❝ your local soft faerie necromancer.❞ special interests include video games, mushrooms, necromancy, gothic fiction, history, and folklore. I enjoy writing, worldbuilding, drawing pretty women, taking walks in graveyards, and being generally spooky and cute. I adore bunnies and my big dream is to take care of some of my own. this is my little space to post about various pretty things and video games, focusing on rpgs (personal favourites include baldur's gate 3, dragon age, the elder scrolls, fallout, elden ring, souls games, and isometric rpgs). I enjoy virtual photography and making edits from the games I'm playing so you will also see those here. I have a degree in the study of religion and my big academic passion is funerary rituals and beliefs, so I tend to gush about that from time to time (surprise). I also have several multi-verse ocs you might see me act absolutely normal (this is a lie) about here and there. my main oc is miss faerene, the gentle fey necromancer, and I tend to recreate her in all the different games I'm playing. this blog is my cozy little corner of the internet and I'm hoping to spread some of the chill vibes to anyone who might stumble upon my page. spam likes / reblogs are always welcome and appreciated. ♡

⊱ Faerene has always found solace in the family tombs, ever since she was a little girl. While other children chased the sun to play, she sought the comforting shade of the catacombs. Perhaps not so unusual for someone coming from a family of necromancers; however, her drive to sometimes spend days amongst the engraved sarcophagi of her forebears was a behaviour considered odd even by her closest family members. Her father, especially, wished for his daughter to spend more time with the living. “The dead have much to teach us,” he used to say, “most importantly that we have to keep on living.” What he didn’t understand was the real reason behind Faerene’s forays to the family catacombs. Between her struggles to communicate with her peers and the overwhelming, inexplicable feeling of otherness, the young girl lacked compassionate and understanding company. The spirits seldom judge, especially those so lovingly cared for as the ones dwelling in the Rosenhall tombs. And above all, in the turbulent world of never-ending change, the dead are, as much as Death itself, quite comfortably unchangeable. [ a reshoot of this post ]