I don't know your motives, Anastasia says, and for a moment, Ranni almost feels regret for being so deceitful.
There are many things and peoples motives that Anastasia has said are beyond her understanding right now: the Order, the Two Fingers, the so-called Renna. To be lumped in with the other two brings a foul taste to the back of her throat, a strain to the rusted wires that hold her rib cage together. Right now she is no more than yet another mysterious force to this Tarnished, but it is better that it remains this way for the moment. Ranni cannot show her hand too soon.
She must wait, and observe. This would-be Lord is not the first to have tried to reforge the Elden Ring, but the latest in a long line of attempts, and Ranni has grown cautious of too much influence. She does not want to influence. She wants Anastasia to stand on her own feet, to conquer her own battles, and at last, perhaps, if Ranni is lucky, come to her as an asset and a fighter rather than a follower.
Ranni stands, too, the furs and linens of her dress shuffling around her, swirling patterns in the dusty floor below. The glassy eye of her doll's face is fixed firmly on Anatasia, a pale glow of an entirely different kind than the Grace between them.
"Should you succeed, we will speak once more, Tarnished. Thou art not done with me yet." There's a hint of mischief in her voice, a suggestion of an amused smile. "I look forward to tales of thine battle. I am sure it will be a reckoning for the ages."
She turns, and the edges of her form start to fade, blurring, as she leaves. But before she fades entirely from the room, she makes a simple gesture, an offering of a hand, palm up, with a whisper on the wind:
"Should thee fall, Tarnished, I will make sure you are remembered."
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There are many things and peoples motives that Anastasia has said are beyond her understanding right now: the Order, the Two Fingers, the so-called Renna. To be lumped in with the other two brings a foul taste to the back of her throat, a strain to the rusted wires that hold her rib cage together. Right now she is no more than yet another mysterious force to this Tarnished, but it is better that it remains this way for the moment. Ranni cannot show her hand too soon.
She must wait, and observe. This would-be Lord is not the first to have tried to reforge the Elden Ring, but the latest in a long line of attempts, and Ranni has grown cautious of too much influence. She does not want to influence. She wants Anastasia to stand on her own feet, to conquer her own battles, and at last, perhaps, if Ranni is lucky, come to her as an asset and a fighter rather than a follower.
Ranni stands, too, the furs and linens of her dress shuffling around her, swirling patterns in the dusty floor below. The glassy eye of her doll's face is fixed firmly on Anatasia, a pale glow of an entirely different kind than the Grace between them.
"Should you succeed, we will speak once more, Tarnished. Thou art not done with me yet." There's a hint of mischief in her voice, a suggestion of an amused smile. "I look forward to tales of thine battle. I am sure it will be a reckoning for the ages."
She turns, and the edges of her form start to fade, blurring, as she leaves. But before she fades entirely from the room, she makes a simple gesture, an offering of a hand, palm up, with a whisper on the wind:
"Should thee fall, Tarnished, I will make sure you are remembered."
And what that, she's gone.