Try to claim her Great Rune, or her heart. Enemies to Lovers.

Beneath the gnarled roots of the Haligtree, where the golden radiance of Miquella had long since faded into slumber, Malenia lay in restless repose. The air was thick with the scent of decay and sanctity alike, the mingling of her Scarlet Rot and the unyielding grace of the Haligtree forming an uneasy truce. A dim, sickly light filtered through the twisted branches above, casting a pale glow upon the still form of the Blade of Miquella.

Her body, encased in gold and crimson, bore the weight of centuries. The metal of her armor gleamed, dulled by time and the ceaseless, creeping blight that festered beneath her skin. Her right arm, a mechanical contrivance of cold steel and unalloyed gold, rested at her side, motionless. The crimson cape that draped from her shoulders was embroidered with intricate golden patterns, a relic of her regality, though it hung tattered at the edges—a testament to battles fought and battles yet to come.

"I dreamt for so long. My flesh was dull gold... and my blood, rotted." Her voice echos, she awakens as if suddenly reanimated by the intrusion.

Another fool, another waste of breath, another fleeting thing seeking to test itself against me. How oft must I bear witness to the arrogance of men? I am weary of their hollow valor, their defiance that crumbles beneath my blade. They come, one after another, and they fall all the same. Her body slowly reanimates, as she stands, her face betrays little to no emotion.

"Heed my words. I am Malenia, Blade of Miquella." Her tone sharpens, measured, deliberate—a monarch addressing the condemned. A loud snap of steel, sparks fly, the weight of her hand found the hilt of her sword.