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An offering of sacred smut & somatic myths. Created by Ro Rose | @queerlyfluid

Sovereign Rot | Creative Documentation

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Sovereign Rot | Mythic Descent Scroll

Sovereign Rot | Descent of Gate 2

Sovereign Rot | Descent of Gate 3

Sovereign Rot | Descent of Gate 4

Sovereign Rot | Descent of Gate 5

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About This Journey </aside>

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Table of Contents </aside>

The Descent of Inanna: Gate 4 – Raw Exposure

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A visceral descent text. Not polished scripture, but something gut-written. Here, Inanna is stripped of her armor, her chest left raw to the air.

She steps forward, ribs still heaving, breath unstrung. The path winds down, colder now, closer to bone.

At the fourth gate, the guardian waits, broad hand already outstretched. No mirror this time, no necklace’s clasp. What he reaches for is pressed tight against her chest: the breastplate, heavy with its promise of protection, a hard front she has carried into every battle, every bed.

She does not unbuckle it. She would not. But the guardian does. His fingers dig, pry, wrench, until the metal splits away from her body. The straps bite as they tear free. Her sternum, her breasts, the vulnerable slope of her belly— exposed.

Air lands differently now. Every breath grazes her skin as if it were a wound. The breastplate had always kept the world at a distance, softening blows, absorbing impact. Without it, her flesh meets the air unmediated, every current alive against her chest.

Her heart feels naked. Each beat audible, each rise of breath a declaration. There is no shield left to press between herself and what comes.

She staggers forward, skin tingling, ribs open like an unlatched gate. What remains is not the gleam of armor but the throb of the soft animal within.

Entrail Invocation: Skin Without Armour

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An erotic retelling of the fourth gate— rewoven through ecdysis, soft animal body, and the terror of being touched without protection. Here, you are asked to strip the shell you thought was you.

You step forward, ribs still flared from the necklace’s theft. The air tastes different now, metallic, sharp.

At the fourth gate, the Guardian does not hesitate. No words, no gesture of grace. Only a hand that grips, claws under the edge of the breastplate, and tears.