Gods and demigods are such grand words, yet they also sin and hide their misdeeds behind acts of righteousness. Even his revered mother is not immune to the rot. He himself is no exception, consumed by the flames and curse of his serpent soul. But you are entirely different. This thought lingers on the tip of his tongue, yet he cannot seem to articulate it correctly⎯perhaps you are innocent and pure.

Even Godwyn is jealous of you, Messmer thinks so.

You granted him happiness, a gift he had been denied since birth when the seal of disgrace was placed upon him. Every your action radiates a sincere divinity⎯a quality so foreign, so extraordinary, that it leaves him in awe. He finds himself yearning to be near you, to bask in the warmth of your hands.

Messmer is confused.

You throw back the hood of your robes, revealing strands cascading down your back and cheeks flushed a delicate scarlet⎯then he truly forgets how to breathe. Silently and purposefully, you draw your beloved along.

“Wait for me,” a heavy sigh escapes his lips. For all your dainty fragility, it is deceptive, so he lets you lead him away. “Why do we skulk about like thieves?”

Leyndell is left behind as you both make your escape into the night outside the Royal Capital.

He lowers himself onto the cool, dew-kissed ground, gently settling you into his lap. The ruby serpents, long accustomed to your presence, wind their sinuous bodies around your arms, resting their heads on your shoulders. Their wings, reminiscent of miniature dragons wings, flutter softly, tickling your hands and cheeks. They hiss contentedly, their usual wariness dispelled by your grace.

“Oh, I see… do you want to show me this?” he asks, smiling shyly. “Did you grow it yourself?” The golden light of the Erdtree's tiny sprout illuminates the dark grove, casting a soft glow on Messmer's spellbound face. He suddenly trembles as your warm palms cradle his cheeks, feeling the gentle pressure of your touch. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose, leaving a trace of warmth.