For the purposes of this article, I’ll be using she/her pronouns for Gwyndolin. Major spoilers for Dark Souls and Dark Souls 3 follow.

Dark Sun Gwyndolin is a character in the Dark Souls series that is implied to have orchestrated your character’s rise to power, going so far as to create an illusion of her sister to convince you to kill her father, the lord of cinder, Gwyn. She is one of the most powerful characters in Dark Souls, and, if you’re like me, you probably didn’t even meet her on your first playthrough.

Based on what we know from item descriptions, she is implied to be a trans woman: she was raised as a princess and has a feminine appearance, despite the English release continually referring to her with he/him pronouns. In Dark Souls 3, she is referred to as a “sullen brooding goddess” and was raised as such because of her affinity for the moon (which, mythologically, the moon has some major ties to motherhood). Despite her feminine appearance and multiple mentions of goddesshood and femininity, Dark Souls seemed content to ignore those textual and subtextual elements. If you’re uncomfortable with the implications here, maybe ask instead why you won’t even consider the possibility of her transness, despite some clearly misguided authorial intent to that effect. (If you’d like a more in-depth analysis, I highly recommend this article!)

Here’s the thing: I don’t necessarily care what the discourse on trans people could be in Lothric/Lordran, because that ignores a bigger problem: a part of the development team made her this way. The Dark Souls series, like it or not, has a real bad case of rampant transmisogyny for Dark Sun Gwyndolin. Fans of the series — being as incredibly devout to authorial integrity as they are — reify this problem of transmisogyny again and again, deciding not to challenge the text and instead, deciding to lean into this nebulous concept of “intent”.

Dark Souls is a fantastic series, and has opened up tons of conversations on critical game design, as well as lore and worldbuilding in games. It is an incredible work that is also indelibly transmisogynistic. And this trend continues into the series’ newest release, Dark Souls 3.

Dark Souls 3 builds up three major boss encounters in the opening cinematic sequence: Yhorm the Giant, The Watchers of the Abyss, and Aldrich, Devourer of Gods. All three are framed as Lords who abandoned their thrones and scattered throughout the land. You’ve been tasked with bringing them back dead or alive. Aldrich, as you might imagine, is a mass of slime, a creature made of twisted flesh that bloated and became amorphous. He is revered as one of the most powerful beings in the land, and has massive religious following devoted to him and the coming abyss. He even has a cathedral!

So, imagine my surprise when Aldrich finally appeared and he was wearing Gwyndolin’s helmet and wispy robes. Finally, we know why Aldrich is called a devourer: this slime-like abomination consumed Gwyndolin when she was very ill and unable to use her incredible magical prowess.

Gwyndolin was taken by a coward who thirsted for power; and instead of being murdered, is now used for Aldrich’s own gain. Aldrich’s godhood is built upon the shambling corpse of a trans woman. Her agency is shattered, and the strings tethered to her limbs glint in the moonlight as her puppet status is cemented.

It is hard to explain the hurt I feel about this. Symbolically, Gwyndolin being eaten by an eldritch terror mirrors the very fears of one’s own transness being erased in death. Parents misgendering at the wake, the old pictures from before transition placed over bouquets of flowers, and the stifling sound of dirt hitting a coffin lid. “We’ll pray for you,” despite never uttering a word of confidence for her while she lived.

This particular fight also comes directly after entering an area called Anor Londo, which is one of the most famous locations in the Souls series. What was once a sunny, sprawling bastion of spires, lavish furniture, and flying buttresses is now covered in Aldrich’s trail of thick ooze. Even the ceilings drip down and remind you that this place used to be so beautiful, even if it was quite deadly. Now, it’s absolutely decrepit.

I say all this because Dark Souls 3 is littered with references to past games, but this is the only direct and obvious reference that immediately assails players with nostalgia for the series’ monolith. Anor Londo was also Gwyndolin’s home.

It all feels like a slap in the face, rather than an homage! And, to top it all off, Gwyndolin’s sister Yorshka (who was not even mentioned in previous titles) puts the icing on this horrible goo cake:

C’mon! Come onnnnn

Sometimes, I think of the people that maybe never got the chance. Sometimes, I wonder if I will be devoured by forces beyond my control. By systemic violence or physical violence. What happens when a poor trans woman with no medical insurance and very few social resources becomes ill? Who mourns us, then?

I’m normally not affected by the deaths of fictional characters, least of all characters in Dark Souls. The series has always considered every character to be rough and ruined in some way, and it’s rarely a big surprise to come back to the hub area to find another character has fled and/or murdered someone else.

And yet, after putting Gwyndolin out of her misery, I felt familiar pangs. Things I’m still unable to put words to. Seeing Gwynevere’s shrine empty and the hall where the fight with Gwyndolin took place completely devoid left me feeling distinctly empty.

She built her hopes and dreams on the moon and loved its shining light. And they had the audacity to call her Dark Sun.