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Realistic or Modern 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 ; the dossiers








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credit
















little miss perfect



lovely







full name

sorcha moore.






nicknames

'whore'






age

twenty-three, the age at which she was to be wed at.






d.o.b.

december 21st, a winter solstice.






occupation

prostitute.






sexuality

bisexua.






residence

red heights.

































fairytale


alex rybak




















01.



visage

















height

5'9






weight

168 lbs.






appearance.


To say Sorcha is beautiful is simply an understatement; There aren’t enough words in the world to describe her appearance. With golden locks that fall beyond her cinched waist and skin so fair that would put Snow White into shock, she’s almost difficult to look at. Her supple lips are constantly painted in the most devilish of shades, whispering words that would make a grown adult weak in the knees. Yet all that beauty, and not one person seems to enjoy spending time with Sorcha. Perhaps it’s because maintaining eye contact proves to be a struggle for most, as they often find themselves chilled to the bone at the neverending hues of her irises. Some claim that they were the most splendid shade of brown, while others swear it was like they were peering into two lilacs. Some have even claimed that her eyes were two different colors at once, with one being as golden as the sun while the other was as dark as midnight.

Whenever probed about the peculiar color of her eyes, Sorcha simply reminds the asker that she is but their desire reflected. That tends to remind them of why they were there to see her in the first place.

Though Sorcha was never a monster, she still uses glamor to hide her true appearance. Instead of fair, untouched skin, Sorcha’s entire body is blemished with ink. Swirling tattoos wrap around her arms and legs, staining the tips of her fingers black. The intricate swirls leave only her face untouched, but she doesn’t dare let the world see her scars.






eyes.

Bright blue and almost a bit alarming, Evangeline’s eyes are probably the most noticeable thing about her. A bit creepy, if you stare too long.






faceclaim

unknown atm.

























02.



psyche










Sorcha is a bit of a mystery to most, due to the nature of her work. Most of those who come to visit her late into the night find the woman with not much to say, nor the ears to listen. It's best to not play pretend and make nice when it comes to this sort of thing.

Under the surface, however, is a resentful and fearful woman. Though she has never let go of her original goal of revenge, she's a shell of her former self. There is little joy in her day to day life, resulting in Sorcha's apparent apathy. She keeps her head down, and her eyes lowered. To anger the wrong person in the world she inhabits is a beating at best, and death at worst. Perhaps if her circumstances weren't so bleak, young Sorcha would have more life in her fight. She'd stand up for herself, and confront those who continue to wrong her everyday.

But life isn't a fairytale for people like her, and the bruises that welt on her back and the cuts that bleed freely each night are proof enough. However, if you show her genuine kindness, that former princess might slowly begin to show herself once again.





alignment

neutral.






positive

Sorcha is an intelligent but meek woman, who has lost the previous spark that had suitors sprinting across the sea just to meet her. Still, kindness isn't outside her realm. At the very least, she a gentle shoulder to rest upon when times are tough, as she's likely to understand one's woes.






negatives

Meekness is a two sided coin. Scared of those who may have an inch more power than her, Sorcha often cowers away at any potential real threats. Though she isn't one to abandon others, she often pleads and begs for deals one might not so readily agree with.







likes

Pearls, a warm cup of tea, and a quiet room. A secluded cottage deep in the forest is all Sorcha truly desires now.






dislikes

Her clients, suitors, her father, her kingdom, her entire life at the moment...It's better to ask what she enjoys instead.






fears

Those who are stronger than her. Sorcha had once believed she had bested those who sought to bring her down, but she was seemingly proven wrong when her own maid betrayed her. Now, she constantly doubts her own abilities and shudders to think of what others might scheme against her.






ailments

Poor Sorcha is often battered and bruised, though she does well to hide the marks for her incoming clients.



















03.



history










The fable of Princess Fiorimonde isn't all too well-known. Those who tell it speak of a beautiful princess, whose hair was as soft and lush as silk, and whose skin was fairer than any maiden in the land. Her eyes were as clear as sapphires, and her smile was rumored to cause even the most iron-willed of guards to giggle. Yet, the storyteller would warn, that the princess was a wicked girl underneath her beauty. Every night, she slipped away in her silken nightgown and vanished into the moss of the woods. There, she'd spend hours under the moonlight with an old crone, practicing witchcraft. No one saw Fiormonde slip away into the night, her golden hair vanishing into the darkness.

No one except her maid, of course.

It wasn't long until the rumors of her beauty spread across the land. Some claimed she was growing even more beautiful by the day, and that soon she'd be wed. Fiorimonde was distraught upon hearing of her fathers plans to have her married, and begged him to reconsider. Yet he refused to relent, and soon suitors were flooding into the castle by the day. Each suitor seemed not to care for Fiormonde herself, but instead the beauty she possessed. Each bragged that the children she'd produce would be the fairest in the land, and the wealth they'd admass would be beyond their dream. They'd turn to her father and assure him that they'd be a good suitor, and that Fiorimonde would be a wonderful wife.

Each of them made it exceptionally clear that Fiorimonde would not rule, and instead she'd spend the rest of her days caring for heirs and weaving upon the loom, a simple trophy to look upon once the suitor returned to the bedroom each night.

As the reasons for Fiorimonde's rejections became more and more asinine, the king declared that Fiorimonde was in no condition to chose, and that he would pick a suitor come morning. It was on that fateful night that Fiorimonde confined in her maid Yolande that she will never be wed, and that one day she'd be Queen instead of a wife. She promised Yolande that on that day, she'd pay off her debts and fund her travels, in hopes that she may one day join her too. Yolande agreed, yet Fiormonde couldn't quite place the look in her eyes at the time. Only later would she come to realize that it was jealous.

When the sun set that evening, Fiorimonde made her way into the woods to the old witch. She fell to her knees and begged her for a way to prevent her marriage. The crone gave her three options: To turn her suitors into dogs to come whenever the princess calls, to turn them into birds and have them fly into the air and sing of her beauty, or to turn them into the beads of a necklace so beautiful that no woman has ever worn anything like its equal.

Fiorimonde chose the last option, and was sent home that night with a golden thread.

Over the neck few days, pearls began to appear on her necklace, and suitors began to leave the palace. When probed about the everchanging appearance of the necklace, Fiorimonde claimed that she was slowly but surely crafting it herself. Each night, it took her hours to place a perfect hole through a single pearl, and by the time the sun had risen, she had to wait until the next evening to do another. To her father, she mourned the sudden loss of the suitors, for some began to vanish from even their chambers.

Yet as the pearls on her necklace grew, so did Yolande's jealousy.

Soon, suitors began to stop showing up. Rumors flew that the castle was cursed, and that anyone who wished to marry Princess Fiorimonde was said to vanish that night. Some said that a God had taken a liking to her beauty, and was preventing anyone else from marrying her. Others whispered of an rejected suitor who was so taken by Fiorimonde, that he murdered each and every one of her suitors until he'd be the only option left.

Despite the horrors surrounding the castle, another Prince wished to try his luck. Perhaps it added to his charm, but Prince Florestan was a naïve man. Despite the warnings from his close friend Gervaise, he still journeyed to the castle and presented himself to the King and Fiorimonde.

And that night, he vanished from his room.

Unknown to Fiorimonde, Yolande had become smitten with Gervaise. It was only the next night that she approached Gervaise and informed him of Fiorimonade's necklace, and how each suitor has become a pearl upon the golden thread. She also told him that to free his friend, Gervaise must cut the necklace without become a bead himself, and take his pearl off.

From this point forward, the truth of the story becomes blurred. Some say that Fiorimonde was tricked by Gervaise due to her greed for beauty, and became a bead on her own necklace. Others say he slashed the thread from her neck, resulting in her own death. In all versions, Yolande is wed to Gervaise and lives happily ever after in the kingdom of Princess Florestan, free from the wicked ways of Fiorimonde.

In all versions, Fiorimonde is left behind, and no one speaks her name ever again. They only refer to to her as the foolish princess, who should of put her beauty to good use and settled down with a prince. If only she had done that, then she'd have had a happy ending like Yolande.

But there was never a happy ending planned for Fiorimonde.


















04.



gallery


































05.



connections

















character name



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character name



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06.



miscellaneous

















magical item


Her necklace.

Though it’s nothing more than a golden thread at this point, Sorcha yearns to place it around her neck once more. To slowly feel the weight of the pearls return one by one, as she wraps the thread around the fingers of those who have wronged her once again.






W.I.P







W.I.P





















♡coded by uxie♡
 
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teta mora
















aunt of nightmares,




club owner










♡coded by uxie♡




Fable/Urban Legend: TETA MORA, lit. Aunt Nightmare. A woman in South Slavic (specifically Slovenian) folklore. The nightmare, the stalking beast-woman, the howling symbol, the envious hag and the pouting sin. Deadly beatuiful in one story, horribly ugly the next. Her court is built from stone - no, bone - no, marble - no, dry gold. She lives behind seven mountains/rivers/caves/villages. She twists like a snake in water, rolling white eyes and cooing. She puts hands, gentle as rain, to your daughter's throat and squeezes.

She is night personified, she will crawl into your bed and lick blood off your fingers. She will turn into a mouse, rat, bat, owl. She will be your bride in white gown, she will be your widow-spider. A monster that tricks young girls into their death/doom/end. She is who the evil step-mother sends her pretty, kind daughter, she is who chases the same girls over drowning marshes and forests cutting up feet.

Or maybe she isn't. Nobody cared to really ask her, after all.

Age: Appears 28.

Gender: Female, but not in the human sense.

Orientation: Bisexual.

Occupation: Exotic dancing and entertainment club owner. Really just a nice way of saying a strip club, but Teta Mora cares for it greatly.

Residence: Red Heights.

Appearance: Glamour turns her into the shape of a woman; one of healthy, tan skin and a depth beneath it all like the traitorous mouth of muddy waters.

Mousy brown hair, turned straight or curled or short depending on her mood. Brown eyes that are always a little half-lid from alcohol and a mouth that twists with hidden teeth and smiles. She is not fraily thin, but Mora carries her weight well - she is tall, darkly curious eyes casting downwards on those shorter. And her face! It seems at once the mirror of a demoness, devastingly ruined or some glance into pagan hell.

Personality: list or a few paragraphs.

History: (keep in mind the villain title of fable or legend; however, this does not mean that they are the bad guy. They’ve likely been framed/misunderstood/etc. Fables in fablebrooke still will see them as such, though.)

Magic item: if applicable, this item will not be in the hands of your fable; instead, it is hidden in The Pit.

 
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SILVÉRE






  • requisite
    visage
    persona
    timeline




    requisite



    NAME
    Silvére Robespierre


    FABLE
    none, the only human that knows the existence of the fables


    A.K.A.
    mr. Robespierre, "The Human in Red Heights", Silver, Rob, "


    age
    appears to be 57 years old


    d.o.b.
    February 14th


    orientation
    homosexual


    gender
    cisgender male


    occupation
    runs a small tavern and inn called the "The Lonely Swallow" in the middle of red heights, booming business and almost everyone and anyone has run into this little joint


    residence
    red heights


    Synopsis


    It started with Alice.

    No, no, not the young one seen in books—the image of a girl lost, terrorized by the evil Queen of Hearts; instead, it starts with the truth. Alice (26), just as scared as she—the Queen—fled home, had her fair share of encounters with Eleanor, confided in her the deepest of secrets, and escaped the home that never wanted her. Never needed her. There would be times, particularly at first, when Eleanor would attempt to assist Alice in her ambition to flee; a short few falling flatly, never succeeding—an inevitable collision between family and woman too cowardly to run. And their hypotheses elementary, bubbled down to simpler things despite the reality of the complex emotions that had only seemed to riddle their thoughts in every waking moment. Wonderland, as enchanting as it seemed, had become the escape yearned for.

    And with this, everything had weighed down into sacredness: how Wonderland, the home of Eleanor, had soon become Alice’s as well.

    Escapism, it’s what’s driven the two together; filled the void of loneliness Eleanor crossed paths with in the life of a royal with no family to call her own—the woman who unwillingly took the care of the throne, lead a people too selfish, too occupied with their own endeavors. The act of devotions had only relocated, fell from the people to Alice, the Queen of Heart’s heart stolen by a wanderer; cheek to cheek embraces of warmth, Alice had become Eleanor’s roots, her shade, the only thing that kept her head on her shoulders in pressuring times.

    Perhaps it was the outreach of love that helped Alice escape the trenches of her home, falling into the hands of Eleanor, hearts touching in every waking moment they’d been together. And perhaps then, was there the realization that love, as frightening as it is, had fallen into their laps.

    Happiness, however, has become a long-forgotten conclusion to a story whose end had only met tragedy. The Mad Hatter, a man disguised as a friend, the betrayer of Wonderland, Eleanor, Alice—too many names to count. He’d whispered in Alice’s ear, fed lies that slandered Eleanor; hurt her image, lead Alice into a trap, and had her wrapped around his finger. The throne, Eleanor’s downfall, a hatched plan that hadn’t fallen through—no—it was accomplished. Somehow, he’d gotten the kingdom, Eleanor’s love—Alice—to betray her.

    Eleanor could have dealt with it, despite Alice hating her upon false accusations, she couldn’t bear to hate her back; a cleared name could win her back, a selfish thought, but a thought she had nonetheless. That was the torment of it, failed attempts to tell Alice the full truth—the perpetual suffering sensation the moment the Mad Hatter had no use for Alice anymore.

    It mattered how it ended, despite how the Mad Hatter had put it. He killed Alice and he made Eleanor pay for his sins. And yet, despite his treachery and lies, he had become the hero and Alice the martyr.

    TL/DR
    Alice and Eleanor fell in love, both were the same age at the time. Mad Hatter fed Alice lies and turned her against Eleanor, attempts to drive Eleanor mad and succeeding, though this has lead to Eleanor's crushing depression; he took everything from her, turned the kingdom against her despite the efforts made to rule it well, and had only done it because he sought more power. The Mad Hatter had no use for Alice anymore once he got what he wanted and killed her in front of Eleanor: then, blamed Alice's death on Eleanor. Now, in Fablebrooke, Eleanor is an escort and illegal glamour dealer: the Queen's fall from the throne and her attempt at winning the people's trust back, even if it's by illegal means. Legal does not always mean right or moral.




    scroll.


    "Off with their heads."










designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ
 
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Maeve Hughes

















#SHEW0LF #RED HIGHTS P.I.
















♡coded by uxie♡


Maeve Carmine Hughes
shewolf
late 20's
female
bisexual
Private Investigator
Little Red Riding Hood
height
5'6 ft
weight
150 lbs
hair
Depending on the lighting it can appear a dark blonde or a deep brown, some would say dirty blonde, others strawberry but never anything remotely near black. Maybe she changes it so no one can definitively point her out of crowd by it, no one has ever gotten a straight answer about it or seen any boxes to prove otherwise. Often styled to be left down in waves that look more akin to something casual from Heaven's End when it is more naturally suited to a straighter style thanks to its length weighing on the curly flyaways she was known for when she first settled here. On the days that she spent her days and nights cooped up in some spot to catch a scandalous affair, or during her moon party hangovers, does that same wild nest of curled chaos show itself since her long hair is tied up lazily into a bun.
eyes
Pools of light, steely blues with specks of green the closer to the pupil you look.
GLAMOUR
Contrary to popular belief, Maeve isn’t a ripped Adonis under her clothes, her limbs and torso are toned but not overly muscular which makes her large amount of strength something people don’t tend to expect from her based on looks alone. Those who listened to rumors or know her personally have probably seen her use it through favors or by proximity, since she gets house calls to move furniture from time to time. So long as they feed her for her troubles, which is the second contradictory thing about her that doesn’t add up to her appearance. Either she shouldn’t be as slim as she is, or her Private Investigator work really is a work out, because this woman is almost constantly eating. In all her years here, she hasn’t lost her hourglass figure. Her tattoos are relatively new though: a pair of lightning veins at the sides of rib cage right under her bust, two snakes curled together in a mass of black and white ink that circles her left inner thigh, a crescent moon in the back of her neck with a cloaked red figure standing within it, and a thin sword wrapped in colored in wolfsbane on the inside of her right forearm. Her ears have been pierced multiple times along the edges of her ears.
TRUE FORM
Damn near every tattoo on her is covering a scar of some kind from when her tale came to fruition, that her glamour hides with unblemished skin. Bite marks and full clawmarks speckle her skin like freckles, the most notable ones not covered by her tattoos are the bite marks at the crook of her neck and the claw marks at her waist. Her face is surprisingly left untouched by the scars, and her eyes being more silver in color. But when the moon is full and her fury ravenous, does her namesake for her role forcibly show itself. Her beastly form stands seven feet tall despite being slightly hunched over on two legs, her entire body covered in thick fur, a similar color as her hair that changes with the phases of the moon to a different shade. Her scars and tattoos peeking through the fur at times with a silverish hue, more apparent when she is running on all fours. Not quite a wolf, but not quite human. Even though the Lumberjack who first told the tale of Little Red Riding Hood did describe her as a werewolf, it never did catch on.
CLOSET
The color palette of here normal day-to-day closet and her closet meant to blend in with important people are very different. The latter has more selection and could even pass as something name brand, while her normal clothes are much more down to earth and stick to darker colors with the occasional red item. All of them are tailored to fit her frame and her formal wear is much more pristine than what she wears on a daily basis, though those are mended with care. Her style is risqué in the sense that she isn’t very conservative in terms of showing off skin, but has a large variety of coats, hoodies, and sweaters despite not needing them to stay warm. If the weather is particularly foul, she’ll up for more functional shoes like boots over her normal heels. Though she will always be seen with multiple rings on and a necklace or two with a pair of different pair of earrings.
faceclaim
Elizabeth Gillies
like Looking AT MY Reflection
personality
Depending on who you ask, their opinions on Maeve will differ. The over-arching traits that they all point out are her ability to be sarcastic about everything without trying and her disturbingly good skill of dodging answering questions directly when people finally find her to ask them. It's ironic how one of the best finders in Fablebrooke is the hardest to find, cause she goes out of her way to keep her secrets secret and people from bugging her. This goes really well with her job as a private investigator when it comes to collecting sensitive information without getting caught. Though her stubbornness can get her in trouble just as much as her temper cause she is pretty stuck in her ways. Though she isn't one to turn her nose up at facts and logic, necessarily but that requires that the evidence you bring to her is not only reliable but also valid. And she will check, her opinions and beliefs are far too important to her to change at a moment's notice for something that isn't true. Especially when it comes to morals. However, if you get her to trust you, you gain a lot from it. A damn good informant and someone who will not only fight for you with everything they have, even if that means taking a bullet for you. Though the list of people that applies to is very short because it's more exclusive than even the ritziest club in Heaven's End.
hobbies
Sharp Shooting
Hunting
Cooking
Singing
virtues
Steadfast
Adroit
Meticulous
Perceptive
vices
Impassioned
Blunt
Skeptical
Solatiry
likes
Alcohol (Wines and Scotch)
Sour Candies
Knives
Gardening
dislikes
Full Moons
Strong Sweet Smells
Public Transportation
Mending Her Clothing
RESIDENCE
She has her P.I. Office ( Red Hood P. I. ) in Red Heights act as a secondary apartment when she has ongoing priority cases, but primarily lives out of her apartment in the Grimm Wards.
backstory
During the the time of evil queens and eternally sleeping curses, there was a small village town that was happily simple. The small community was close by modern standards and by the standards of its time the people were pleasantly left to their own devices unless something threatened their livelihoods. Nestled by one of the many large forests, the house closest to the woodsy border was that of the village’s esteemed hunter and his wife who was also the local tailor. They had been trying to conceive and were finally blessed with a little girl born under the light of a full moon, the occasion even bringing out the hunter’s reclusive mother from out of her cottage in the woods.

The older woman swaddled them in brilliant red fabric, enchanted fabric some would whisper, that grew with them and protected them from more than the cold as they both were never seen without the red hooded cloak.It was because of that red cloak that little red riding hood was identified by after being fatally mauled by the large wolves beast inside of her grandmother’s cottage, or so the Lumberjack that had happened to go past the wrecked cottage had said.

He would know.

He was her fiancé after all.

Poor, poor Maede Hughes, torn to pieces at the ripe age of 18.

They just assumed it was the grief and heartache that made him ask about a Maeve.

Unbeknownst to them, that fateful night under the full moon, two little girls were born and swaddled in scarlet.

Maede the victim they would come to know and retell the tale of by the red hood they saw both of them wear.

And Maeve—

The wolf who devoured her own twin sister.

Now, for the true story and all it details….

Maede and Maeve were identical twins in appearance only. Their personalities and mannerisms could not be more different from the other. Maede was bright and sociable, having absolutely no difficulties walking up to new people to strike up a conversation while in the hub of the village shopping for their mother. On the other hand, Maeve was incredibly timid and preferred to be left alone in the family’s garden or follow quietly in her father’s footsteps when he went through the woods to check the traps he set out. It was rare for Maeve to go into the center of their village town, and when she did it was only because her sister couldn’t go, as it was far too scary for her taste with the strangers that kept coming up to her and the volume of the gossiping housewives hurt her ears. But she would endure it for her mother to have an extra set of hands to help her.

Which was a pity, because, unlike Maede, she had nimble hands that could thread any needle and follow complex stitch patterns with relative ease. Her mother made an honest attempt at trying to see if she would one day take over her work but found quickly that the prolong time in time affected her work negatively. And her eldest daughter was very upset at being the only one barred from the workspace, even if it was because she was very distracting to the other women she worked with on top of her sewing being downright atrocious.

In the end, both girls were kept away from their mother’s work, though she often had her youngest help her from time to time. Their father refuses to let either of them try his work, barely tolerating Maeve’s following him around, but he’d be lying if Maede didn’t help him get more for his catch. She was a natural-born haggler with infinite charm to boot, even the most frugal men in the village had a hard time saying no to her. She wanted nothing to do with hunting, and so when she set her eyes on him to be his little helper, it was hard for him to say no. Which was something Maede flaunted, especially when her little sister was getting scolded for practicing what she had seen her father do. Weaving traps and such, no matter how well, only served to make their father mad.

It wasn’t her place to hunt. He worked hard to make sure she wouldn’t ever have to hunt.

But he didn’t say anything about gathering. To her credit, Maeve did not hunt just like he had forbidden her from doing. She, from just paying attention to her mother‘s cooking and her tending to the garden, pieced together on her own what she could and couldn’t pick within the areas of the forest her father allowed her to be in. So she harvested berries and herbs under the nose of her father, adding them to the garden with a few ripe ones given to keep her nosy sister from tattling to dad. It was when she started to use them when she helped cook that got her a harsh scolding. Her sister also getting scolded for having known and not told him.

So their punishment was to visit their grandmother in the woods, being warned constantly to not stray from the path for any reason. That there were wild beasts out there that would hurt them, the same kind and worse than the ones he hunted every day.

Early the following morning, both girls dressed in the red hooded cloaks walked into the woods on the path that lead straight to their grandmother’s house with the sun lighting their way. It gradually got darker the further they went as the trees seemed to start weaving their branches together over the path to form a dense canopy of leaves. The light that filtered through made the atmosphere of the whole forest change from something ordinary to something magical.

Maede, pulling down her hood, loved the low light scenery and wanted to go off the path to explore this new environment since she had her sister with her. The explorer who could always find her way back to the path and basically the only expert of the forest besides their father that she knew of. Maeve, who had actually wanted to see their grandmother and took her father’s warnings to heart, voiced her concerns to her older twin sister. Only for them to be dismissed completely and her to run off the path anyway, knowing that her sister would follow. She had to, her sister knew nothing of the forest and could have easily gotten herself lost or injured. Plus their father would scold her for it, and it would kill her to know that her grandmother thought she was the type to abandon family.

So in the end Maeve went racing after her sister that barreled through the forest as fast as her ten-year-old legs could go, holding up her skirts in her hands so she didn’t trip.

Unaware of the watchful eyes that stalked both of their retreating forms.

When Maeve had finally caught up to her, Maede was prancing in a small patch of purple flowers. “Oh Maeve, look at these pretty flowers. We should take some to her.” She called out, plucking a few straight from the ground. The smell they gave off was nauseating to Maeve.

”But then she’ll know we went off the path—“
”Nonsense, we can just lie and say we picked them by the path.”
”She would know, she’s walked that path before—“
”Not it months, she’s too old to visit us remember. They could have sprung up recently.”
”But dad would know, and they smell weird. So just drop them and let's go back—“
”Why can’t I get to have fun in the forest too!?”

Her yelling echoed amongst the trees, bouncing off the bark as she nearly crushed the flowers in her now balled-up fists. She would have continued if both of them didn’t hear the twig snapping behind her. Maede didn’t look, she just started running over to her sister, the flowers still held tightly in her hand. By the time she had hidden behind Maeve, who watched in horror, a large wolf stepped out from behind the trees and began prowling forward. Two more were emerging from the sides closest to it.

”Maeve—“
”Back up, slowly.”

Maeve’s tiny body shook almost as much as her voice did as she tried to stay calm. Slowly stepped backward with her arm out to make sure that her sister was still there behind her, listening to what she had said. Her eyes not once left the wolves in front of them. Her sister began to whimper loudly in her ears. The suffocating smell of the flowers made it harder for her to breathe, her eyes burning as they welled up with tears of fear.

”Maeve, they’re behind us.”

Maeve looked away for a second, peering back at the other wolves that were circling them in, and she stopped. She could hear the ones in front starting to run toward them and could feel her sister starting to cry while she started to pull away.

They were both terrified—

But Maeve choose to push her sister in the only direction they could go and put herself between the wolves and her sister. Her whole body shook something fierce as the wolves loomed closer. Her red cloak was ripped from her when the first wolf got to her. Its paws and momentum knocked her over and its jaws snapped at her face which she kept at bay with her hands.

Maede’s scream was the last thing she remembered.

She woke up sore and covered only by her cloak in the guest room of her grandmother’s cottage, chained to the bed with silver shackles. Her parents and an elderly woman were talking by the edge of the bed. Her mother tried to rush over to her the moment she saw she was awake but was held back by the older woman.

”Not too close.”
“But—“

Her father‘s image took over her vision, he was right beside her with a look on his face she couldn’t quite place. Petting her hair and talked softly to her as he tried to calm her down. Maede was at the doorway of the room, watching them before going back to staring at her bed bound sister being fawned over, her hands and feet bandaged.

It wasn’t until hours later, after being assisted by her mother and grandmother with bathing all of the blood and dirt off of her that she hadn’t noticed before, was she finally told what had happened.

What she was, what her father was, what her grandmother was—

Werewolf.

She shifted during the day after her sister led her to the patch of Wolfsbane and was attacked by the feral wolf pack. Something they had hoped wouldn’t happen, since she was the second generation since they went into hiding. They had wished for both of the girls to get past their eighteenth birthday without shifting. Though her parents could hardly be mad that she had shifted to protect Maede. Though this now brought new challenges.

Her body had more strength than she could account for, and used it without realizing it. Which led to many items around the house being broken, like the doors and cupboards. The intensity of her emotions was always very high, which led to her shifting partially quite a few times in the first few weeks since she got home. Her clothes ending up either tattered or in major need of mending every time. Neither twin was allowed in town for now, which Maeve had no problems with, but her father had started to take only her with him to hunt after she had her daily lessons on how to control herself and satiate her newfound ravenous hunger with her grandmother.

Maede was very unhappy about all the changes her sister’s condition brought at first, since she was bedridden thanks to the welts that had formed on her hands and legs being far to hard to explain. So every day she had to watch her sister get to go out by herself and with their father from the window by their shared bed, being forced to give her some of her clothes only for them to either be ruined. Not allowed to voice her discontent in fear that her sister would react badly or worse, she would get scolded by her parents again. Even after the welts went away and she was allowed to go into town again, she couldn’t escape hearing about her sister. Now the same people who had once bothered Maeve because they had mistaken her for Maede when she went into town, were now asking her about how her grandmother was doing. Since they had seen Maeve and her little red hood walk down the path every day for weeks now, and assumed it was her. And it made her blood boil. The compliments they said felt bittersweet,

“It was so brave of her to walk all the way down that scary forest.”
”How sweet of her to go all that way for her grandmother.”
”So reliable of her to do it every day at dawn without fail.”

The only reprieve she got was during the week of the full moon. Her sister stayed with their grandmother the entire week. And no one asked about her.

But then the sightings started—

At first, it was just teenagers who shouldn’t have been in the forest at night anyway and nearly were attacked by another pack of wolves before this small beast pounced on the wolves while they ran. The town drunk almost fell into a newly dug hole while stumbling home, if not for something covered in fur ramming into him before it disappeared. A child getting hurt on their way home through the forest and is brought back to the edge of town, all they could remember was silverish eyes.

The people of the village town may not have pieced together that it was the same thing each time, but they did notice the increase in stories after five years. That the beasts in the forests were growing with time, the animals slowly getting more predatory to the village people.

Those stories had brought new people to the village.

Curious people who worked in the industry that people them in that very same forest.

Namely, a family of Lumberjacks.

They didn’t ask Maede questions about the beast that lived in the forest, and the son that was her age was cute too, so she quite liked them. When he asked to court, she was ecstatic, not even his family being introduced to her family could ruin her good mood, though she feared it would since that was what she knew Maeve to often do. But it seemed her sister humored her pleas for her to not ruin what good thing was going on for her.

She had made a cake and dinner for them all, then let her take credit for it. In fact, she didn't show herself just to make her look even better in their eyes, it was the first time in a long time that she actually thanked her younger sister. It was for that very reason that Maeve didn't voice her worries about them, or how she could see that they only tolerated them for the sake of their son's happiness. That they were always on guard and wary of the Hughes family's Patriarch. Every day that she went to her grandmother's, she could feel their eyes on her from wherever they were working in the woods. How they asked Maede a lot about their grandmother and why such an old woman would decide to live alone out in the woods when it was so dangerous.

On several occasions, she had seen them out there in the outer edges of the forest at night, with no ax in sight. The smell of wolfsbane clinging to them the next day.

Despite these things, her father dismissed her worries the second she brought them to him, saying that keeping them thinking that Maede was her was inadvertently making it easier to hide their family secret since she was so smitten with their son. That if she didn't shift before their fastly approaching birthday, even if they tested her with silver needles, to them she would be just a human with weird allergies. In the meantime, they would have to keep their hunting to a minimum and their hunger in check.

What neither of them anticipated was for the Lumberjacks to try and put wolfsbane in his tea that Maede drank by accident while she was at dinner with them and her parents, celebrating that not only would she be eighteen, but she would be marrying the man she loved. The effects were immediate, and she ran into the night holding her throat that slowly was closing up. Through the forest on the path to her grandmother who always had just the thing to fix her allergy outbreaks. Her sister was the one to catch her as she fell on the doorstep and brought her inside, glaring down the path before she shut the door behind her.

"Your sister was right, you shouldn't be with that stupid boy until after your birthday."

Their grandmother didn't let up with her mutterings as she tried desperately to administer the medicine to save her granddaughter. Scared that she might lose her, and not thinking at all of how her words would hurt her more than the wolfsbane she was treating. Maede glared daggers at her sister from where she lay on the hastily cleared table she had set her.

"Gran-Gran, it's not her fault that his family is hunters. She didn't know--"
"He knew! And he let this happen--"
"Gran-Gran--"
"If he actually loved her, he wouldn't have let this happen!"

Maede was already shaking violently under her grandmother's strong hands, and Maeve was barely fast enough to take her grandmother out of the way of the beast that was her sister as she succumbed to her anger. Long claw marks were drawn the length of her back from her claws swiping at them. Not that she was given a second of reprieve, as Maede was on them again in seconds, grabbing her by the arm and piercing her skin with her nails as she flung her away from the elderly woman gasping for air.

Maeve was stunned for only a few seconds--

Just a few seconds--

The stars that swarmed her vision didn't hide the quick fight that transpired in those few seconds that she couldn't move.

How her grandmother in her old age couldn't shift as easily anymore now, and how the beast that looked sickeningly too much like her own chomped down on her head. She didn't stop. She kept chomping, taking more and more with each bite. Scarlett coloring its teeth, the floor, and even specks had hit her face. The sounds... The smell....

Tears were dribbling down her cheeks as she howled, her skin turning to fear. Her bones breaking and reforming.

She didn't care that she could hear that idiot Lumberjack opening the door right as she shifted.

She didn't care that his family of hunters was probably right behind him with silver, ready to kill her and possibly her parents when they walked in on this shit show of gore and fur.

She didn't even care that her sister had her celebration ruined.

All Maeve cared about was stopping the monster that was gobbling up her grandmother.

She fought her twin sister. Her reflection. Her beast.

Tooth and nail, and while she had experience on her side, her twin sister had the power of her first shift and the unyielding hate she had always had for her. Maeve could feel it in every bite and scratch that she got in on her. In the end, Maede's hate made her sloppy. And that sound of Maede's bones breaking under her teeth--

That feeling of pleading fear of willing to say anything to not die--

It will haunt her as much as seeing her lying there naked on the floor, eyes wide open and her heart missing so that she was human again. On instinct alone did she drape her grandmother with the table cloth. Ignoring the guy who stumbled over to Maede and wept. She took her cloak into her mouth and shifted back, wrapping the crimson fabric around her battered body as she knelt beside her sister, silverish eyes staring at the Lumberjack who flinched at merely her presence. All the stories he had been told by his parents did not add up to the sight before him. Nor the memories he had of the female that now laid dead.

"Lie to them."

With that she shifted in front of his very eyes, her cloak falling on her sister's body before she jumped out the window in time for her to be seen by his family. Silver arrows coated in wolfsbane whizzed by her as she ran. The hunters found the bodies and with the story their son gave of what he had walked into, the tale was born.

[[tldr; little red riding hood was the identical twin sister of the wolf that killed her and they were both born in a family of werewolves in hiding. their grandmother taught maeve to control herself cause she wolfed out for the first time at ten. the supernatural hunter family that daylights as lumberjacks roll into town, looking hella sus. maeve nopes out of them knowing she exists. they never pieced together their son was dating someone with a twin. at eighteen lil red hood shifted after getting poisoned by her future in-laws, at her grandmas cabin where she ate her. sister wolf fight. maeve wins and eats her sister's heart to girl boss her family into an alibi so they wouldn't die. stares down her sister's fiance and then yeets herself out a window.]]
magic item
It was a scarlet cloak made of enchanted cloth that she had since birth. It grew alongside her and warded off danger while acting as a small form of glamour. When worn with the hood up, it could suppress her hunger and emotions to a normal level to keep her from shifting.
FEARS
Besides complete abandonment and rejection due to her lycanthropy, hurting someone innocent because of it is also pretty high up there. Since it would prove she was every bit of the monster her tale painted her as. Oh, and being betrayed by someone she trusts, again.
fun facts
●Public Transportation is a cesspool of body odor and screeching to her thanks to her heightened senses, so if she willingly uses it when she doesn't have to, whoever she did it for is important to her.

●Doesn't shift during the full moons anymore, though she can be forced to if put under extreme duress, but she can control herself all throughout.

●Hates how fragile, useful, and expensive modern phones are.

●She has really good vision in dark.

●Candy, specifically the sour kind, help suppress her hunger temporarily.
Marshmello ft. Khalid -- Silence


coded by Stardust Galaxy
-->
 
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James Rookson

















#CAPT.H00K #RED HEIGHTS ENTERTAINER
















♡coded by uxie♡




james philip rookson
captain hook
early 40's
male
pansexual
Entertainer
Red Heights
height
5'10 ft
weight
157 lbs
hair
A dark russet sort of brown, almost black but not quite there with a sliver of silver peeking through. Kept short nowadays, but for those who settled in before him can remember distinctly the long tresses he had. Some of it braided with a few shiny bits and beads mixed, maybe a feather or too, it has been far too long to recall what exactly. Though the chains he wears on his pants seem very familiar. It is still not styled for neatness and more than likely the bed head of this mornings hangover, but it could simply be just how it learned to stay after many instances of his hands running through them.
eyes

A deep brown that is as steady as the earth and the soil it is made of. Though when he smiles and light finally reaches his eyes, it almost begins to show the whiskey gold flecks that are hidden within their depths. But overall, those nearing black eyes of his just look deep and sorrowful. Not for anyone he knows now, but for the faces of the past that he refuses to forget, or be forgotten.
Glamour
No longer the disheveled man smelling of spilt rum and the ocean breeze that first came to Fablebrooke, James is in most cases, more put together as an adult now. His clothes are much more casual formal than the tattered renaissance fair look he had going for him before. Some things haven't changed though, he still wears his chains of miscellaneous things on the loops of his pants, along with his many rings and bracelets. A few are very tattered but well-loved, just like the necklaces he wears, some could even say that they were vintage relics if that wasn't the style nowadays. His once unruly braided beard is trimmed and styled into a goatee that makes him look distinguished. The two hooped earrings in his right ear remain, even though he only has one in his left. Plenty of rumors have circulated about how he keeps his toned physique, but he merely answers with jokes about sword fights.
true form

His left hand is missing, a hook prosthetic where it should be.
faceclaim
Johhny Depp
Lost Boy To Troubled Man
personality
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse pretium orci lorem, at bibendum nisi finibus in. Quisque ultricies, ante vitae tincidunt finibus, ante nibh faucibus ex, sit amet consequat risus sapien sed odio. Praesent congue ante consectetur dolor porta, non dapibus velit iaculis. Morbi a commodo leo. Aenean consequat justo tincidunt turpis ultricies pretium. Donec in varius massa. Fusce vitae lacus ut nibh faucibus semper non nec urna. Donec tempus fringilla erat, eget lacinia dolor iaculis eu. Duis tempus molestie rhoncus. Aenean id nunc imperdiet libero pellentesque egestas in eget dui. Donec at urna non elit congue sollicitudin eu ut dolor. Vestibulum fermentum, ante nec fringilla efficitur, nunc tortor sollicitudin risus, at hendrerit nisl velit sed metus. Praesent finibus justo vitae metus venenatis, ut lacinia nisi congue. Aenean lorem ante, interdum id enim eget, ultricies luctus mi.

Aenean tincidunt, erat eu accumsan imperdiet, tortor dolor luctus sem, sit amet laoreet urna arcu in est. Nunc finibus eros eget nisl consequat sodales. Aenean id elementum ligula. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Pellentesque ullamcorper non leo non tincidunt. Fusce ut vulputate justo. Integer in dui vitae enim dignissim placerat vel vel ligula. Morbi vulputate vestibulum aliquam. Vivamus a erat consectetur, tristique dolor vitae, imperdiet metus. Mauris venenatis sed lorem eget tincidunt. Proin tincidunt est sit amet leo feugiat, et aliquam odio congue. Pellentesque vel risus at ligula rutrum commodo. Suspendisse placerat interdum tincidunt. Pellentesque et volutpat sem.

Aenean tincidunt, erat eu accumsan imperdiet, tortor dolor luctus sem, sit amet laoreet urna arcu in est. Nunc finibus eros eget nisl consequat sodales. Aenean id elementum ligula. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Pellentesque ullamcorper non leo non tincidunt. Fusce ut vulputate justo. Integer in dui vitae enim dignissim placerat vel vel ligula. Morbi vulputate vestibulum aliquam. Vivamus a erat consectetur, tristique dolor vitae, imperdiet metus. Mauris venenatis sed lorem eget tincidunt. Proin tincidunt est sit amet leo feugiat, et aliquam odio congue. Pellentesque vel risus at ligula rutrum commodo. Suspendisse placerat interdum tincidunt. Pellentesque et
virtues
Calm
Unbaised
Adventurous
Honest
vices
Non-Confrontational
Thrill Seeker
Melancholy
Conflicted
likes
Music (Folk)
Rum
Knick Knacks and Accessories
Vintage Furniture
dislikes
Fairytales (and the Fae)
Crocodiles
Overly Strict Rules
Still Ground
backstory
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse pretium orci lorem, at bibendum nisi finibus in. Quisque ultricies, ante vitae tincidunt finibus, ante nibh faucibus ex, sit amet consequat risus sapien sed odio. Praesent congue ante consectetur dolor porta, non dapibus velit iaculis. Morbi a commodo leo. Aenean consequat justo tincidunt turpis ultricies pretium. Donec in varius massa. Fusce vitae lacus ut nibh faucibus semper non nec urna. Donec tempus fringilla erat, eget lacinia dolor iaculis eu. Duis tempus molestie rhoncus. Aenean id nunc imperdiet libero pellentesque egestas in eget dui. Donec at urna non elit congue sollicitudin eu ut dolor. Vestibulum fermentum, ante nec fringilla efficitur, nunc tortor sollicitudin risus, at hendrerit nisl velit sed metus. Praesent finibus justo vitae metus venenatis, ut lacinia nisi congue. Aenean lorem ante, interdum id enim eget, ultricies luctus mi.

Aenean tincidunt, erat eu accumsan imperdiet, tortor dolor luctus sem, sit amet laoreet urna arcu in est. Nunc finibus eros eget nisl consequat sodales. Aenean id elementum ligula. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Pellentesque ullamcorper non leo non tincidunt. Fusce ut vulputate justo. Integer in dui vitae enim dignissim placerat vel vel ligula. Morbi vulputate vestibulum aliquam. Vivamus a erat consectetur, tristique dolor vitae, imperdiet metus. Mauris venenatis sed lorem eget tincidunt. Proin tincidunt est sit amet leo feugiat, et aliquam odio congue. Pellentesque vel risus at ligula rutrum commodo. Suspendisse placerat interdum tincidunt. Pellentesque et volutpat sem.

Aenean tincidunt, erat eu accumsan imperdiet, tortor dolor luctus sem, sit amet laoreet urna arcu in est. Nunc finibus eros eget nisl consequat sodales. Aenean id elementum ligula. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Pellentesque ullamcorper non leo non tincidunt. Fusce ut vulputate justo. Integer in dui vitae enim dignissim placerat vel vel ligula. Morbi vulputate vestibulum aliquam. Vivamus a erat consectetur, tristique dolor vitae, imperdiet metus. Mauris venenatis sed lorem eget tincidunt. Proin tincidunt est sit amet leo feugiat, et aliquam odio congue. Pellentesque vel risus at ligula rutrum commodo. Suspendisse placerat interdum tincidunt. Pellentesque et
love language
here
MBTI
here
fun facts
here
Poor Man's Poison - Hell's Comin' With Me


coded by Stardust Galaxy
-->

 
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Kjell Madsen
































#The Snow Queen








#Danila Kovalev




















♡coded by uxie♡






https://66.media.tumblr.com/232c090...0344/tumblr_inline_ol4nwhvSwg1uxxza6_75sq.png[/URL]), auto!important;]






the.




ice.



kjell madsen.

you were misunderstood, a witch of ice and frigid cold, a kiss to match your temperature. you kissed him and made him forget the pains he caused onto others, you kissed him and removed the feeling of cold.

why then when you left did he betray you?

why then did you feel so sad upon return?

oh, you haughty witch.




the basics.

name
kaj madsen.
nickname
snowy, ster [stage name]
fable
the snow queen
age
appears to be in their late twenties
gender
male (he/they)
orientation
homosexual
residence
the grimm ward
occupation
club waiter in the red heights, occasional 'dancer'
magic item
a dark blue gem the size of a duck egg, a focus for his cryomancy. now stored away in the pit, giving significant weakness to his abilities. for safe keeping kjell locked away the majority of his powers into the stone before it was taken from him, a significant control over ice and snow now contained silently within the facets.




the visage.

height
189 cm (6'2")
weight
147 lbs (67 kg)
hair
one of the things that he hides, the chalky tone of his natural locks is hidden behind a box of blonde dye and the regular touching of his roots. 'too obvious' it was said to him, the snowy coloring of the hair on his body too telling of the fable he was to others. white eyelashes are tinted and eyebrows regularly dyed. in a natural form it is easy to see how he blended in with the storms he conjured, blending in to the snowy atmosphere.
eyes
perhaps this is why he was first drawn to the likes of cryomancy, a visage of ice and cold captured within the irises of the his eyes. they are as cold as the snow that has ran from his fingers, a lake upon which his throne sits, the perfect mirror. the smile on his face, the flashed flattery and pose never reaches quite into them, an empty stare behind the pale lashes. perhaps he too fell victim to a shard, perhaps not.
features
ah, there is a reason why everyone considered him to be a ‘queen’. outside of the luxurious clothing he allowed himself back in the prime of his reign it is the beauty that he nurtured, the delicate limbs and graceful movements that left the ones who saw his powers in an aftermath of awe. of course he had to be a snow beauty, pale skin interrupted only by a pattern of moles in the shape of the constellation Auriga. fingers are calloused by the reins often used to control the wilderness of his sleigh, the only markings of hardship easily visible on him.
body type
an ectomorph; he has long since held a delicate frame, one of the reasonings behind the mistake of those long ago for him being a queen. it is a body held with grace, the lengthy strides similar to the gliding of one along ice as he moves, each motion put into place with the purpose of exuding elegance. he is beautiful and breakable, a living form of a winter storm.
face claim
danila kovalev
song
Love Is a Bourgeois Construct








queen.






the personality.


as a powerful cryomancer he never found the need to form real relationships with the other inhabitants of the world. he was fine forming his own world of ice and snow, the glittering visions in his eyes brought to life by the magic that flowed freely from his hands, the crafting of a master artisan.

all he needed to see was the snowy landscape around him and the reflection that twinkled back in his masterpieces, the vanity of a man left alone to his wonderous devices growing higher and higher with each passing season. laughter rings out and tickles the lengths of the icicles above him, a new design bringing delight and joy to a bundle of white on a carved throne.

a shard infected the corner of his left eye when the demon dropped the mirror, the smallest particle of dust that floated in and brought with it the cynical attitude that followed. a man of white fell downwards into the shades of grey, a spiral that stained and blotched, a dampening on the brilliance of snow as laughter and smiles became replaced with indifference and a neutral look.

he sees still the beauty of the world, the time of winter bringing one of the few joys back to his heart as each day proves a struggle, the ugliness of the world seen just enough in his eye to hold fast the emotions once shared. distant as the clouds that rain down the cold he goes through life in a path of uncertainty, a loss of powers leading further into a loss of joy as he seeks only a reason; a cure.

he makes relationships now as a means of holding tightly to the glimmer of warmth in his soul, a way of surviving in the depths of the Red Heights as he bides his time and waits. for a person, for an object, for a dream he sits and waits and wonders when the chill of the air will flow once more into the coldness of his heart.


likes.
the first snow of the year, a frozen over lake, magic, the luxury of winter furs, ice skating, formal ballet dancing, the touching of finger tips to another, beautiful eyes


dislikes.
the height of summer, fireplaces, the smell of the club after a long night, the comments given by most patrons of his work, the loss of his magical prowess, assumptions, the smell of cardamom, spicy foods





the history.


his life was thriving before the shattering of the glass, a mirror brought high to the heavens by a malevolent demon to mock the angels above. it displayed only ugliness, a twisted and grotesque version of those who looked into it. it was meant to mock, a plan that ultimately failed as the mirror fell below and shattered, scattering shards and bits all over the world to infect the hearts and eyes of humans.

it was a child that mocked, the loud words of arrogance for the sake of impression told to the winds, a threat to the cyromancer that sat quietly in his keep. unfortunate it was then that multiple shards pierced his innocent body, the childish friendship and love for others lost as a blackening of his heart took over, poisoning the beauty of life. perhaps then one couldn’t blame Kjell for his timing, a swooping down upon with his sleigh meant only to scare the youth a little, to tease and prod and change his mind to his ability to give a good beating. comfortingly he stole the child away, the shards unseen to the man with an already icy mindset as he set the warmth of the body on the lake before his throne.

it was a looking glass, the expanse of which felt immeasurable in beauty as he tasked the child to a simple puzzle, a light punishment for mocking his powers. it should have been easy, it was all he had ever intended. yet the shard caused by another, the magic that cursed and pulled made the puzzle impossible to the young child, the punishment slowly closing around him in the icy jaws of death. a kiss to the cheek that prevented the cold, the prolonging answer growing more curiosity than worry in the witch.

that was why he never truly cared for the outcome, a shrug of his shoulders given in a mood of neglect as he escaped away into the sky, a blizzard of ice and snow on a trip to freeze over the volcanoes around the world. when the girl, a hero within her own right arrived she saw not the disinterested attitude of a witch but the remnants of a cruel jailor. their story ended in the rescue of her friend but Kjell had never seen the harm, never seen the worry needed. it was the shards that caused the damage, the evil of a demon that eventually demonized himself as all began to remember the snow queen as a murderous fiend, a trickster of magic that brought only suffering and pain to those around.

now he dances in the realm of his own world, the ice that flowed freely from his fingers stifled to party tricks and snowflakes as he glides across a smooth floor. he was once a vision of beauty, an image of grace that glided and preened along the winds of a winter storm. what now has become of the one once revered for the flaky white he brought down on the world, promising a new year would come once more? there is no worship now, no honor and magic in his life as a sickly smile reaches never to his eyes, another delivery of drinks accentuated only by the jeers of patrons and the knowledge that long ago he could have ruined them all.








/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 
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