#I suppose her current state and general role in the lore is kind of nebulous at the moment

[tev-the-random]

Deteriorated

Sausage stared at the statue in awe.

It always amazed him, the goddess that guarded these catacombs. Not in a artistic way, though her opulence by itself impressed the builder side of him. Instead, he looked at her with warmth.

Don't get him wrong, Sausage firmly believed that this "Angel of Death", as Pix called her, could slay dragons if she wasn't literally set in stone. But instead of fear or reverence, he felt a strange sense of comfort whenever he looked at her.

And a pinch of sorrow.

Trying to remind himself that he didn't come here for sightseeing, Sausage managed to tear his eyes away from the ancient sculpture to look for Pix. More often than not the archaeologist would be in his campsite doing research, analysing crumbling books, unreadable documents and rocks that honestly all looked the same. But he did have a tendency to wander about the ruins, always looking for something new - or rather, something old.

Not feeling like getting lost in the underground labyrinth that were the catacombs, Sausage opted for searching the nearby structures. He called for Pixl, looked inside the occasional hole and overall had this eerie feeling in his gut that made him look over his shoulder a few times.

Nature mourned here. This abandoned land once housed the several people that now rested underneath that statue. And although time had clearly left its scars, it almost felt like those souls should still be wandering here, longing to not be forgotten. They could jump at him any moment.

He should really stop taking Hermes' requests to read him ghost stories.

Sausage had the growing urge to leave and come back some other time, but despite the creepiness that covered the ruins around him, he was drawn to an old castle - or maybe it was a big church? - on the far end of the savanna. Pixl had marked its perimeter, which lead Sausage to believe he had already started studying it.

Though he could very easily go around the collapsed walls, he chose to open the door. It creaked, dry and loud and heavy, then fell to the ground with a dusty thud once the hinges gave up on it.

'Oh god- no one saw that, right?' He looked over his shoulders once more. 'If no one saw it then it wasn't my fault.'

Sausage regretted opening the door in the first place. But now that it's down, he might as well enter.

Sunbeams bathed the spacious room through the open ceiling. Greenery grew in the walls and the stone floors were covered in moss. Sausage could hear a series of chirps as birds made their nests in the peaceful ruins.

He thought about asking them if they had seen Pixl around, but no sooner he found himself hypnotised by something else.

On the far back wall, there was a mural. Sausage approached it, scrutinizing the small faded details like they held some secret. At first, it felt out of place ‐ like the pillars on the floor had been knocked down just to make it more visible, and the sun changed its position to emphasise its presence. But this odd feeling didn't come from any of that.

The mural pictured a woman standing solemnly in a sunflower field. Her brown hair sprinkled with blond streaks cascaded over her bare shoulders, pristine and braided with flowers. Her flowing green dress and cape were stitched with gold, and golden were her shoes and the jewellery she wore. A crown of gilded leaves sat atop her head, adorned by a large emerald front and centre.

On one hand, the woman cradled a sheaf of wheat. On the other, she held a delicately ornamented sword pointed at the sky.

Time had destroyed her features too much for anyone to tell what her expression said, though Sausage could definitely see a glint of blue eyes staring ahead.

Her wings framed her much too perfectly, and there was still enough of the chipped golden paint on the feathers for them to glitter in the sun.

It was quite the piece of art, he had to admit. And yet, Sausage couldn't help but feel that it looked... wrong.

The woman resembled, in a way, the statue of the goddess that so often caught his attention when he visited. Maybe it was the whiplash between sculpture and painting that had him weirded out.

But the more he stared at it, the more Sausage thought there was too much gold. Even though the paint hardly had any of its original shine anymore, it just felt like too much. How could one fight with such a crown? How could one feel the earth with such shoes? How could jewellery replace the armour that belonged to her?

Though Sausage wasn't one to disrespect past civilisations, it was almost laughable. He could imagine a voice commenting on how poorly held the sword was and how the thin cape would only get in the way and be torn to shreds in the end. He knew the delicate braids would come undone during the course of a sparring session, and that she that would never stand so straight and poised for so long.

He imagined a fierce warrior in need of adventure. A young soul who would sail viking territory by his side, defeat entire raids and challenge the most supernatural forces without a hint of fear. Someone who could throw a good punch and draw a good blade in the same breath.

He thought of a humble farmer in need of peace. A girl who would walk barefoot on her wheat fields and take in the warm sun like she was one of the sunflowers that crowned her. He had good memories of sunflowers. And so did she.

He saw a queen who didn't act like one in front of him. Who would behave like a deranged, chaotic creature when she lacked sleep. Who, when faced with a challenge, would become possessed by a determination that would inspire the mightiest Monster Slayers. Who wouldn't care about titles, who never thought of legacy and whose castle wasn't composed of tall towers and flying flags. Someone who was much more laidback than elegant, yet held more honour than most people.

He knew a Pearl who could grow a home in corrupted soil and connect to her land as easily as she breathed. Pearl, who never let go of his hand when he lost sight of himself. She would rather follow Sausage into the abyss than give up on him. And when nobody else looked him in the eyes, she smiled at him, concerned and kind and persistent.

Pearl didn't need all of this. She was never a Goddess or a Saint. Her land was simply golden because she cared for it. If there was something truly gilded about the Farmer Queen, it was her heart.

And he watched it all wither away with her.

'Hey hey hey, don't touch that!'

As if hooking him with a fishing rod, Pixlriffs pulled Sausage from his own thoughts and back into the ruins.

Sausage reached for the mural in what could be described as longing. He couldn't recall what exactly he was thinking about, and it rubbed him in all sorts of wrong ways. Pulling his hand back and to his chest, he took another look at the work of art.

It was just an old painting on a wall. Stationary. Symbolic. An imitation of a time long gone that didn't pertain to him at all.

So why was he holding back tears?

'Sorry, Sausage.' Pix walked over the collapsed walls and approached him. 'This is a very old piece and quite deteriorated as is. I'd like to avoid any further damage.'

The archaeologist joined his friend in staring at the wall.

'She seems to be depicted a lot around here. I'm still not sure if she was a religious figure or a ruler, or both.' He crossed his arms in contemplation. 'But whoever she was, she was very loved.'

There was no response.

'Anyway, I wasn't really expecting you today. Did you need anything?'

Sausage couldn't come up with an answer. If because he forgot what he came here for in the first place or because his voice failed him, it didn't matter. He clung to his chest, and it hurt. Like grief, like guilt, like longing. And then fear.

There was someone missing in his life. Someone important. He had no idea who or why, and it terrified him.

'Are you alright, Sausage?' Pix finally asked. The guardian of Sanctuary had paled considerably. He cleared his throat, however, finally looking away from the wall.

'Ah. Yeah, haha! I just... I just have a little bit of a headache right now.' Sausage took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. 'Just a little, tiny headache...'

The way he murmured his answer didn't give Pix any reassurance. He wasn't one to murmur. But before the archaeologist could voice his concern, Sausage was already turning around to leave.

'Sorry to disturb you, Pix! Imma come back when uh... when my headache's gone. Have fun with your history stuff, bye!'

And with that, Sausage was gone. Pixlriffs watched him fly away until he was just a dot in the distance, and only then did he sigh.

He would have to do some more research on the mysterious figure with golden wings. There seemed to be very little left about her, and he was almost certain she was only a myth.

But the look in Sausage's eyes was one he knew quite well. It was that of someone had just seen a ghost.