though you stopped believing in gods and their kindness eons ago?

How do you tell them that you worship them as both curse and cure, both your downfall and salvation? That you let go of reason just to be near them, drinking them in like a dying man at the edge of a sacred spring?

That you die and are reborn under them, in front of them, behind them—but never beside them, never truly theirs, never truly whole.

Because they are the one thing the universe gave you not to keep.

And yet, you love them still. Not despite the pain; because of it. Because they make you feel, and you have not felt in centuries, and they are the wound that reminds you you're still alive.

Because there’s that pressure in your chest, that itch on your tongue, that twitch of your trained fingers—the ones meant to wield heavenly magic and forgiveness—reminding you; your "love" is unholy, unfair, unimportant.

You came to heal, to protect. Not to be healed, not to be protected.

But your ego—oh, your monstrous, aching ego—has taken the best of you. It’s ripped out your wings, your voice, torn from the back of the back of your throat, where screams go to rot.

Because you’ve been waiting.

You’ve been praying.

You’ve been betrayed.

And gods, you are so done.

You don’t want to want anymore. But you do. You want them so much it howls inside you.

And now, all you can do is wait.

Wait like a coward.

Wait like a martyr.

Because if you don't—if you move wrong, if you breathe wrong—you'll pound onto them, drag them to you, claim them, and flee; up and away, skyward and damned. And the worst part is, you know it.

You know it and you want it anyway.

[vermilionsun]

Demo 2.0 Notes [2]; Oracle Main Route - Leander

! Spoilers, duh

We shoud call Leander and Ais "Long Lads," ha! Not funny? Oka

"Aw, the Amaryllis district- Oh, they changed the curtains. Oh, WAIT they made it... greyer? Aahh.. Makes more sense"

Noting the lilies down for later

[Narrator voice: This right here is the calm before the storm. You can clearly see me completely unprepared for what is about to follow. Innocence is a frail thing, that is easy to corrupt and easier to manipulate. Leader did both.]

Leander, in this demo, is more... captivating. The first things we hear him talking about is joking why he's unfit for the Senobium (all that about paperwork and white robes) ((yeah, sweatpea, they didn't know you'd come out with those massive honkers, OBVIOUSLY the coats don't come in your size smh T-T))

Where do, WHRE DO I START? You can clearly see there is NOTHING left of the silly man we had on the previous demo.

Leander was way less tense, introduced with a magic trick which only served as just that - a showing off.

But here, he's channeling the flower to make a point. From the Eridian's standpoint, he's breaking some kind of 'law' set by the Abbess that refrains mages to cast spells.

And let's take a look at his little speech without the scenery descriptions;

"If you want nothing but guidelines, impractical policies, and needless bureaucracy, you know where to go. But I'm not going to wait for word from on high. And unlike those clerics, I don't need the Abbess's approval to cast a spell or two. These are our streets. We make our own luck here."

He's literally, shamelessly, publically defying her

Side note; "That's the thing about flowers [...] right?" - Was he talking about the MC or himself here?

Okay, ma'am, I'm trynna find a way to, idk, SURVIVE without guilt and fear?

This scene is SO important and I cannot stress this enough

This actually shows how the Bloodhounds Adders take care of eachother. And of course they'd be protective of their leader against outsiders [and we know MC sticks out like a sore thumb]

And Kuras's referall is the thing that gets us to him! It makes much more sense, instead of it being another little fun fact. And also him talking about Kuras like that feels a little...

We also get a taste of the information exchange policy - we look at leander's scar, he looks at our bandages

[this is a little mix-and-match of the options, I apologize]

Kay, so;

He's using himself as an example, telling us the story of his youth and his realisation of the Senobium's unfairness [having, persumably, seen both sides]

He's offering help, and actively proving himself trustworthy

He's painting himself as a saviour, offering the MC "everything they've ever wanted"

Awwww he's such a good and helpful guy! So good and nice!

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

"Two lifetimes," I humbly REFUSE to believe this was just a saying to convince the MC. He's lived twice, has reincarnated with memories, has been necromance-d soMETHING IS FISHY AND IT'S NOT COMING FROM THE RIVER

Aw and our room is so pretty... and messy as fuck.. but totally salvagable and homely sooner or later, right?[!!!]

But... why is the window green? *stares at leander*

[vermilionsun]

Demo 2.0 Notes [1]; Oracle Main Route - Soulless and Kuras

Alright, there is NO WAY one post will be able to handle ALL the screens I got. But anyway, here we go!

! Spoilers, duh

"I could've had a home" - This line really piqued my interest. I wonder if it's the same in the other two backstories? I'll play them in the following days!

Also, the theory that the Soulless was trying to "save" the MC seem very much possible to me now

In regards to the beloved doctor; respectfully, DAMN.

"You're soooo very pretty... Are you missing a belt?" (No, he's not)

But he IS more smily now :3

The MC is much more honest to him. And he, too, reveals he KNOWS? I kinda feel betrayed, but he's an otherwordly doctor. Of course he knew.

Also, WHAT DO YOU MEAN "FAMILIAR"? WHA-- HUH????

ahem

Aw, he's so-- JESUS SAVIOUR

I shat my pants, kinda. I do NOT want to get this man angry. I GET why Vere is scared of him now. I remember the sprite, but it took me off :')

I SCREAMED. WHY, RED SPRING STUDIO, WHY?! I mean, as if lore is important smh /j

My game kinda crushed here because of me taking too many screenshots T-T but it was kinda funny, so here

[vermilionsun]

Take a moment and imagine the MC finding out that Kuras is immune to their curse as well. Imagine the overwhelming shock and confusion that would engulf them as they'd try to understand how.

And then imagine Kuras. Imagine him standing before them, a sly and knowing Cheshire cat-like smirk curling his lips. Imagine him gently brushing a thumb over their hand, tracing the back of it where the golden fissures crisscross each other. Imagine him drawing their hand closer, delicately lifting it to his lips, and bestowing a soft kiss upon their knuckles. A bold move. Imagine him observing their every reaction with intense focus, his eyes half-lidded with melted gold reflecting a blend of amusement and curiosity. Imagine him guiding their hand to his chest, allowing them to feel the thud of his heart beating steadily beneath their fingertips. Imagine the warmth of his touch permeating their skin, soothing the chaos within their mind.

Imagine the tension lingering between them, laden with unspoken promises and unanswered questions. And then imagine Kuras leaning in closer, his breath warm against their skin as he whispers softly, "You're not the only one with secrets, my dear."