GirlWhoEatsFaeries
xKissesx
Hello, Faerie here. I'm a 26-year-old (girl? Woman?) who lives in Texas in the USA. I've been RPing for about ten years now and as such am seeking someone who is also experienced, has proper grammar/punctuation, and can keep up with my 7-10 paragraph replies (can roll down to 5 para-replies once we're established in the roleplay). I'm new to the site and am currently only looking for one RP partner with this one plot that I have listed down below - I am not interested in ANY other plots!! I have characters and the plot fleshed out, however I am definitely open to changing characters and/or the plot to fit both our styles and visions. For Kingdom of Dark Souls, I am ideally wanting to play the female MC, but am willing to play the male MC.
Please PM me with requests, tell me a bit about yourself, and provide a writing sample please! I will provide my writing sample down below in a spoiler.
Princess Elfie has always lived the fairytale life of being royalty - thriving on the benefits that accent the throne. After an attack on a small village that Elfie was visiting occurs, leaving her scarred and injured, her world slowly starts to unravel. She feels utterly alone until her father assigns a personal guard to her, her movements now constantly having a vast shadow.
Sin is quiet, cold, emotionless. Always hovering, but always silent. And as more threats start to drift over the kingdom, Elfie realizes that Sin might be just what she needs to unlock all the deep and twisted secrets that threaten to devour all their souls whole.
Please PM me with requests, tell me a bit about yourself, and provide a writing sample please! I will provide my writing sample down below in a spoiler.
image
he tastes like every dark thought I've ever had
Princess Elfie has always lived the fairytale life of being royalty - thriving on the benefits that accent the throne. After an attack on a small village that Elfie was visiting occurs, leaving her scarred and injured, her world slowly starts to unravel. She feels utterly alone until her father assigns a personal guard to her, her movements now constantly having a vast shadow.
Sin is quiet, cold, emotionless. Always hovering, but always silent. And as more threats start to drift over the kingdom, Elfie realizes that Sin might be just what she needs to unlock all the deep and twisted secrets that threaten to devour all their souls whole.
Renna blinked against the sting in her eyes and noticed, with a slow and distant awareness, a bloom of pain flaring in her palm. She glanced down.
Her fingers had curled into a fist without her realizing, her knuckles white, the delicate silver cross she wore now buried into the skin at the base of her hand. The sharp edge of it had bitten into her flesh like a warning, or a punishment. A small bead of blood welled at the point where the cross had left its mark, bright red against the pale canvas of her skin. The imprint lingered, angry and precise.
It looked almost intentional.
As though the relic had tried to burn purity into her, to etch righteousness into skin that was never meant to hold it. As though it had recognized her for what she was - or for what she would become.
Her eyes bore in on the droplet of blood blooming in her palm, its crimson sheen like the pulp of a ripe pomegranate. Rich, glistening, forbidden. Her stomach twisted, not in revulsion, but in longing. She imagined lifting her hand to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste it, to roll its metallic tang across her mouth like a sacrament. The thought was intimate, almost sacred, and deeply wrong. And yet, the blood beckoned. Warm, sinful, alluring. It glittered up at her with a mocking glint, as if it knew.
Then came the sound; a sharp, splitting crack against the windshield like glass shattering inside her skull.
Renna flinched violently, her head snapping up, fingers unclenching as her eyes darted forward. There, pressed against the rain-streaked glass of the windshield, was a crow, soaked black feathers plastered to its body, its wings sprawled wide in a grotesque crucifixion. Rain dripped from its beak like ink.
It stared directly at her.
Its eyes were pits of endless black, twin abysses that tunneled into her chest, hollowing her out with the weight of their gaze. Time faltered. Her breath hitched, caught halfway between inhale and prayer. The crow’s beak creaked open, just slightly; not in a scream or a caw, but something slower, more deliberate. As if it meant to speak. To whisper her name. To call her home.
The spell broke all at once.
The tires shrieked, the world lunged sideways, and the car jerked violently as Cedric slammed the brakes. The vehicle skidded across the rain-slick asphalt, fishtailing with a low groan of protest from the road beneath. Renna’s shoulder knocked into the door, Aunt Seraphina’s hand flying to grip the headrest in front of her in one swift, startled motion.
The bird slipped from the glass.
Renna blinked through the blur of motion and saw it again - differently this time. The crow lay crumpled at the base of the windshield, twisted and contorted like a discarded rag. Blood fanned around its head, a crimson halo radiating outward in delicate rivulets, running down the cracked glass in thin, holy threads. Its wings, once poised and menacing, were now snapped like brittle branches, the rain doing little to wash away the grotesqueness of the display. The impact had shattered the lower corner of the windshield, spidery veins of fracture webbing outward like a curse.
Her fingers had curled into a fist without her realizing, her knuckles white, the delicate silver cross she wore now buried into the skin at the base of her hand. The sharp edge of it had bitten into her flesh like a warning, or a punishment. A small bead of blood welled at the point where the cross had left its mark, bright red against the pale canvas of her skin. The imprint lingered, angry and precise.
It looked almost intentional.
As though the relic had tried to burn purity into her, to etch righteousness into skin that was never meant to hold it. As though it had recognized her for what she was - or for what she would become.
Her eyes bore in on the droplet of blood blooming in her palm, its crimson sheen like the pulp of a ripe pomegranate. Rich, glistening, forbidden. Her stomach twisted, not in revulsion, but in longing. She imagined lifting her hand to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste it, to roll its metallic tang across her mouth like a sacrament. The thought was intimate, almost sacred, and deeply wrong. And yet, the blood beckoned. Warm, sinful, alluring. It glittered up at her with a mocking glint, as if it knew.
Then came the sound; a sharp, splitting crack against the windshield like glass shattering inside her skull.
Renna flinched violently, her head snapping up, fingers unclenching as her eyes darted forward. There, pressed against the rain-streaked glass of the windshield, was a crow, soaked black feathers plastered to its body, its wings sprawled wide in a grotesque crucifixion. Rain dripped from its beak like ink.
It stared directly at her.
Its eyes were pits of endless black, twin abysses that tunneled into her chest, hollowing her out with the weight of their gaze. Time faltered. Her breath hitched, caught halfway between inhale and prayer. The crow’s beak creaked open, just slightly; not in a scream or a caw, but something slower, more deliberate. As if it meant to speak. To whisper her name. To call her home.
The spell broke all at once.
The tires shrieked, the world lunged sideways, and the car jerked violently as Cedric slammed the brakes. The vehicle skidded across the rain-slick asphalt, fishtailing with a low groan of protest from the road beneath. Renna’s shoulder knocked into the door, Aunt Seraphina’s hand flying to grip the headrest in front of her in one swift, startled motion.
The bird slipped from the glass.
Renna blinked through the blur of motion and saw it again - differently this time. The crow lay crumpled at the base of the windshield, twisted and contorted like a discarded rag. Blood fanned around its head, a crimson halo radiating outward in delicate rivulets, running down the cracked glass in thin, holy threads. Its wings, once poised and menacing, were now snapped like brittle branches, the rain doing little to wash away the grotesqueness of the display. The impact had shattered the lower corner of the windshield, spidery veins of fracture webbing outward like a curse.