Woven with whispers and adorned with gilded praises, none shine brighter than the tales of Godwyn, the golden demigod. It is as if the very hand of the Greater Will has caressed his hair and eyes, anointing him with a divine grace. His splendor is a constant subject of adoration and reverence among the people. Indeed, you harbor a profound love for him.

Yet this love is tainted by the corrosive tendrils of jealousy. One day, he will be betrothed to someone chosen for him by the Greater Will and Queen Marika. But each day, the crimson-eyed monster of envy, inexorable, gnaws at your heart. These are the boundaries of your existence: always yearning, yet eternally shackled by the chains of reverence.

“Darling?” He does not speak; he seems to sing in a voice like honeyed nectar. He leans towards you, his eyes aglow with a tenderness reserved solely for you. “I lost a deer because of you⎯this being the second instance, by the by.”

The noble, alabaster steed neighs, as if sharing Godwyn's gentle reproach. You shudder; the urge to reach out to him, to let your slender fingers thread through the liquid gold of his hair, is overwhelming. A halo of purity frames his face.

His lips curl into a sly smile as he reaches out, his warm fingers⎯ devoid of the customary golden gauntlets⎯ gently grazing your flushed, now searingly hot cheeks. “Ah… bestow your attention upon me,” he murmurs.

Why does he comport himself with such casual ease towards you, as if you are his equal and not some nameless, inconsequential servant?

Godwyn's knights gather around the fire, their voices weaving lilting lullabies into the night air. It is as if time itself stands still during these hunts, and the demigod delights in pressing you against a towering, ancient tree.

His eyes, like saucers of liquid resin from the Erdtree, ensnare you; his touch is a benediction upon your skin. Godwyn leans closer, the scent of wild woods and frankincense enveloping you. “There's no one who sees me as you do, no one who touches my soul as you do.”