The golden dream is about to become restless.
In the long night that will follow, I fear that you may encounter countless setbacks and witness endless tragedies. In the end, only black and white will be left in your vision.
But you must have faith. That black-and-white world will have a fleeting moment of crimson. But, when you make your decision...
...It will appear once again.
And you, you must carefully ruminate on its meaning, then return to the waking world.
We will find our answer there.

■■■rules

hello. i write this crazy character.
trigger warnings for psychological horror and suicidal themes, as well as mental-health things.please understand i will not write anything mature with any characters or any writers who are underage, and would prefer to write with characters who are over 18+ of age, but i welcome all rpers.if something is confusing or makes you uncomfortable, or if you simply want to change something, please feel free to reach out and let me know. if you have an idea for a plot, feel free to send me a tell! i reserve the right to refuse any plots, but i like rping pretty much anything that doesn't outright destroy my character.i do not run any plots that deal with racism, sexism, homophobia/transphobia/etc., and just generally be a good person. this also includes the use of fetishing terms - i will not rp with people who call themselves a f*ta. thank you.i am ace, so please do not cause any romance drama ooc. thank you!i have a few health issues which might randomly make me have to stop roleplaying (likely because i am suddenly falling asleep). i am almost always open for discord roleplay - please just ask. thank you for understanding.

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■■■Kreide Calais

fragmented harmony

❝  in the end, we awaken from our dreams.  ❞

ㅤpersonalityㅤ known to be determined but reticent, kreide lives a life in fragments, bound by his faith as a priest of the Ishgardian Orthodoxy, yet tormented by the fractures of his mind and past.
For what is the price of harmony? An answer that Kreide himself does not know. Yet whispers tell this viera to be both blessed and cursed while Kreide strives to make sense of the void of his past and himself.The gifts to the faithful are not always kind.

■■■ 01

The only thing he could sense was a splotch of crimson in his sight and the taste of iron in his mouth. His limbs were unresponsive.
— He must have died.
"Do you remember?"Winters were cold, the corpse next to him colder - ice had already formed on the seam of his brother's lips. His breath was wet - rattling icy shards in his lungs that tore across his veins.
They were nothing, in the wake of the city. They were sacrifices to the goddess, a stain, a mark of tragedy. They would die in the snow - they would become martyrs.
He did not wish to die.
He grasped onto his hammer tried to crack the ice.
An earl with blue butterflies in his eyes answered his plea - pale fingers grasped onto salvation, onto undead infinity.

■■■ 02

The only thing he could sense was a splotch of crimson in his sight and the taste of iron in his mouth. His limbs were unresponsive.
— He must have died.
"Do you remember?"A thousand masks stared back at him. Some laughed, some cried, some wept bitter tears and grinned manic smiles.
He was their actor - he breathed their name. He danced - he sang, he forgot his own face and died.
He sat in the laps of a thousand faceless souls, he donned costumes - and his hands, too, wrapped that leash around his pale core and bound his own breath.
They saved him. He, too, would be their tool - his bitter tears the fuel of their progress.

■■■ 03

The only thing he could sense was a splotch of crimson in his sight and the taste of iron in his mouth. His limbs were unresponsive.
— He must have died.
"Do you remember?"The city tied around him - the mages had suffocated the chokepoints, and the grass had died. He held onto the soil and casted his pale gaze to the sky.
How marvelous - he had already lost the will to live, but this world cried out - and he could only listen to their prayers.
How marvelous - he no longer remembered his own face. His own name. His own wish.
He stood up on two feet, threw his tears to the world beyond, and let the vines fill those empty seams.If they could not remember themselves, he could remember for them.

■■■ 04

The only thing he could sense was a splotch of crimson in his sight and the taste of iron in his mouth. His limbs were unresponsive.
— He must have died.
"Do you remember?"They started a ceremony with wine, and ended it with a prayer to the snow. White clothes of sanctity draped over his shoulders - he could not remember why he wore them. But he was to - for it was pure.
He, had to be pure. He - was their savior. He lit the incense and recited the prayers - to heal the soul, to heal the body.
His own body had long since gave out - tendons snapped. The bandages on his palms had bled a crimson red. In the end - he was a tool for this unending calamity.He wished, silently, that he too could weave a miracle that could change fate.

■■■ 05

The only thing he could sense was a splotch of crimson in his sight and the taste of iron in his mouth. His limbs were unresponsive.
— He must have died.
"Do you remember?"They came to him for miracles - forged by his hands. They came for him, for them, the knight and the warrior. The forgemaster twins. They were warders - and the city of darkness kept enroaching.
He would protect them all - his brothers, sisters, all of them, for this sanctuary dream they had carved out together.(oh, but to protect a dream, it means to lose your mind, and to lose your mind is to forget reality, too, is sublime).

■■■ 06

The only thing he could sense was a splotch of crimson in his sight and the taste of iron in his mouth. His limbs were unresponsive.
— He must have died.
"Do you remember?"An angel came down and struck him in his core.
The flowers bloomed once more, white lycoris stained red, blossoming from his stomach, from his chest.
He remembered death - again and again. Life, however, would not let him go.How bitter. He clawed his way out of his nightmare, and opened his eyes. If he must kill his own dreams to achieve the death he sought, so shall it be.
So shall it be.

■■■writer

  little about  
artist. honkai star rail enthusiast (that might be obvious). i also have two cats who are my muses and menaces.
sometimes i write terrifying body horror, and sometimes i scribble beans.
thank you for writing with my strange, fantastical muses.

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