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yomogi-mogi-mochi · 1 year

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Beloved Thy Name

Pairings: Lilia/MC, Lilia x MC

Summary: Triumphing over your siblings on the human farm situated in the far corners of Briar Valley, you are implanted with the essence of the Tree of Eternity, gaining unmatched abilities in regeneration. When your Warden finds that the experiment is a success, you are promptly sold to the fae army as a weapon of destruction‒ a position you answer to with animal violence, much to the content of your handlers and the fae army, who name you Dullahan, after the myth of the headless reaper. When you come across the infamous Lord Lilia, great commander of the Fae army‒ he takes you under his wing, gifting you morsels of peace even with death on the horizon. You are simply taken with the sweet songs and sugary words which fall from his mouth‒ echoing them in the heart in your chest that did not feel like yours. Angst but happy/sweet ending bc if I get no comfort I'll implode

Notes: Continuing my myth (?) series I guess with Twist characters? This one is based on Dullahan (the Celtic myth about a headless grim reaper basically)

CW: References to human experimentation and manipulation (neither is enacted by twst characters). Takes place before the events of the game during the Human/Fae War

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist

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"Dullhan."

That name‒ like the clashing cold steel in your hands, and the taste of frosted blood upon your tongue‒ was given to you with purpose. That name‒ like the desire which seized your body with that moniker, was not truly your own. You did not call out to it, nor was it ever uttered upon your lips. It was always someone else crying out to that name, reaching out with a blade to thrust into your hands.

You could not recall your age when you left the human farm, arriving at a musty military camp north of the Valley of Thorns. Nineteen, maybe twenty, your Warden answered when a client asked, "ripe, youthful‒ good harvest" he had added. But it was only a vague notion. You recalled no celebrations‒ "birth-days", you later learned from Lilia‒ on the farm except when you triumphed over your siblings on your last day on that land. Your Warden congratulated you, shaking the blood and cold metal in your hand, "good human, the best, most precious doll", he said. If you had felt a fragment of anything at those words, it was eclipsed quickly by the burning at your limbs that was enacted by your new Warden‒ "commander" he corrected with venom between his rotten teeth. Your Warden, with a neutral face, asked why your commander had done so with his "best and brightest harvest".

"To check the quality."

"I assure you the essence of the Tree of Eternity is quite powerful." Your Warden tapped against the hard resin implanted between your collarbone. "Even with its abilities resting inside a human‒ it allows for extraordinary regeneration‒ this child can move just as well without its head‒ would you like to see?"

"Hm. I tell a lie. I merely wanted to feel the extent of the tree's capabilities with my own hands." He gazed at your arm with a warped smile that reached to his pointed ears. The stump at your shoulder was already weaving into veins and sinew, forming into flesh that felt distant from your body. Your lungs felt like hot coals, holding in the fire in your throat, however you were grateful that your commander had numbed you to any pain that came after in battle. When you carved death into human armies with animal force‒ fingers, bone, skin, and limbs were carelessly severed off to continue your path of undivided violence, fashioning victory for the fae army. If you fulfilled your purpose, you were fed, bathed, and sheltered. So the brief bursts of pain was nothing compared to what awaited you if you did not fulfill your handlers’ desires. You lost your head many times in the throes of your feral brutality, planting seeds of terror within all who witnessed the death hollowed out in your eyes, glowing with hot blood on your severed head. You carried it like a lantern, a harbinger to the destruction that followed the body which owned it. "Dullahan" was the name humans and fae cursed‒ either in inconsolable despair, or in hopes of victory. You answered to both.

"You there."

You turned, eyes hastily searching for the crest which indicated rank on the chest of the soldier. The high crest of the Queen of Thorns. Immediately, you dropped your body to the ground, on your knees, sickles held in one hand over your chest.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Should you not be resting at the infirmary? Your arm seems quite definitely severed."

"There is no need, my lord." The fleshy webs were already forming at your elbow, lacing elastic tendons around white bone. "I assure you that my regeneration capabilities exceed any human or fae of this land."

"You are the one they call Dullahan?"

"That is what they say, my lord."

"Hm. How fascinating‒ so you are the human they've infused the Tree of Eternity with." He lifted your still incomplete arm‒ you complied, letting it fall limp within his gloved hands like a doll. You learned to let people do what they wanted with your body‒ it was easier to listen than to expend energy resisting. That was something you learned while being pulled into a soldier's quarters one night‒ having your mouth forced open, arms and legs stiff as you swallowed thick, salty liquid. You realized that, in the same way you boiled the blood in your body to possess it with mindless violence, swung your sickles carelessly to be fed, it was less pain to spread your legs, and lie flat against the flimsy cot at their command. Like your name, like all the words spoken to you‒ it was easier just to follow its desire than to awaken a rebellion inside you. It would tire you out anyway. So you let the man handle your arm, twisting and turning it to watch the meaty strings form your hand. You stood as he raised it to the clouded sunlight, hunching your solid form to appear smaller. "Unlike magic I've ever seen." He let go, your arm falling with the gravity that suddenly weighed on top of it.

"I've heard you can move without a head like the very myth your name comes from. Is this true?"

You stilled at that statement. "Permission to ask a question, my lord?"

"Sure." He nodded with slight amusement creasing his brow.

"What is this 'myth' you speak of?" You raised your eyes for the first time to his face‒ you were met with young, porcelain skin and hair as dark as a raven. Fiery magenta eyes embellished with smoky coal stared back in slight confusion.

"The myth of Dullahan? Surely you know, it's from the human culture, is it not?" His head tilted, letting you gaze at his cascading dark locks with envy. It seemed so silky, softness unlike anything you've ever touched. You hands, accustomed to the rough, threadbare scraps which made up your military uniform, and the rocky, earth packed ground you slept on, itched with desire, hoping a featherlight touch on the soft elegance of his entire being, just for a second. Had you known the word "beauty" at that time, you would use his name in place of it. But a doll designed to beckon destruction‒ you did not know such fair words.

"I am afraid I do not, my lord. I have never encountered a human outside of battle."

"In that case I can only tell you it is a tale about a headless warrior which embodies an omen of death. I know nothing else about it, I'm afraid." He rests a hand on his chin. "I was looking forward to seeing you headless‒ I thought you just walked around like that." A chuckle raised from his lips. You were new to such a light, delicate sound‒ letting it echo in your chest many times after it had stopped at your words.

"With your command I can certainly do so, my lord." You stepped down once more, raising your sickle to your neck, drawing it promptly through skin‒ he knocked the cold metal from your hands, eyes widened in something you had never seen.

"Fool! What good will you be if one of my men injures themselves?!"

With quick reflex, you bowed down your head to the ground. But the fire that ran deeply in his fuchsia eyes made your eyes widen, brows furrow under the veil of darkness you created with shadow on your face. Tightness in your chest lingered, before you wrung it out into your shoulders awaiting wrath that followed the rage pointed at you with cruel eyes and spat words. "My greatest apologies, my lord."

"Is this one bothering you, Lord Lilia?" A familiar hand thrusted you deeper into the ground, buckling your knees and knocking your face into the solid earth. You tasted grainy soil in your mouth, swallowing it silently, and awaited your commander's mercy.

"No. Do not handle our men with such rough hands, commander." Anger radiated from Lilia's eyes, seeping into your back which basked in his glare. "Otherwise I will have to reconsider your position here since you are clearly not fit to lead.”

"...my deepest apologies Lord Lilia. I merely thought‒" You felt your commander's hand snap away from your head, loosening the pressure on your face that pressed against the dirt.

"You don't need to think, commander, since it is clear that you cannot. Just do as I say and leave them here."

"C-certainly, Lord Lilia." Hasty footsteps vibrated through the solid ground you kept your face to, however you still sensed anger‒ some from your commander, however more from Lilia, who placed a gently hand your shoulder.

"Are you alright? Rise, Dullahan."

You did as you were told, feeling cold filth stick to your cheek. "I apologize if I upset you, Lord Lilia." Why did I upset you?, was a question that you always knew to keep to yourself.

He pulled you up onto your feet, dusting the dirt on your flimsy uniform. Fresh blood seeped into it, which trickled down your nose, on your lips, to your chin. Lilia wiped it off, softly grazing your lips with the warmed blood of his thumb.

"You…" He paused, looking towards your distant eyes in an attempt to find any pain, discomfort, or sorrow. The hollowness he found instead made him swallow thickly. "You didn't do anything to upset me." He traced your line of sight towards your commander's disappearing form. "Does he always do that to you?"

You kept your stony gaze at his crest. "Do what, my lord?"

"Hurt you."

"It heals, so it does not hurt."

"Just because it grows back doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. I mean your pride, too."

You sounded that word in your mind "p-r-i-d-e". You wondered what it meant, but you decided not to ask so many questions. Nothing hurt, not for long anyways. The pain could never be retrieved long enough for you to truly feel it. "There is no pain. It heals anyway, my lord."

"That doesn't…" Lilia paused, pity curving his flowery lips to a frown. You quietly mimicked the gesture, twitching the corners of your mouth ever so slightly. You didn't like seeing him so upset.

"I apologize, my lord."

"You don't need to, you did nothing wrong." Lilia rested a hand on the weapon mounted on his hip, turning his body away from you. "Come with me."

You knew not to refute any words that were pointed at you. So you merely followed his command, trailing his form with quiet footsteps.

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For the ensuing days, you learned that the fae army was joining all of its forces to prepare for the great battle that was climbing over the horizon of this long, long war. This knowledge was acquired by your time you now spent with Lilia‒ who unofficially claimed you from your commander. Though on your skin, you could almost feel the wrath shaken first of your commander that stiffly rested at the side of his body upon hearing this news‒ it brought you relief that there was almost nothing he could do to object Lord Lilia‒ great commander of the Fae forces.

Tonight, like many nights preceding it, you sat by the fire next to your new commander‒ drinking in the warmth it brought you. Like a ritual every night, Lilia hounded you with questions regarding your upbringing, your relationship with your commander, asking for names, for details.

"What is your true name?"

"My true name?" You echoed.

Lilia swung his wooden jug in a leisurely manner, a sight you had been seeing more of recently opposed to his steely facade as great commander of the Valley of Thorns. "Yes, the name that you were given." He says with confusion in his grin. During his time with you, he frowned less, seeing sometimes that you would mirror his movements very slightly. He didn't like seeing you so upset.

"Dullahan is the name I was given. The name cried by humans and the name fae call out to beckon my sickles." You twirled the blades in your hand with experienced control. "It was the name I was given after the wardens infused my body with the sap of the Tree of Eternity that grants me my power."

"Surely you have a name besides the one called out to you in battle, do you not?"

"No. They do not give us names on the farm. Only symbols burned onto our backs."

"The farm?"

"The human farm. The fae kept us there to train and find the strongest among us that could be the vessel to the Tree of Eternity. It's long gone."

Surprise, then a darkened look adorned your commander's face. "What ever happened?"

"The wardens had me set them all free."

"..."

"I set them free from the prison that is a name‒ harvest, they called us. I suppose that is also my name. Only one of us would survive and enter this war. So I freed them." You told yourself more than Lilia, who sat across from you with a somber expression. Only the crackling of the fire was heard within the silence that rang between your two, until Lilia spoke.

"The purpose of a name is not to be a prison. It is a hand we reach out in the darkness that echoes against our form, and from there we are able to distinguish the existence of ourselves." He rested his head in his hands. "Without it, we are formless, we are lost."

"Then…" you started, "...It seems I have always been lost. I have no form to call out to, yet even in battle my body grows back as if it remembers something that is not truly there." You felt the raised scar on your neck.

"You do have a name. You just need to find it."

"Where do I find it?" He reached out a hand to your shoulder.

"Deep, deep inside yourself."

"My…self" that word felt foreign to your tongue. "… I am not sure I know what that is enough to search in its depth." You admitted blankly. Lilia squeezed your flesh, warming it, you tensed at the heat. It felt alive, it felt soft, it felt kind‒ unlike the cold flesh that grasped your hands in mercy, or the icy grip that herded you back to slaughter. "But," Something welled inside you that made you body feel like yours for once.

"...I hope that name is kinder to me." You warmed your heart with his touch.

"It will be." Lilia brought you closer. "It will be." He echoed like a prayer.

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He promised to make you his second in command that night, a statement which made you raise your eyebrows to. You had no rank, no position besides as a harbinger of death‒ an object which fulfilled a promise made from the egos of men which desired to live. If any rank, you would be among the armory and weapons stored in the artillery‒ melded together and hardened into another, more useful blade when broken. But in few days time, you were exchanged with several blocks of Mystium, which Lilia threw to the ground at your old commander's feet with a piercing, downwards gaze.

"Is that stone not precious to our victory?" You glanced at the piles of material, shining and brimming with magical energy.

"...You are much more so." He murmured, voice strained and face veiled with his untied hair.

You said nothing, practicing your form with tense muscles, looking over at your new commander's face occasionally. You noticed you sickles were worn however, prompting you to excuse yourself to the dark depths of the forest of thorns, draining blood from a severed hand and squeezing out organs through a deep gash in your stomach. You had done so with surgical precision, which earned you several gold coins at the local hospital, traded quickly for a new pair of sickles. Lilia eyed you with suspicion when you came back, your arms and torso bathed in blood and filth, the silvery shine of new blades catching his eyes. He asked what happened, and you answered him honestly, much to his horror. It was several days after that he handed you sickles made of Mystium.

"Just ask me next time." You had never felt a heavier satchel of gold than the one Lilia gave you with those words. The green stone glistened even with dark clouds looming over the camp. "Beautiful" was a word you learned from Lilia that day‒ it was apparently different from "pretty", or "cute", the words your commander's lower ranks called you in their bed, sticky and salty with sweat. The word in itself was just that‒ beautiful‒ especially when it was sung pure from Lilia's lips, and echoed onto your own.

Bea ‒ you ‒ tea ‒ full. You sounded out, a sweet laughter erupting from Lilia. "What does it mean?"

"It means something shines in your eyes and you love it‒ even if it burns."

"Oh." You inspected your new sickles again letting it shine in the airy light. "This is bea-you-tea-ful, then. Isn't it Lilia?" Everytime you let his bare name escaped your lips, you felt a strange tingling in your stomach. Like that swelling in your body, you enjoyed the sensation, provoking you to say that name as much as he allowed.

He looked into your eyes, not even glancing at the stone‒ you decided you didn't mind. "Yes, it is."

Though you had been surrounded by fae all your life since the moment you were born into the farm, you had never felt such closeness comparable to your days with Lilia. It felt less sterile‒ more warm, crisp, and pure‒ and you delighted in this new storm brewing inside you, keeping your form close to Lilia's at all times. "You're my second in command. I expect you with me at all times to answer my call." He echoes your sentiment.

"Of course."

"Speaking of which, I don't even have a name to call you yet."

"Is it necessary?" You asked.

"Dullahan is a bit long, don't you think?"

"I don't know. Everyone knows that name." It was often the name humans cursed, and the fae prayed for‒ there was no reason to announce your name when it had already been called out to bring destruction, or beg for mercy.

"How about (Name), then?"

"That's fine." Anything from you, you thought.

"Hm (Name), (Name)...does that sound right to you, (Name)? Does it echo in your heart?"

The fanged smile on his face when he carved that sound with his throat made you immediately answer.

"Yes." You breathed.

"(Name) it is, then." Cherishing that sound now, you hoped he would keep it quietly inside his heart, letting it be chanted to no one but him.

"I like it. It's bea-you-tea-ful." You knew your pronunciation would make him laugh, and he did.

"I'm glad you finally found it then."

You learned many more words from him‒ love, precious, peace, delicious, sweet, flower, honey, salty, creamy, soft, warm. They felt too sweet, too decadent on your tongue‒ so you let it swirl in your mouth, sharpening them in your mind like barley sugar‒ another thing Lilia introduced you to. When you swallowed the hard candy like the pills the wardens used to give you‒ your commander burst with laughter.

"No‒ (Name)! You're supposed to keep it in your mouth to dissolve it!" He gasped between fits of boyish giggles bubbling from his mouth.

"Oh." You felt the hard sugar slowly slide down your throat. "Sorry."

"No, no, it's okay. It was funny actually. Here." He placed another between your lips, parting the soft flesh with sweetness before pushing it towards your tongue. "And keep the rest. I think you'll like it." A metal can was handed to you, rattling a bit as he placed it gently in your hands. You soaked in his warmth that lingered on your lips and the hollow metal between your fingers. It felt sweeter than the candy slowly melting on your tongue. You molded it into a sharp fragment with wet muscle, cutting through your mouth‒ tasting the saccharine copper which spread on your tongue as a Lilia chattered away, explaining all matters of delights in sugary language. When words came from him, it seemed like the very definition of beauty trilling from his lips.

Even on stormy days where war and death reigned your lives, Lilia provided little morsels of peace that you shared together like the heat from a smoldering fire, huddled together in his spacious quarters in a bubble of serenity. He had taught you to read, so you sat on the earth near Lilia's feet while he worked on tactical analysis. You had tried to help at first, but that proved impossible when you didn't even know how to read words.

"You were never taught?" There was no malice in his voice‒ there never was when he talked with you.

"No. My warden and commander said it was unnecessary for the likes of me." You parroted their sentences you had heard with sharp laughter when hiding in the shadows one night.

His expression softened, before bringing you a book into your hands. "Here, let me teach you then."

You had practiced the words that flew from his mouth with clumsy lips, now reading each word carefully with a whisper. Pink circles around some words littered the pages, which you had drawn, to collect beautiful words and store them in your chest next to Lilia's voice which echoed them in your heart.

Your finger paused on the word "beloved". Lilia had taught you the definition of "love" but "be-loved"?

"Lilia?" You raised the book to his lap, placing your fingernail to the word. Lilia hummed in response, looking over. "What does it mean to 'be-love-ed'?"

When surprise adorned his face, you shrunk back, taking the book back into your chest. Lilia stopped you before you could, taking the text gingerly from your hands, and gliding his pale hand across the page to rest his finger next to yours to point, "Dearly beloved". He tapped on the word, thinking. You laid your hand flat onto the parchment next to his, to feel the vibrations of his rumination through your skin.

"Beloved, beloved…hm."

"Does it mean to be loved?"

Eyebrows twist in further contemplation at that. "Hm…no. It's something much deeper." Tap, tap, tap. "Ah, I guess it is love‒ except we can actually touch it." He stops his tapping, laying his hand like yours to line it against the side of your hand. You gazed at him with confusion. "Because beloved is a person. Unlike love that is the space and the actions between people‒ beloved is the face of that love. It's a vessel of love‒ and you can kiss it, hold it."

"I like that word. Be-love-ed." That word tingled on your tongue. "It sounds like a kind name."

"I suppose in some ways it is." He hummed.

You had wished you could change your named to that‒ "Be-loved". Such sweetness, such love it would be to taste the word on your lips. Beloved, beloved, beloved. Lilia's voice had completely replaced your own inside your chest, ringing that word like clear water. You leaned next to him, camping next to his warmth. He let down a hand, bringing you closer to it.

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The great battle was coming, you could read it on the tension written on the soldier's faces. You suppose it would have been inevitable to be in your situation right now‒ arms behind your back and face pressed onto the cold ground, the soldier behind you pressing himself onto your thigh. He threw you onto the fabric of his itchy cot, a force which you accepted like a rag doll‒ slumping immediately into the surface like you had done so many times before. You lay stiffly, letting hands and mouth wander to spread you open wide‒ while you thought of other matters, truly anything else, to divorce yourself from the slick bitterness which swirled your skin and insides. You thought of the taste of barley sugar, the pink bottle of ink Lilia lent you, and his voice which called your name. You thought of the word beloved, contemplating through a feverish gaze if this man was the face of love. It wasn't, you decided. You would keep "beloved" close to your name, deep inside your chest like the tin can holding only a few morsels of sweetness left. This was too ordinary, too bland to gift such precious delectability upon it.

Your eyes phased back when you felt cold liquid dripping onto your bare chest‒ blood, your memory says. The delirium in your eyes never ceased as the shadow that loomed over you slumped to the side, off the cot. You lay still, breathing hollowly, closing your eyes just to get a little closer, closer, more, more, more‒ to fill yourself other than the desire of others in this humble moment. You wanted to taste sweetness on your tongue, from sugary words and honeyed candy‒ not the salt which spread on your lips.

"(Name)?"

You stopped immediately when hearing that voice, clinging onto it with heavy eyes and baited breath.

"Oh." Your voice came out raspy, hushed the dry salt in your throat. "Hi Lilia."

"Why…" He bit his tongue. "...What happened?"

You thought for a second, hoping the feverish heat in your temples would calm. "What always does."

Anger filled his lunge in deep, roaring breaths. Reading it off of him, you sat up from the bed, looking up into his eyes with a frosted expression. "I'm sorry. Did I upset you again?"

"No, no. You never do."

Still you apologize, quietly. "I'm sorry." Matters like what happened just now were normal, and you never felt anything of it despite turning it in your mind over and over. But today, you felt like you had done something wrong‒ not to yourself, but to Lilia, who stood with a darkened look. "Are you going to return me to my commander?"

"No. Never." He said deeply. "He's not your commander. I am. I need you…" A deep breath, calming his nerves. “I need you by my side as my second in command.”

"Oh." You looked down, craning your neck towards the ground. "Are you going to discipline me then?"

In the dimmed lantern light, you felt him crouch down, taking one soft hand into your hair and one gently onto your back, bringing you into his chest to cradle you in his warmth. "Never, sweet (Name)."

You kept your eyes wide open, afraid that if you would blink, it would be all gone. Though the trumpets of war begin to sound outside in the stony blue morning light, you relished the heat in this moment, knowing it would be washed away with cold blood when you were beckoned back onto the battlefield.

"But I'm dirty." You noticed, blood and sweat seeping into the fabric of his chest. He held you even tighter, as you hung limp in his chest, unblinking, unwavering to his touch that almost burned your bare skin.

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Dullahan, Dullahan, Dullahan.

You felt a thousand souls call out to Dullahan, extending their armored hands towards the giant they saw in you, sickles clamaourned in their hands. They forced your worn hands open, opening the palm like the gates of hell, molding your hands I to the weapon with a twisted prayer.

Dullahan, Dullahan, Dullahan‒ it sounded like cold clashing metal, the slow drumming of death. You let it take over you‒ possess your body as always, drinking in the beat of destruction like bitter wine offered to dark gods. You carved silence into the battlefield‒ eventually, you succeeded. Everything was smothered to a leveled silence. The war was over, but you still felt empty violence writhing inside of you.

You looked around with smoke lightly burning your eyes, seeing nothing but a gray picture‒ fossilized into still, silent death. None of the other soldiers, none of your commander's, not a single soul was still present in the ash and dust. Your feet dragged your body, mindlessly wandering the empty world with a ringing in your ears. You felt absent with no one calling even the curse, Dullahan, at you. There was no way to end it‒ you couldn't die, you couldn't scream, you couldn't find yourself enough to lose yourself. Still, you raised your blade to your neck, hoping it would make you feel something, even if it was the echoes of war.

(Name)!!

That sound felt like a spring creek wash over you, crisp like lonesome winter but soaked in the warmed honey of the growing maytime sun. It reached a hand towards you. Not frigid metal, not the harbingers of death that attach at your wrists, not decaying blood‒ you, your soul, everything you are right at this moment. You leaned into the touch like a starved animal, drinking in the sweetness. Soft hands, soft eyes, soft touch‒ you would set this world ablaze, rip apart your own flesh, lose your head to serve these new gods. Lord, my lord, you thought‒ let any name from his lips be my new curse.

Slowly, you let your sickles drop to the ground made with rotting meat and blood. The emptiness in your grip made you yearn dearly.

"(Name)!!"

The earth was running under your feet, your body flying towards that benevolent song. You tested his name in your head‒ Lilia, Lilia, Lilia‒ before it flew out of your mouth like the stinging breath from your lungs.

"Lilia!"

He crashed into you with his warmth, squeezing your body to bring you closer and closer into him, as much as solid flesh allowed. Your arms grasped back, desperately, feeling his heartbeat from his back, into your tender palms. Flesh against flesh, your head dove next to his, pressing into his warmth and inhaling all you could into your skin. To lose any of it felt like losing yourself.

"Beloved,"

You immediately answered. "Yes?"

He paused, raspy breaths forced out of his throat before he caught his voice once more. "My (name)- my beloved (Name)- you came‒ you came to me. You're here."

"You called my name, my lord, my Lilia, my beloved."

Your names for each other, love, dearest, and adoration were the things you felt for each other. But above all, beloved rang clearest, straight through your blood unlike any other name cried upon you in war. How sublime it was to now call love your own. My beloved, mine, mine, mine.

Beloved was his name and thy own‒ and it would be sung until your voices turned raw with death. You cherished that sweetness, occasionally bringing it to your lips and onto his like this moment‒ singing joyously, what ecstacy it was to claim love with the warm of a face. No bitter taste of blood or metal could overpower the mulled honey you continued pouring into each other over the years to come. In a triumphal song against such distaste of violence and war, you sung a sweetened melody on your lips, towards the face of love‒ beloved, my beloved.

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Notes:

I headcanon the Valley of Thorns to have been mainly a German culture especially because of their connection to gothic architecture (goths were germanic)- which would make them connected to paganism at first (because of their connection to scandinavia), before their conversation to Christianity

But I still added elements of Celtic mythology because the Goths were actually a subdivision (?) of the Celts after Rome's downfall. They actually had a large hand in the fall of Ancient Rome, being the final push Rome needed in its political tension when they seized the Western Roman Empire, causing the Eastern Empire to take control, which then at that point it had already divided into a bunch of clans that originally made up Rome. Though there are many types of Goths like Germanic Goths that inspired Gothic architecture, Celtic Goths also existed in predominantly Celtic regions on account of all the fighting and intermingling they were all doing. Also‒ Roman's actually had a special word for celts called "Scotti" which roughly translated in Latin to "cutthroats"- pretty cool lol.

But I imagine fae being that wide range of Germanic tribes slowly converting to Christanity by the time of the war, with humans of that area being similar but getting a head start in Christanity‒ which spread further with the war and Christianization overtime which occurred with the Goths as well. This is exactly why Christians had adopted "gothic" architecture because of that access to Germanic culture and art, especially with the shift from classical architecture and art which was more solid/structured and realistic (with idealistic components), into more figurative, and allegorical representations of art in the Christian religions‒ reflecting in the magnificence and skeletal feel of Gothic architecture. I imagine there were remnants of Celtic/Pagan culture and mythology however despite the general aesthetics of the Valley of Thorns, which is early gothic that are rooted in Germanic and Christian architecture (even though the film takes place in the 14th century in the high gothic era‒ really wish they went all out with the gothic stuff but nooo disney NEVER gives me historic accuracy or consistency >:((( ).

This also makes sense why the reader is reading a Christian text, because there were cultural shifts during the time. "Dearly beloved" is likely a Christian interpretation of Greek's agapétos during I believe was during the Renaissance when Christianity was returning to Classical ideas. Agape is the "highest form of love", which transcends everything like the Christian God's love (and most gods I believe since they're all made in the image of humans). Or as usual I made this more convoluted than it actually is lmao

Chose sickles as your weapons of choice because A) um, they're cool and B) because they're a weapon of harvest while being your weapons in destruction‒ its stuck between life and death as you are before you meet and get acquainted with Lilia.

The part where you hug is inspired partially from paradise lost‒ where Adam contemplates eating the forbidden fruit after Eve does. "Should God create another Eve, and I / Another rib afford, yet loss of thee / Would never from my heart; no, no, I feel / The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh, / Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state / Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe."/“One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself” I'm not Christian nor have any meaningful connection to Christianity outside the academic realm but boy Milton's poetry make me yearn

Uuuhhh I'm so bad at endings lmk if that sounded good I wanted to do something bittersweet

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