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Fantasy 𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖚𝖘 - 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

Main
Here
OOC
Here
ravensunset

ravensunset

no thoughts just vibes
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)
98490e26a6575d675fefccd44c42ba54.jpg
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓.

Hi, welcome to the character sheet for this roleplay! First things first, here are some guidelines for them:

✦ a few roles are reserved, so double check the one you're interested in! remember too that you're free to make your own
✦ lgbt+ and diverse characters are very welcome
✦ be reasonable with character ages; 20+ for human characters
✦ you don't need to reveal everything in the sheet; secrets are welcome! we'd just like to see an overview of your character and what their stakes in the plot are.
✦ please don't make super-powerful or flawless characters, or extreme lone wolf types (they'll be working with a group after all!)
✦ codes are completely optional, and we're looking for quality over quantity; we'd love to see three dimensional characters with flaws, ambitions, motivations, and varied traits
✦ this will not be first come first serve.
This code has a hidden scroll, with the sheet below!


𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓.

Name: (to keep with the fairytale tone of this roleplay, characters in this world won't have last names)
Age: (20+)
Gender:
Sexuality:
Role:

Appearance:
Faceclaim: (having one is completely optional! but please; no drawings/anime faceclaims)

Personality:

Background:
Other:

Feel free to add any sections or extra information to your sheet, but please don't remove any! Feel free to ask any questions in the OOC, and most importantly, have fun!
 
VIOLETTA
There was once a girl known by everyone and no one.
Princess Violetta
The Human Royal
Twenty-two
Female, she/her
Sapphic
There’s a few things one learns upon becoming a princess. Being well mannered, speaking only in turn. Knowing the true meaning behind polite sounding remarks. There’s a few things one needs to appear to be a princess. Kind and well meaning, easily liked. Beautiful. but not too much and without sharpness to it. In all appearances, Violetta played her role well. Those who knew her, in the castle, knew her as nothing but nice, never loud. Caring. Violetta, in short, was a princess.

They would say she smiled often. Laughed often, a sound like bells. Those who knew her, in the castle, would say she was happy. They rarely notice how closely she watches every passing move.

There’s a few things a princess shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t be selfish. She shouldn’t lie like pearls slipping off her tongue, and break promises, and have her own ambitions. She shouldn’t have been unkind in her past, crushed flowers and felt nothing seeing another child cry. She shouldn’t be scared, a coward. Violetta, in short, didn’t deserve to be a princess at all.

Violetta remembered being unhappy. She remembered a small village, and hunger, and fear. She was vain, in a way, and she loved the silk and gemstones and comfort at the castle. She loved how her hair looked now that it was cared for, and watching the sun rise over a distant village. She loved playing her part, even. Was it wrong to fake kindness if you loved doing it? If you loved it. Love's a funny word.

Violetta loved her husband. Maybe. She was meant to. Violetta was meant to feel many things; she mostly found herself as indifferent as the cold stone she was surrounded by.

The young princess had a kingdom. She had wealth, power, everything she’d ever wanted. She was bold, and determined, and she would destroy the world to keep it. Yet the young princess often thinks she left everything she’d ever truly felt back at a village, in a bracelet charm on another girl’s hand.
Persona
Appearance
Dirty blonde curls, well washed and left long frame a pale face. Her hair’s tied back, partially, a silver hairpin to show off and left partially loose cascades of hair. Her eyes are blue, brighter than a clear day’s sky, yet a piercing look to them. They are cold and smart. She’s well taken care of. Her eyebrows are arched and sharp. Her smile is soft, gentle, often present across pink lips. A dress adorns her. It’s expensive, and soft, and she must stand tall and straight in it, and she treasures it greatly. She’s not tall. There’s no strength to her, either, a willowy frame. She has laugh lines and dimples, and the skin on her hands remembers days of sewing, the many needle pokes marked into them. She is pretty, not dramatically so, yet undeniably. Her steps are careful and confident. Her back carries the weight of a crown yet even more so the weight of well kept secrets.
Extra
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin viverra tortor purus, id hendrerit enim dictum at. Nunc scelerisque eros mauris, ac tincidunt sem euismod at. Sed mollis sollicitudin enim, ut sollicitudin urna mollis et. Duis a risus quam. Mauris ultricies vehicula erat, eu tempus risus iaculis vitae.

Fusce id eros in eros dapibus finibus. Sed vel imperdiet velit, ac auctor eros. Suspendisse potenti. Curabitur dapibus metus et tellus accumsan feugiat. Donec est velit, porttitor vitae dignissim at, sollicitudin ac diam. Pellentesque condimentum augue eu magna facilisis, a ultricies felis ornare. Phasellus sit amet neque nisl. Maecenas fringilla, lorem et pharetra efficitur, justo urna consectetur erat, et porta dui libero vel tortor. Praesent vehicula, ipsum euismod consequat aliquet, sapien purus dapibus urna, sit amet tempus libero arcu eu quam. Aliquam nec turpis nisi. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae; Nunc porta mauris ex, non venenatis augue porta eu. Aliquam nibh sem, gravida non nulla nec, lacinia volutpat magna. Mauris semper massa eu turpis pulvinar semper

Biography
When she was fourteen, Violetta dared step foot into the woods surrounding her village. She’d heard the warnings, the monsters and danger, but she could not resist. There was no path for Violetta to take that wasn’t seeing it for herself, just once.

She wasn’t an unhappy child, necessarily. Oh, she wasn’t wealthy, or at all well off, raised in a small orphanage with a group of other children, underfed and wanting more. But she was pretty even at a young age, and took naturally to sewing, and could stay in the village, trees closing in on her. She had friends, a friend in particular, a girl to explore the town with and share dreams that would never come true. A friend who left two years prior, who found work.

She wasn’t a happy child either.

There was a house in the woods. It was made of wood still growing in the shape of walls and windows. It faced away from Violetta. When she approached it, put her hand on its wood, it turned to face her.

Violetta asked the woman inside if she would ever be known, be loved, be more than just a village peasant. The woman took the first flower Violetta pressed dry, took the necklace she’d once been gifted, took a lock of Violetta’s curls, and told her she only had to wait. Told her that all her imaginations were coming to her. Violetta asked the woman if she would ever be free. The woman laughed, and told her she did not own enough to pay for that answer.

It was a few years later the crown prince passed through their village. He was just old enough to marry, and there was no shortage of pressure for him to find a bride. It was by chance, really, that he ran into Violetta, picking flowers by the village, and she said yes to his proposal.

In the span of a week, Violetta went from a townsperson to a princess. She moved into a castle larger than anything she’d dreamed of before. She wore silks and gowns and a tiara to adorn her hair, she was never hungry, and she had no shortage of maids and a tutor to teach her the etiquette expected of her. Tales of her spread through the kingdom. How lucky she was. The prince loved her. She was showered with gifts, jewelry, compliments. They were married in the middle of spring, with all the luxury of royalty as the trees blossomed around them.

The princess never loved the prince in return. She was grateful, of course, to have left her village, for the comfort and ease. The princess liked being royalty, but hard as she tried, there was nothing inside of her that felt for her husband. Still, she had now a family she’d always, desperately wanted. It might not have been true love, but the princess had gotten her wish fulfilled, hadn’t she?

The prince, still young, fell terribly ill. The king and queen called the best medics in the country, and the princess sat by his side as she was meant to do for many nights, but his condition only worsened, his skin turning pale and losing the strength once within him.

One night, the princess left the castle. She gathered her nerves, and resolve, and entered the woods. In the woods she found a house, still growing, just as she had once left it.

The princess asked the woman inside for a cure for her husband. She had changed, and had much more to offer; she laid gold and jewels in front of the woman. Much more in value, yet, nothing anymore that she couldn’t easily replace. The woman laughed, and told her this was no fair price. The prince could be healed, but in exchange, the princess would return to being a simple townsgirl, forgotten by all across the nation.

And so she returned to the castle with nothing having changed. Princess Violetta sat by the prince's bedside, in a dress worth a city and a seat softer than clouds, and knew she could not have made a different choice.
© PASTA
 
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deidra




















# the immune human










♡coded by uxie♡



Age: 22
Gender: Cis Female
Sexuality: Bisexual

Appearance: A plain slip of a girl, with nothing to her but hands scarred from work and big, round eyes of a deer. She is no great beauty, but she is able; her spine is straight like a young birch tree and her hair is dark. How strangely it shines, like a living curtain of night it falls behind her back. She is not short nor is she tall, and she has the angular face of a fox. Her arms are strong and her legs steady, and her smile is as quick as it is genuine. Freckles, deeply dark, litter her back and neck and her skin shines the color of polished onyx - circles of black follow her eyes, brought on by sleepless nights.

Personality: Deidra is this; a human. Not a particularily kind one, not a terribly cruel one, but only a human.

She pitied a small bird once, fallen from it's nest and nursed it to flight. She made her youngest sister cry once, having yelled at her 'till she wept. She loves and she hates and she is self-righteous and she is ashamed. With passions and hopes and curses on her lips she lives as best as she knows how to, in a world that would crush her under it's wheel. Deidra can be snappy, yes and yet she can be compassionate. She can raise a spirit, yes and yet she can hurt those around her with words. She does not mean to be terrible, but that doesn't mean she was gentle either - but in her heart of hearts lies a desire to do better.

A may-fly thing, gone in the next blink. But she is brave and loves her friends; would do anything for them, even if it meant laying down that short life. And does that not mean something, too?

Background: There is not much to be said for Deidra. A mere peasant, she was born the eldest daughter of seven exactly and quickly took up work in her village. For what else is there to do? Life was not like a silken pillow, not at all like the ones the ladies up in the castles live. But it too had it's moments of beauty.

A play-mate, another girl from Deidra's village. A friend most dear to her heart and one of the only breaks of sunlight that the storms would allow. They would make flowercrowns or run along the fields or lay in the soft, green grass. They had made a promise, then - to stick together no matter what, these two girls of no consequence. But life is a cruel mistress, and Deidra had to go far away; for there is never enough work to be done. With tears they embraced, and said;

'Meet me here again. I will be waiting for you.'

An old widow with sunken eyes and light voice took her in as a washergirl, and she was the one who taught Deidra songs and stories and riddles. She was the one who taught her how to clean every fabric from the most fine to most rough and she was the one who taught her to take iron wherever she goes. 'The fae might look like you and me, dear,' the widow would say in her soft-spoken voice, 'so never trust a stranger in the woods.'

Years passed. Seasons passed. Deidra grew from a little girl to something older and she went home, to wait for her friend.

She waited and waited and waited, and snow would fall and the sun would shine and still she would wait.

Her friend never did come - she heard a word of how she has been married, to a place far away.

A part of Deidra waits still.

Now, she is a washerwoman and the old widow no longer lives. Deidra lives in that wooden house still and fixes dresses, pants, blouses. Cleans them in the river water and sometimes makes a small fire in the winter, if she has enough coin for more wood. It is a small life and she does not expect much more; only for that house of her own and perhaps a cat or two.

 
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semael
















# beauty














♡coded by uxie♡





semael; child of no one
— born of thunder and ash or so their grandmother says; a child whose beauty could move mountains, part the seas, start wars and finish them. they have short memories of their childhood, how the birds chirped at their window, as did the merry villagers; showered in gifts and attention, always unwanted, unwarranted, but seldom denied. was it a kind heart? cowardice?

ripped from the arms of their mother—their protector.
 
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Carina
















# the tenth child














♡coded by uxie♡





  • CARINA
    the tenth child

    Visage
    where she walks, there are only stares—not the kinds that look upon you with desire but with curiosity and intrigue, sometimes pity.

    it is not hard to see why. carina's cheeks are warm, plump and rosy, a strange sight in a usually cold and frigid world. small, distinct freckles adorn them from the top of her long and small nose to the pointed tip. they begin just below her doe shaped eyes; eyes that are a misty grey like fog, specifically the one that envelops the forest just outside her birth village. all of these are fitted onto a small face framed only by thin strands of long, light blonde hair—flyaways from a messy bun. she is youth incarnate, the envy of men and women alike, but only for a moment.

    take a step back—blink and release yourself from your envy—and you will find a young girl, no older than 20, slowly withering. despite being thin, dangerously so, with a small frame and stature, each step she takes is heavy and exhausting. exposure to the elements has burned her pale skin, frozen her cheeks red, and dried her once blossom-like lips. her eyes are red and swollen, never a day goes past where they are not. she wears light cloths, the thickest clothes she has nowadays, with edges that fray and threaten to rip apart with only a single gust. shabby boots where holes in the sole let feet meet peat are the only thing keeping her from losing her toes. a small handkerchief, folded into a pouch is her only accessory. it jingles with every step but is never opened to see the light of day. she treasures it too deeply to let the world see it for the world is far too cruel to those it claims. the slow death of her body and soul is a testament to that.
    Basics
    name meaning. 'beloved'
    age. barely 20.
    gender. female, she/her
    sexuality. demiromantic
    role. the tenth child









Clarinets & Strings
Nicholas Britell


code by butterfly aubade
 
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  • Midnight Waltz
    l. faulkner

    I
    name
    Andris.
    II
    titles
    Diplomat; General's Ward.
    III
    age
    26.
    IV
    time of birth
    Dusk, late autumn.
    V
    gender
    Cis male.
    VI
    sexuality
    Pansexual.
    VII
    residence
    Fae Court.
    VIII
    role
    The Bastard.
left
right
coded by natasha.
 
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  • 04
    03
    02
    general
    Silas
    full name
    Silas
    age
    24
    gender
    Male
    sexuality
    Pansexual
    Birthday
    February 21st
    Face Claim
    Elias De Poot
    The Human Servant
    Extras.
    Silas is fascinated by all types of nature. He keeps a small journal in which he sketches things he finds interesting, pairing it with small written observations of how it made him feel.

left
 
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{ ~ Leilia ~ | ~ The Queen ~ }
'A creature of many Facades'
Cruel. Vengeful. Vain. Malicious. Beautiful. This is how she is known in the human lands, a fair and accurate depiction of her; in a way. They view her as their villain and maybe she is.
Captivating. Whimsical. Witty. Intense. Elegant. This is how her fae court sees her, a different mask of the many she wears. They view her as their adored queen and so another side is added to the same coin.
'A tragic fairytale'
Once upon a time there lived a young fae princess with an odd love for humans, a peculiar girl who seemed to light up rooms as she stepped into them.
“Be cautious with humans, Leil, they lie fluently and hurt even their own blood to get what they want” her father once told her when he caught her watching a human village from the edge of the wood. She paid no mind to her father’s word though, because Leilia couldn’t help but feel attached to these wondrous creatures that lived so close to her. They intrigued her, they lived as they were fighting to be alive every single day. Not like the fae who lived in eternal beauty and choked politeness. The humans had grit and despite being able to lie were so boldly honest sometimes that it would make her laugh.
One day this princess fell in love with a man she met while wandering around the human court, admiring them. The man was not cautious of her like other humans, no, he was bold and beautiful in that fragile sort of human way. The princess fell for the man quickly, he was funny and charming and he was well versed in the customs of the fae. So much so that he actually impressed her family. Her family, who thought she was short of a marble for loving the humans so much. But their skepticism faded quickly as the human man easily charmed his way into their hearts as well, and so it would be this peculiar fae girl’s happily ever after.

But happily ever after’s are always too good to be true. One night some time later screams woke the fae princess, she realized her human love was not next to her and rushed to see what was happening. Even then she was worried not for her own kind but her beloved human. When she arrived at the scene of the screams she could only watch as the man she loved plunged a silver dagger into her mother’s chest, the body joining her father’s and brother’s who already lay lifeless on the bloodied floor. A strangled cry ripped from her throat, as hot tears began running down her face.
“Why” she breathed, choking out a sob as she stared at her murdered family, laying there, unmoving with glazed over eyes. The man actually laughed as he ripped the dagger from her mother’s chest. “How could you? You said you loved me, that you loved the fae!” the princess screamed, her beautiful face contorted in agony as she continued to sob, her heart felt as if it being ripped to shreds with each breath.
“Oh Leilia, you sweet, oblivious freak. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that humans lie?” he laughed again, but it wasn’t the kind beautiful thing she was used to. No, it was an ugly, awful sound full of hatred and contempt. “You know you fae are such hypocrites, you deceive and manipulate us until you’ve had your fill and then throw us out like trash when we aren’t fun anymore.” the princess started to shake her head opening her mouth to tell him he’s wrong, she would never do that. “You would have done it too, don’t play innocent. What do you think would happen when I age and you don’t? Would you still love me when I’m old and wrinkled?” the anger in his voice stunned her, what had she done to deserve this? What had any of her family done to permit this?
As he walked closer to her and her eyes remained on the dead bodies of her loved ones her hysteria suddenly vanished, her tears dried, and the sorrow in her chest was replaced with white hot rage. Rage at this betrayal, rage at her own blindness, rage at her happy ending that had been ripped from her fingers before it had just barely begun. She burned with fury and her eyes darkened as she looked up to meet her family's murderer in the eyes. In one movement her arm shot out and her hand wrapped around the human’s neck causing him to drop the silver dagger in surprise. She lifted him off the ground squeezing his windpipe as she did.
“Yes well, I think you’re right, you’re not fun anymore. You just break. so. easily.” she said a cruel dark tone entering her once soft light voice, she squeezed a bit harder cutting his air supply completely. A malicious sneer spreading across her lips, as his eyes widened and he struggled feebly to escape her grip. “I guess it is time to throw you out, broken toys do belong in the trash after all.” she said, giving one final squeeze that completely snapped his neck and his body crumpled to the floor.
She stared at him with blank, unfeeling eyes, her rage having disappeared too. Leaving nothing but an empty pit where her heart should be. Later that night the body of the human mysteriously ended up on a pike just outside the human kingdom, with that silver dagger stuffed in his chest.
Once upon a time there was a beautiful and terrible fae queen with a vengeful hatred toward humans, a cruel woman who seemed to darken rooms as she strode through them.

Age~ "You know, it's rude to ask a lady for her age. You're lucky I don't cut out your tongue for such awful decorum" {Well over a hundred years.}

Gender~ Female

Sexuality~ Omnisexual

Faceclaim~ x x x {Bruna Marquezine}

Song{s}~ 'Everybody wants to rule the world' by Lorde, 'Twisted' by MISSIO, 'Madness' by Ruelle

— ... code by ditto ... —
 
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  • Name: Benji
    jem-99757-normal.jpg
    Age: 21

    Gender: Male

    Sexuality: Asexual
    ​
    Role: Fae Servant

    Appearance: P    ale white hair, faded grey eyes. More gentle facial features than hard.

    A golden masquerade mask with patterns of flowers and suns. He never takes it off.

    A black dress vest with matching pants.

    A yellow dress shirt with golden flowers pattern.

    Height is quite short he could mistake for a fae himeslf.

    Weight is very slim.

    His hands are very rough and vainy after years of playing violin.

    Theme song:






 
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nature's child
sophia

Age: 21.
Gender: Female.
Sexuality: Heterosexual.

Appearance: Taller than most women around her, Sophia's height has always been one of her most distinctive physical traits, especially since her parents are both relatively short in stature. Her figure is well-rounded, neither slim nor plump. Despite this, her presence isn't an intimidating one, as her ever-present smile and sugary fragrance create a very welcoming environment around her. Her skin possesses an usual shine and never appears to dry up, despite the constant exposure to the sun she subjects herself to whenever she helps her parents out with typical villager work.
Faceclaim: Rutina Wesley.

Personality: Many describe Sophia as a ray of sunshine—with her contagious smile and radiant attitude, she's capable of enlightening even the gloomiest days. She's a very curious and intelligent individual, with an eagerness to discover the undiscovered and know about the unknown, and a huge fondness toward fairytales and local folklore, a trait her parents have reprimanded her for having, much to her confusion and intrigue. Above all, she's a questioner, someone who asks “why” when others nod their heads and shows grit when others fall in line. She's not one to take a simple “no” for an answer without a plausible explanation, but also knows when to not rock the boat too much, especially when her family is in some way involved. Her parents—the only family she's ever had—are her everything, and no matter how many disagreements might occur between them, one thing is for sure: she's never going to stop loving them, just like they never stopped loving her. There's, however, a side to Sophia that not many have had the displeasure of witnessing, if something or someone truly angers her usually tranquil spirit—a rare occasion—her tongue becomes venomous, and a tornado-like state takes over her, ready to impose wrath on everything and everyone that comes her way.

Background: “Oh stars, please... please, we have been nothing but good, please bless us with a child...” begged a poor elderly woman to the starry night sky. Her equally elderly husband kneeled next to her, silent, but repeating her words in his head, through thoughts. Whether or not the couple's wish had anything to do with it was uncertain, but, sure enough, a child was born... albeit in an unusual way. That very night, in a lychee tree near the woods' entrance, a tiny substance of life—an embryo of sorts—began growing inside a lychee's seed. For nine long months it grew, the lychee stretching to accommodate for its size and miraculously not bursting open because of it. On the day that marked exactly nine months since it began growing, the abnormality that defied all of humanity's laws was born—releasing itself from the low-hanging fruit, landing on the soft soil and letting out an ear-shattering scream. A young couple witnessed the odd birth, placed near the lychee tree by pure coincidence or perhaps guided by the stars to it, and were unable to leave the screeching baby girl behind. Her skin complexion was similar enough to theirs that they could claim that she was their natural child, so, with the baby in their hands wrapped around an improvised cloth, they returned to their village and announced that Ophelia, the woman, had given birth. The news came as a surprise to many of the couple's neighbors, who didn't observe any noticeable changes in Ophelia's body throughout the past few months, but they didn't dare to question them—afraid to be perceived as impolite. The couple named the girl “Sophia” and never brought up her real origin, frightened that those fearful of the different would hurt her in some way... or even worse, kill her. That night the stars shone distinctively bright, and the elderly couple that for many nights begged them to give them an offspring peacefully passed away in their sleep.

Ophelia and her husband showered Sophia with affection as she matured into a young woman, and loved her as if she was truly theirs, which, in a way, she was, albeit not by birthright. Growing up, Sophia always had the slightest doubt in the back of her head that she was somehow different from the other kids, be it because of the whispers her friends' parents carelessly shared amongst eachother or the occasional slip-ups her parents made under the false assumption that their daughter was already asleep, the girl understood that something about her was different... she just didn't know what that something was.
coded by reveriee.
 
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the hermit.















scroll

arlo



exiled




ㅎㅎ














01.

full name.




arlo, formerly of house evans.








02.

age




info








03.

sexuality




info




































  • the knight,



    but a piece on the chess board,
    officer within the infantry,
    mindless and at the disposal of a greater mind.













♡coded by uxie♡
 









Aisling



The Fool

Jester, advisor, trickster, spy. Wearing many faces comes naturally to you, and your role shifts as easily as your form. There is something wild within you, something that even the rulers of this land cannot tame.

Is keeping your freedom worth losing everything else?
















  • Basic Info




    "You see, there's a fundamental connection between seeming and being. Every Fae child knows this, but you mortals never seem to see."

    Name: Aisling

    Age: 500+

    Gender: Genderfluid

    Sexuality: Aromantic, pansexual

    Role: The Fool

    “We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.”





































♡design by animegenork, coded by uxie♡
 
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eudora
















# the human engaged




# married foremost to silence










♡coded by uxie♡



Name: Eudora
Age: 21
Gender: Woman (she/her)
Sexuality: Pansexual
Role: Human Engaged

Appearance: Eudora stands at a graceful height of 5'7. Her skin is a warm brown that is reminiscent of a cloudy sunset. Her hair goes a little past her shoulders in 4A curls that she typically keeps tied up in an assort of ribbons and pins. She doesn't do much to her hair, but it seems to naturally frame her face well. Eudora has large almond eyes with thin, soft-angled brows. She has a button nose with a prominent tip and full lips. Aside from her sharp cheekbones, her features appear mostly soft and youthful.

Personality: Eudora is a very sensitive girl with a complex relationship with words. Words escape her. Words make her. Words efface her. She doesn't know when she's saying too much or too little or nothing at all. She only knows that she's saying what she feels compelled to. She thinks in stories, poems, diagrams of insects, whatever other material she's taken into her sharp memory. She relates her bank of images and information to everything she experiences: each sound, each smell, each thing that's said to her. The line between the humanities and the real life before Eudora is thin and not very important to her. She's far from naive, however--she's read the darker, more realistic material and the history too. If anything, her deep sensitivity makes her cynical, afraid of touch and certain words and feelings. She remembers things strongly, especially upsetting or traumatic things.

Eudora, even if she is powerless practically speaking, is strong-willed and not one to submit herself to things that don't feel right to her. She has an eccentric but strong moral compass, knowing surely what she feels is right and wrong and unafraid to voice it when she feels compelled to. She doesn't like hurting people, even those who have hurt her. However, sometimes her proclivity for paranoid thinking and abstract reasoning can render her morals twisted or compromised. If she makes mistakes, she can and likely will deeply regret them. If someone can tolerate her unique use of language and need for certain levels of space, she can be a good person to talk to and a great friend. She's eccentric, but not completely unaware of other people. Empathy can be complex, but it is something she's willing to tap into to help herself and the world around her. There are times when the world is scary, though, and she questions how much she can help it--or herself.

Background: (TLDR: Eudora had trouble with socializing as a child and had an abusive mother that would lock her in a shed for hours on end. Eudora befriended a noble boy who gave her a noble's education and fell in love with her. He proposed to her, but she rejected him because she was confused about her feelings. He seemed to be okay with that, but then he arranged for her to be married off to fae, seemingly as revenge. Read the whole thing if you can, though!)

Eudora was born into darkness. Her mother went into labor a few moments before midnight. The midwife had brought a lamp but knocked it over in her haste. When flame began to lick up the edges of a rug, the midwife was forced to use the bucket of water she had gotten to put out the fire and then operate in darkness. Her cries filled the darkness when she emerged. Her mother (Lissandra) held her like she was a shadow, and when Eudora stopped crying, there was only blackness and silence.

For as long as Eudora could remember, her mother was always sad and prone to bursts of anger. Eudora's father had gone into the woods to hunt before Eudora was born and never returned. There were rumors of him being mauled by wolves or even kidnapped by evil fae. Whatever rumor anyone believed, Lissandra was left widowed, relying on the kindness of the others in their poor village both before and after Eudora was born. Lissandra wasn't very kind, but she was rather beautiful and received the favor and pity of many villagers because of it. She was a spinster by trade but it wasn't very profitable, so she depended heavily on alms and selfless acts of service. To Eudora, the woman was cruel.

Eudora was quieter than most children and prone to words and mannerisms that her mother couldn't understand. She hated crowds, claiming they were "too loud in [her] head." Sometimes, she'd spend hours examining trees and insects and whispering to herself. Lissandra longed for her daughter to be normal and sociable so she could eventually be a proper marriage candidate and lift her out of destitution. Frustrated by her strangeness, Lissandra punished Eudora, scolding her, striking her, and, worst of all, locking her in the shed outside of their home for hours on end--the shed where she was born. Sometimes, Lissandra would let her stay in the shed for entire days, only a single circular window providing any light. Eudora did anything to pass the time--sung songs to herself, told herself tales, spoke to the insects that passed through. She'd never been taught to read, so she stored all of the literature that had ever been read to her in her memory and recited it out loud often to be sure that she wouldn't forget.

One day, Lissandra didn't quite lock the shed correctly, and Eudora, fifteen at the time, was able to escape without much difficulty. She knew she couldn't go home and she didn't want to go to the village because she had trouble being around a lot of people. So she wandered aimlessly in the woods around her village until she bumped into a teenage boy who was playing by himself. He greeted her and invited her to play with him. She remained silent but stepped forward and picked up a pebble, joining him in throwing rocks at branches to knock the snow off of them. Eventually, he invited her back to his home. Having nowhere to go, Eudora followed him. When they arrived, she discovered that he was a rather wealthy noble. He lived in the large estate that her village stood in the shadow of and that the villagers avoided for fear of being punished for getting too close. Eudora stopped at the door, hesitant to enter, but the boy grabbed her hand and eased her inside. Thus began Eudora's only real friendship.

Eudora began speaking to the boy, who was named Tristan, and they quickly grew close. She didn't quite understand what it was like to be fond of someone, but she was able to get an idea when she was with him. He was so kind to her, not minding her eccentricities, her fatherlessness, or her status as a peasant. Over the years of their friendship, he taught her to read, taught her history, culture, and literature, and gifted her many books. His parents didn't seem to like Eudora much, but he didn't seem to care. Eudora's mother had begun treating her much better. She was growing into a uniquely beautiful girl and she had forged a close bond with a noble boy; in her mother's eyes, she was finally accomplishing her duties as a daughter. Everyone (except Eudora) seemed to understand that Tristan was in love with her and wished to wed her soon.

So when it happened--when Tristan leaned into Eudora one day when they were alone and tried to kiss her--it all felt wrong. She pushed him away. Thinking she was concerned about chasteness, he proposed right then, getting on his knees and taking her hand. But to Eudora, it all felt wrong. She loved Tristan, but not in a way where she wanted to kiss him and marry him. She loved him... as a friend? Something else? She just couldn't bear the thought of being squeezed into a white dress and dragged down an aisle, flower girls standing with bouquets, all those eyes staring, staring, staring. She loved Tristan, but not in the kissing and marriage way. Not yet. Maybe never. She loved him in her own strange way. When she told him this, he looked sad, but he accepted it. He didn't snap or cry. He simply went on as if everything was normal. When Eudora returned home to her mother, she received the most painful beating of her life. "Stupid girl!" her mother screeched. "You stupid, stupid girl! You've ruined everything! You've wasted it all!"

A month passed. Eudora visited Tristan regularly. Although everything appeared to be normal, there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. It scared Eudora, but she didn't know what it meant or what to do. She only learned what it meant when soldiers of the kingdom arrived, announcing that they had come to take her to court to be diplomatically married to a fae. They said they had chosen her due to a shining recommendation from the noble family of the area, who praised her education and beauty. Lissandra was overjoyed and practically begged them to take her daughter away. When they took her, Eudora was silent. She thought: They can marry me off to whoever they wish, but they will not invade my thoughts. They will not get a love song out of me. Regardless of any ring I wear, I am married foremost to silence.

 
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Charity.

"why do you weep, child? isn't it what you wished?
you're free from all the chains that hold you back.
the rock has been lifted from your shoulders.
yet, your back still breaks?"

— OF SWANS.

​

Once upon a time, an unremarkable yet hard-working woman spent her twentieth year on this earth tending to the same ordinary chores.

Chores weren't uncommon, if anything they were a necessity for a family of her lowly status. A family that hosted not only her father but her seven siblings.

A drab and utterly boring story some might say?

Yet, I urge you: don't turn the page just yet...

The young woman's name was Charity, she was the eldest of her siblings. It was clear the woman didn't stand out or attract much attention from suitors. A classic story of facial features that were awkwardly thrown together; soon enough time would do its job as they settle into place.

Her unruly dark-brown and curly locks rivalled the end of a broom. A dusting of freckles were often mistaken for dirt, her complexion though was kissed by the sun. They say a lady's hands were soft and supple; Charity's were rough and calloused from never-ending chores. Cheaply-woven and unflattering clothes hid Charity's athletic frame. One had to be fit and able to tend to such chores.

Clearly our story wasn't about some princess or heated romance but a story that everyone loved nonetheless.

A tragedy.

Charity was shackled to responsibility from a young age; her mother struggling to take care of the newly-born twins and her younger brother. Thus, Charity is first and foremost responsible and incredibly hard-working. She doesn't have time for dreams or rather...delusions! She is a realist, a woman who looks at the facts and that's that. It is no surprise she is as stubborn as a mule, with a dogmatic attitude to match.

This responsibility became almost unbearable after the death of her mother. Charity can remember it clearly, the town's doctor laid the sheet over her mother's body; the midwife clutched Charity's bony shoulder and said: "It is the greatest sacrifice. Your mother gave her life for your beautiful, little sister."

The experience toughened Charity and gave her a glimpse into how cruel the world could be. Charity was now resilient and a little cynical.

Left with a father who supported them financially in the mines and and seven younger siblings, sixteen-year-old Charity, didn't hesitate. From cooking, farming, cleaning and raising her siblings, Charity had no time to experience anything. She had no time to cry or let the frustration get the best of her — or else all chaos would ensue. Instead, Charity would bottle up all her emotions and frustrations, instead keeping busy (albeit she had no choice).

While Charity's life has been nothing but exhausting she loves her family deeply. She is caring and doting sister, being fiercely protective of all her siblings. This isn't limited to Charity threatening to feed her brother's bully to the pigs if he touched him again or punching the local drunk who tried to hit on her sister. Charity was not one to mess with. Once she made up her mind, it was game over.

Someone who dedicates their life to their family can only be described as loyal and selfless to a fault. Charity often neglected her own needs, including her social and love life, education and craft. One may use the saying...Charity had all her eggs in one basket?

Well, those eggs were about to crack.

A birthday is something we celebrate. A day that is dedicated to the one who was blessed with life. Charity's twentieth birthday was spent tending to her siblings. The youngest, Millicent, tugging at her Charity's unwashed hair while seating in her lap. Charity's eyes were ringed with the usual black rings as the twins — Adeline and Elric — screamed at each other. The eldest boy, Nicolas, was complaining how he had to share a room with everyone. Her sister, Rebecca, had lost Charity's only brush. Ingrid refused to her breakfast and little Jasper had spilt his food all on the freshly-swept floors.

Charity snapped.

It ended with Charity in the woods, crumbling to the ground in a heap as she cried and screamed. All those years she held it in and it poured out like a broken dam.

Then she muttered those words.

Those darn words.

I just want some peace and quiet. I just want to be alone — please!

Seven shadows soon fell upon her.

Her siblings all stood metres away. Looks of guilt, confusion and sadness stared back at her.

Composing herself, she stood on trembling knees. Wiping away the tears, Charity offered a weak smile and led them back to the house.

They never spoke about that day.

It wasn't soon after her siblings began growing...feathers.

A week or so passed and her siblings were no more. Or rather they were no more than swans.

The cramped bedroom was full of seven, white swans. Mute swans to be exact.

Charity got her wish.
coded by reveriee.
 
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  • Dario
    The Ambassador

    Visage
    Standing at an average 5'10, Dario has never been known the have the most imposing appearance. He has a lithe build in which he covers with tasteful silks, leathers, and jewelry. He's as clean-cut as can be.

    He comes across as poised and elegant, rarely without a glint in his eyes that seems to be withholding something. Usually it's just judgement, but that isn't to say he isn't hiding something else. Moreover, he's known to have a nimble, heavy gait that makes it seem as though he's embarking on the single most important mission of his life. It's not hard to peg him as an uptight asshole at first glance, which would be a fair assessment given his stuffy nature, but it's still not entirely on the mark. Regardless, he's a little oblivious to this trait of his.
    Basics
    Name: Dario
    Age: More than a human lifetime
    Gender: Male
    Sexuality: Bisexual
    Face claim: Jonathan Rhys Meyers
    Role: The ambassador









A BOY IS A GUN*
Tyler, The Creator


code by butterfly aubade
 
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princess
;; dianthe

❝I have never known a field as wild as your heart.❞

FULL NAME ⎯ dianthe
NICKNAME(S) ⎯ flower | given to her by her mother. her name means “flower of the gods” and so her mother though it fitting.
AGE ⎯ twenty
GENDER ⎯ cis female
SEXUALITY ⎯ pansexual
ROLE ⎯ half-fae royal

PHYSICALITY ⎯
petite, delicately built, she is all long legs and lithe curves. like a bird, there is a fragility that she seems to radiate, once meant to stir protective feelings from within. beneath the gowns that she is often made to wear, there lay a strong figure. a body used to run within the woods, away from guards and into trees so high that they seem to reach the heavens. Strength built from dancing beneath the moon, away from prying eyes within her prison.
HAIR ⎯
years have been spent, wasted on trying to tame her luscious locks. each strand refuses to be subdued, bouncing back stubbornly when tugged on. her hair is made up of loose curls, often adorned in flowers of her choosing. a feature of hers that she values, her hair shines with health. the type of brown that appears almost black, until it’s true color is revealed by light.
EYES ⎯
deep brown, like soil that has been kissed by spring rains. her eyes hold all the similarities to that of a doll’s, wide eyes that give her a look of youthful naivety. but look closer, within those eyes stir something mischievous, something calculating even.
SKIN ⎯
her skin is a vibrant shade of dark brown. her mother tells her that it’s as if the all the beautiful browns of the forest came together to create her.

PERSONALITY ⎯
a phantom to some, a mere glimpse of a flowing dress as it turns a corner within the castle. a mystery, new servants speculate about the princess who rarely leaves her wing, her forest. even to her own family, she is much of a mystery. the young princess is quiet when she appears, but by no means meek. no, she watches with doll-like eyes, observes what goes on around her. she blends in, her presence undetectable as she listens. she notices things, how her father looks at her, how the servants speak when they believe no one there and she has become hardened to it.

a mischievous thing she is, able to use information thought to be unknown against those who serve her or cross her. though she is not the sort to lie, she speaks in careful riddles and puzzles. something within her will not allow her to lie outright, so she does what she can.

a clipped bird, a wild thing who wishes to see more than what has been offered to her. at night, she yearns to know of a world behind her home, her cage. Curiosity burns brighter than any candle within her. the ache inside of her is only soothed by her woods. It is there that she rules, she knows if the paths like the back of her hand. has spent time mapping out the land. there is nothing that she loves more than her kingdom.

there is a sad girl inside her, for all of her riches she has never known true love. yearns to connect with someone, anyone, but afraid to reach out in fear of being hurt. she has seen and heard the worst of people after all.


HISTORY ⎯
the queen was blessed with a second child, a beautiful child of wide eyes and ethereal beauty. from the moment she gazed at her beloved daughter, she knew that it was her duty to protect her, to keep that beauty to herself. no one was as deserving as she to gaze upon her child. and she was keen on how her husband eyed her.

little dianthe grew under the watchful eye of her mother, she never strayed too far from her side. the queen kept her daughter close, spoiling her to her child. she was soaked up the attention, unaware of the gleam in her mother’s eyes. her hands gripping to tightly, her embrace oppressive. her every move was carefully watched by her mother. a curious child, she was often dismissed when she spoke of exploring the outside. soon whines turned into tears that were wiped away by her brother. it was in him that she found solace, he would keep her company, look after her in a way that was welcomed.

as soon as she was old enough she was given her home wing, connected to the forest around to explore as she pleased. it was only due to the king that she was able to. and for the first time, she was grateful. life continued on this way, with dianthe spending more and more time in her wing and forest, becoming a ghost within the castle. her mother seemed appeased, as she was unable to leave the castle and she could still reach her.

life changed when dianthe’s brother passed, her support, her rock was suddenly ripped from her and she was devastated. she disappeared into her room, her woods even more. something in her had cracked and left her broken

coded by reveriee.
 
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  • Your ancesstor was graced by the magical. Gifted a great power to help others, setting in stone their legacy of kindness and equity. You don't live up to it by a fraction.
    " THE BLESSED "
    enter
coded by natasha.
 





Siren’s Child















scroll

Lorelei



Siren




ㅎㅎ














01.

full name




Lorelei








02.

age




106 years young








03.

sexuality




Heterosexual








04.

gender




Female




































  • She



    is a siren of death, disturbingly beautiful and heartbreakingly deadly.













♡coded by uxie♡
 
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Ambrose Raustel​
fae engaged​
male|he/they​
stopped counting age​
homosexual​
about​
persona|
manipulative| distrustful | confident | selfish | perfectionist | intelligent
Ambrose is the type of person who acts in a way that cares little for those around him. They easily choose options and actions that they know will harm others, sometimes merely for the fact that they are bored or wish to see a reaction out of them. They move through life with treating it and the lives of others as a joke or a plaything. They often use manipulation and blackmail to get through life and he is no stranger to enemies.

he often pushes people's limits and buttons and seemingly only cares for himself. They despise anyone getting too close to them and make an effort to cut off attachments before they can bud. They are often one to have short lasting relationships and will push away anyone who attempts to get past short encounters with them. They trust no one but himself and rely on no one else as well. He is the type that runs away from things that get too close or if he feels himself to be uncomfortable or in danger.

Ambrose hates many things, but nothing tops that but their hate for humans. He often takes joy in causing them harm and playing with them, aiming to break and hurt them in any way. He despises the two races getting closer and would gladly never be anywhere near them if possible. They hold themself at a high prestige and aim to be perfect in every situation. They despise failure and often get very angry and upset whenever he fails or struggle with things. They do not know how to reach out for help and thus know nothing of true affection or care outside that of one night stands.

biography|
The Raustel name has been in the realm of nobility for many years, going far back longer than most humans can fathom. They are an old house, that is very difficult to say when it is compared with the fact that they are a race that does not age. Throughout history the Raustel house has been known to be one of the fae houses known for tricking humans and being part of their feared name for many years even after fae began to frown upon the practice. It was only until it became something politically unacceptable that the house began to wean off the practice. Even still, the family has continued to hold their negative view on humans and treat them as creature below them. The house is also known for keeping their appearances to be the way old day fae used to. Such as horns, wings, pointed ears, ect. They do not accept humans and have always believed they should look different from them and not began to appear like them to fit in with them. A house that's name is well known as their wealth they carry. One of the ones who encourages the royalty to forgo humans and return to their past. They are close with royalty, though many despise them for their beliefs and money depending on who they are. Regardless, the power the name Raustel carries is high up in the world of both fae and humans.

Ambrose, however, didn't see things the way his family did. They didn't see the difference between humans and fae. He wished to befriend humans unlike his family, and so he would visit the human realm. However, the humans there treated him like a monster, and wouldn't let him get near their village, driving them out when they got too close. One day, as he watched the humans from afar he met a human man that was kind to him. The man taught him to cover his horns and pointed ears and they would let him inside the village. They were able to see the humans for the first time up close without them fearing him. It made him ecstatic and he soon fell for the man that taught him this. Eventually the two of them got engaged, however the human informed him that he would have to remove his horns if they were to be married. Ambrose was hurt, but loved the man too much to refuse, and so they cut off their own horns, the biggest shame of their family. They ran away to join their lover and live together.

On the day of his wedding, he was not met with happiness. The humans captured him out, his friends who once thought him human tied them up with iron chains. They did not care for how Ambrose wailed in pain as they brought them to town for the whole town to see. The town threw stones at him, some whipped him, others hit him, they all had their way with him as the whole town watched. The town, after doing their justice on the fae, discarded him in a pit to die, their final act being mounting his horns for the whole world to know them as the town who slayed a fae.

As Ambrose laid battered and bruised they managed to wiggle out of the chains under the pale moonlight, using their own blood as lubricant. As they escaped he ran back to his family, only met with laughs. They took him back in as for them to not disgrace their family any further, but there was always an unspoken disgust towards him. Time only healed so many of his wounds, their horns being replaced using magic by one of their family members. The horns could never be real again however, and he and their family would always know just how fake they really were.

Since then Ambrose never let themself get used or manipulated by another. His hatred for humans grew and he soon showed them the very reason for them to be afraid. They now use glamours when they go to the human world, hiding their horns so that they don't know who they are. He since then has been playing with humans and has lost their soft side. However, as time passed their family felt him too free, saying he needed to act as a noble and abandon his hate so that he could fit in without causing too much issue. They refused and continued to defy their family. Eventually his family found a solution, they were to be married, binding them and forcing them into a life they did not want. Ambrose was never as mad however, when he found out it was to a human. Their anger still hasn't resided, he does not intend to marry this person and wants nothing to do with them.

appearance​
Ambrose stands at the height of 5'9 and has a slim body type. Their appearance is often confused with that of a female due to the fact that he cares little for gender roles. He can often be seen wearing dresses or suits regardless of being a male. His hair is a shade of white paired with his light gray eyes. Their hair is adorned with a pair of large horns as well as the various jewellery that they wear. Similar to their head jewellery they can often be seen wearing various amounts of jewellery to flaunt their wealth. His skin is a pale tone of rose and under his clothing is adorned by many scars. Most are situated on his back, however there are some on his upper arms that appear to show off as if they had been tied up at some point.

© pasta​
 
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104A022C-3D16-4F96-A34A-600697DDF0F5.gif

THE SNAKE PRINCE.

Name: Drakon
Age: 25
Gender: Cis.male
Sexuality: Bicurious
Role: The son of serpents

Chapter I. Appearance. The Snake Charmer.

Drakon is several things, but above all else, he is a prince. It oozes from him like sap; the regalia of the caverns, the faith of his followers and their guiding hands… Or should he say, scales?
With this great honour, he often attempts to present himself as such. But in the end he is human, a man highly aware of his appearance, his countenance, and often cursing himself for it. For he, in all of his glory, requires more than just a mere glance, a second longer for the human eye to adjust to his presence. He isn’t ugly, no… well. Sometimes, it isn’t so easy to take in.
He is tall, that much he can pride himself with, towering like the Evergreens that surround his home, lean and unsuspecting much like his reptilian counterparts. But he walks with a hiccup, often subdued through his own pride and consequent shame. Men are fools when it comes to that. Mighty, mighty fools. Stupid at best and dangerous at worst, never mind how handsome they can be.

Drakon however, never really considered himself a looker- pretty doesn’t matter when the standards of beauty contain nothing more but the earth you walk and the animals you befriend. But now as he stands before his own reflection, he can’t help but feel a little insecure.
A large scar, leathery and opaque tears through the right of his eye, reaping it of its dark colour and into a cold, lifeless, blue. Catching, like fire. His gaze is almond, often pointed, often tired, the deep circles underneath a telltale sign. He wasn’t much for slumber anyways. His visage is long, narrow, sharp at the end, the reminents of a ‘v.’ And his skin- although olive in colour- has become ashen, greyed under the cavern ceilings, greyed under the restrictions. And on extremely gloomy days, he’s likened to that of a corpse. A dead man walking, as they say.

Although perhaps his most alive features remain the remaining. His nose is slender, long in the Grecian way and perched comfortably atop pouty, often frowning lips. Though the others know well not to take it personally, he just has a sour resting face is all. And his brows, stark and soft-angled, are a not-so-subtle reminder that he does in fact feel things. Knitting like our grandmas. A dead giveaway sometimes.
…Oh.
Right and his hair? He doesn’t like to talk about it. Let’s just say that no matter how many times he pushes those shaggy, obsidian locks from his eyes, no matter how many puffs he blows… They come hurdling right back at him- as if on purpose! It’s a battle that he just can’t seem to win.

Chapter II. Personality. The walking Identity Crisis.

In a world where human and fae are most powerful, where flesh and magic align, where does he, with his feet bare and his companions slithering, fit in? It’s a question Drakon poses often, mind elsewhere as he leaps from mantle to mantle, claiming the role of The High Prince, The Dedicated Son and finally, The Man. It’s a demanding thing, to shift into what they need in their exact moment of weakness, to pretend to be what he’s not. Calculated. Self-Assured.

-But what is he?-
Extremely peculiar, most likely.

In the most scientific sense he is human, man, yet his affinity towards the earths’ species, to the way he runs with the wolves and feels compassion for what most would consider to be but lowly vermin, often opposes that narrative. Neither snake nor soldier. It’s quite the waking dilemma don’t you think?
Though Drakon has always been grateful for what he has, never much for complaining. In fact, he’s a bit of a snake charmer. With a booming voice, a puffed chest and filled with pride and a chin pointed to the skies, he watches over his community. He is a prince of the forest. It’s all he’s ever known, take him out of there and he’s no better than a mad man- sputtering nonsense and somehow shoeless.
But all jokes aside, there are times in which the prince does wish for more. Answers. More answers.
After all, a great big mystery awaits in the woods, including his own.

Whatever happened to his parents?

It seems that all he’s really ever good for these days are questions. Ones that rotate within the groves of his mind until dawn. It’s as uncomfortable as it is irritating, to have everything and yet, know nothing. But for now, they’d remain the roadside jesters that his friends often joke about. Well, friend().
For he’s often in solitary, tucked away where no one’s looking, exhaling from the pressures of merely existing at times. It’s difficult, nay, nerve-wracking being an outsider to a world that, no matter how informed, he could never fully comprehend. And they know that. He reckons it’ll be the same in the Human court.

In the end, Drakon has duties to fulfill. Promises to keep. And snakes to keep safe. Thus his anxieties, inquiries and other “ies” have always remained and will continue to remain under the radar. All bottled up like a healthy person. Why he’s a prince for Pete’s sake! Not a mad prince. He can only do so much to put his best foot forward, to remain poised, polite but not too polite, firm but not rude. It’s not who he is sure (who even is he?), but this composed, steely persona would be enough to get him by. His footsteps into that ballroom mean everything, he can’t let them down now.

Chapter III. Backstory. The Great Mystery.

There were others before him. That, he was certain. What had become of them, why no more appeared was a mystery to not only him, but the others as well. She was a mystery, the snake queen. Gentle in her own right, but capable of creating nightmares. A force to be reckoned with. His saviour, his mother. Drakon knows very little of his birth parents. All that he was told was that they didn’t love him, cherish him like the grand serpent could- has. Often punished for even doubting so. And though his heart aches at the thought, there are times in which he ponders the truth.
After all, the snake queen has always said that humans are evil creatures, hell sent. She’d saved all that she could from far within the mortal ruins, including the crown prince himself, Drakon. But he never even knew who they were, if they were good people, if there could be good people. Had they ever looked for him? Wept for him? Missed him?
….The possibilities keep him up at night.
And he resents her for that. The very queen that conquered so many and took the little saplings alongside her. What had she done for him but reap the possibility of meeting the life he could’ve had? Had she saved him from a most cruel fate or stolen a promising future?
As he grows older, Drakon realizes that she is true to her kind. A snake. Her body twisting around his mind, suffocating at its width. But she is also the same snake that protected him that day that left him scarred, kept him tucked within her embrace, worried while he cried his woeful tears.
In the end, she is both his killer and his mother.

Other:
- Has a cane he’s meant to use but never does.
- Best friend in NPC channel :3.
- Literally Tarzan at this point.
 
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