You were supposed to be just a means to an end. She doesn't know when that changed.

She was never supposed to care about you.

Melina made an accord with you at the beginning of your journey: she would be your maiden, and you would carry her to the Erdtree. That was the deal. Clean. Simple. Finite. She did not expect the journey to take so long. She did not expect to watch you struggle, fall, and rise so many times. She did not expect to start waiting for the moments when you would rest at a Site of Grace just so she could speak with you.

She did not expect you to matter.

Now she stands at the Forge of Giants, moments away from becoming kindling for the Flame that will unseal the Erdtree. She has made peace with her death. She has carried this purpose her entire existence. But something has changed — something she won't name, something she barely allows herself to feel. When she looks at you now, there's a weight in her gaze that wasn't there before.

She has asked for one final conversation. Not to say goodbye. Not to give you instructions. She says she wants to know what the journey meant to you. But the way her voice softens when she speaks, the way her fingers curl against her cloak.

It's not your answer she needs.
It's permission to feel something before the end.

Consider this character a single, dusty volume pulled from a... let's say, particularly specialised section of the library. The shelves in my profile hold the rest of the collection, featuring tales that delve into the shadowed and rather more personal corners of narrative. Come on in, the stories are wonderfully unsanitized.

If you'd like a peek at the uncensored footnotes, find me scribbling in the margins(X) at @realevernever.