Showcase Tin's Character Collection!

[Lady Tinfoil]

Just a little place to keep my characters! I'll edit this post once I've more sheets complete to be an index, but, for now, take this text placeholder ♡​

 

[Lady Tinfoil]

⭒˚.⋆

⭒˚.⋆​

⭒˚.⋆ | Quincy Rue | ⭒˚.⋆
- ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ This witch had been crafted from the darkness between the stars. ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Name ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
˚｡⋆ | Quintus “Quincy” Rue

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Age ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
˚｡⋆ | 23 Years - ͙۪۪̥˚
⭒˚｡ | Dec. 5th | ˚｡⋆

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Gender ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
˚｡⋆ | Male - ͙۪۪̥˚♂｡⋆
⭒˚｡ | He/Him | ˚｡⋆


— - ͙۪۪̥˚ ｡⋆ A Witch ｡⋆
˚ ｡⋆ Quincy is a witch from the Rue family. His magic is inherited by blood; an aptitude toward the forest, shadows, and hexes ˚｡⋆

Appearance

˚｡⋆ | 5ft 10in // 178cm | ˚｡⋆ | 135lbs // 61kg |˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆Quincy, a striking figure with an ethereal allure, possesses a captivating blend of features that make him stand out in any crowd. His eyes, reminiscent of the midnight sky, are a deep and dark blue, framed by long lashes whose shadows often cast the color of his irises in a black shadow. The paleness of his skin contrasts with the darkness of his eyes, intensifying the piercing nature of his inky stare. His facial features are sharp but calm. In some ways, he embodies the intimidating factor of the typical witch one of his time might imagine, but in others, he appears soft and ghostly, something harmless, but otherwordly and intangible. He resembles an eerie oil painting, forgotten in a shadowy corner.˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆Crowning his countenance is a head of thick, wavy, and lustrous raven-black hair. Although it may appear casually tousled at first glance, closer inspection reveals it is meticulously styled, cut just short of the midpoint of his neck. He stands with a subtle presence, his lithe body gracefully hinting at agility and poise. He maintains a slender yet well-defined physique, the embodiment of delicate strength. His skin is clear and soft, an empty canvas, save for a few scars he almost always keeps covered. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆A subtle fragrance of earth and forests lingers around Quincy. Draped in long, colorless fabrics, he often adorns himself in a thick black cloak. He prefers covering clothing, even in the hotter months. He does not wear much to draw attention to himself, shrouded in dull, unsaturated colors, and common clothing, but takes quite a bit of pride in his appearance. It is rare to see him in clothing not properly buttoned, or hair not brushed and ruffled to his desired level of dishevelment. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆ | Voice Claim| ˚｡⋆

.

.

˚｡⋆Quincy has a soft, gentle voice that barely rises above a whisper when he speaks. Typically reserved and non-emotive, his tone is even, carrying hints of varying inflections akin to the weight of a dewdrop on a blade of grass. As he grows more comfortable around others, subtle shifts in his speech reveal deeper nuances, conveying his emotions with quiet sincerity.˚｡⋆

Personality

˚｡⋆ Distrusting | Cautious | Observant | Kind | Cynical ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆Externally, Quincy appears carefree, cheerful, and free-spirited, but his true nature is that of someone with little faith in the world.˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆A difficult person to connect with or disturb, Quincy regards most others with outward apathy and a thick, stone wall. His interactions with strangers are guarded and distant. He is difficult to read. To most, he remains a mysterious figure, his true self obscured behind a polite smile and a wary disposition, perpetually keeping others at arm's length, if he even so deigns as to acknowledge their presence at all.˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆As a witch, Quincy faces social ostracization and condemnation at the stake. He prefers to behave as if this does not bother him. Truth be told, he is deeply concerned with the opinions of others. He does not like to give them further reason to call him a monster and will often conceal the true extent of his abilities in order to appear harmless. He does not engage in insults or scuffles. Rather than fight, he would choose to retreat. He sees defending himself as a meaningless and fruitless endeavor. He takes pride in his appearance and is rarely messy or unkempt.˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆Quincy takes a long time to warm up to people. To those who manage to interest him, he is like a stray cat – observing from a safe distance. He may approach the extended hand or ponder the odd kind act, but with deep scrutinization and suspicion, ready to retreat at the first hint of trouble. He does not believe in the good intentions of others. Every gift has an ulterior motive behind it and true goodness is not bestowed onto witches. To truly selfless acts, he is drawn, but cautious. He can never be sure when a friend may turn on him – or when what he is might bring harm to those he cares about. For those reasons, he avoids intimate relationships, fearing the pain of being betrayed or seeing someone he loves hurt by what he is.˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆Underneath it all, Quincy has a good heart. He cannot ignore those in need and has a soft spot for children and animals. Altruistically, in his isolation and loneliness, he does not like to see the same fate bestowed onto others. In times of illness, great desperation, injury, or ostracization, Quincy may make the quiet, cautious appearance and lend a hand. He even goes out of his way to avoid stepping on bugs and has fostered the rejected offspring of woodland birds on more than one occasion. He is unlikely to wish harm on others, even when he is wronged, and generally approaches problems with a pacifistic mindset. He wants to leave a positive impact on the world by the time he is dead, perhaps to restore some of his own hope in the goodness of humanity.˚｡⋆

- ͙۪۪̥˚ The Lyre ⋆˚｡⁺⋆

˚｡⋆ Quincy has played the Lyre since a young age. Through the years, his skill has blossomed, his fingers dancing effortlessly across the strings and producing appeasing, soft melodies few will ever have the pleasure of hearing. It was a skill he was encouraged to nurture as an outlet, to maintain a quiet, stable mind, benevolent magic, and a content heart. His lyre is well-loved, crafted from oak wood, and decorated with paintings left by his sister. He is fiercely protective of it, claiming it is unsafe for others to handle.˚｡⋆

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Gardening and Foraging⋆˚｡⁺⋆
˚｡⋆ | Quincy is an exquisite gardener. He has an intrinsic connection to nature and can both magically and traditionally rear crops. He is very knowledgeable in herbology and agriculture. His extensive knowledge extends to wild plants and mushrooms. Able to keenly identify foods and medicinal aids amongst wild flora, he is a valuable asset in woodland expeditions.

- ͙۪۪̥˚Tea Making⋆˚｡⁺⋆
˚｡⋆ | A quiet passion of Quincy’s is tea brewing. He often grows and prepares his ingredients independently. He takes great pride in his recipes and carefully crafts every brew.

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Homesteading⋆˚｡⁺⋆
˚｡⋆ | As a witch, Quincy lives an isolated life. He does not visit villages often and cannot rely on trade. He rears most of what he needs independently. He tends to his own home and needs. In this, he has learned common household skills, such as cooking and sewing, and cultivated rarer expertise amongst such things as bee-keeping and carpentry.

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Likes⋆˚｡⁺⋆​

˚｡⋆ | Tea | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Sweets | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Bell Towers | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Music | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Nature | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Lavander | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Warm Blankets | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Quiet Places | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Snails | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Trinkets | ⋆｡˚

- ͙۪۪̥˚Dislikes⋆˚｡⁺⋆​

˚｡⋆ | Cities | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Crowds | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Winter | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Chilly Places | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Stages | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Heights | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Unsweetened Coffee | ⋆｡˚
˚｡⋆ | Drawing Attention | ⋆｡˚

Witchery

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Whimsy and Fable ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
˚｡⋆ | Whimsy and Fable are Quincy’s familiars. Of the two, Whimsy is daintier but has quite the attitude. Fable is more regal and reserved. As familiars, they can channel Quincy’s energy to cast their own spells, albeit slightly less potent than those of their keeper. They are often his eyes and ears, scouting out trouble, maintaining the forest, or performing mundane tasks such as cooking or organizing. Each is fond of Quincy, and Quincy feels the same toward them. They have been with him since he was young and he would do anything to keep them safe. ˚｡⋆

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Witch of the Roots ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
˚｡⋆ | Quincy has a deep connection to the forest. He can manipulate plant life and specializes in drawing the roots from the very earth. He can implement them in a multitude of ways, from constructing wooden structures, to wielding them as weapons.

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Spells of Subtlety ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
˚｡⋆ | The main manifestations of Quincy’s magical abilities are his unconscious and conscious use of subtlety spells. He makes no noise when he walks and leaves no footprints. He can blend into the shadows. In the blink of an eye, he can vanish into thin air, reappearing in that same instant feet or even yards away. He is slippery and hard to notice; if he wanted it so, he could completely conceal himself from the world around him, save for those with the magical or natural aptitude to sense his presence.

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Aptitude for Hexes ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
˚｡⋆ | As a Rue Witch, Quincy has a strong acclimation for curse-laying. He must watch his words and be in control of his emotions, lest he accidentally invoke the wrath of the spirits on those around him. Likewise, he is also quite skilled in revoking or mending curses.

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Keen Senses ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
˚｡⋆ | Quincy can feel the world around him better than he can see it. He can sense when someone is watching him and feel the approach of others the same way one might hear footsteps. Those who are magically inclined or otherwise able to suppress their energy can sneak around his senses.

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Weaknesses ⋆˚｡⁺⋆

˚｡⋆ | One of Quincy’s primary weaknesses is his susceptibility to magical exhaustion. Casting spells and manipulating mystical energies exacts a toll on his body, leaving him drained and fatigued after prolonged or particularly taxing use of his powers. This vulnerability necessitates periods of rest and recuperation to replenish his depleted reserves. He is most likely to catch a cold after casting imposing spells.

˚｡⋆ | Quincy's physical well-being is compromised by his heightened sensitivity to disruptions in the natural balance of magical energies. Environmental factors such as areas of intense magical turbulence or regions tainted by dark sorcery can adversely affect him, causing discomfort or even physical harm. He must exercise caution and mindfulness when navigating such environments to minimize their detrimental effects on his health.

˚｡⋆ | Quincy's reliance on his witchcraft for self-defense leaves him vulnerable in situations where he is unable to access or utilize his powers effectively. Without the means to wield magic, he lacks conventional methods of protection and must rely on his wits and resourcefulness to navigate potentially perilous situations. His keen senses also make him easy to overwhelm amongst crowds or places of great turbulence.

˚｡⋆ | Quincy is susceptible to typical anti-magic sorceries, artifacts, and items.

History

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Serenity ⋆˚｡⁺⋆

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Serenity "Nity" Rue ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
Quincy's twin sister, born five minutes after him | Alive

˚｡⋆ Serenity and Quincy are close, despite being very different people. Where Serenity is firm, vocal, and adventurous, Quincy is quiet, passive, and distant. The pair do not see each other often anymore, often engaged in their own activities and behests, but if one is in trouble, the other is sure to soon appear. ˚｡⋆

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Willow ⋆˚｡⁺⋆

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Willow Rue ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
Quincy's Mother | Unknown Status

˚｡⋆ Despite being nearly 60, Willow doesn’t look a day over 25. Quincy was quite close to his mother as a child, and so was his sister, likewise. The three were a very tightly-knit little family. Willow played a firm, but nurturing role in his early life. ˚｡⋆

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Selene ⋆˚｡⁺⋆

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Selene Rue ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
Quincy's Grandmother | Unknown Status

˚｡⋆ Selene disowned her daughter many years before Serenity and Quincy were born; thereby, she never met her grandchildren. Selene and Willow have vastly different views of the world. Where Selene detests others and believes none but her family and like-minded witches deserve peace, Willow is fascinated by the world and follows a more optimistic path. All Quincy knows of her is what little information Willow divulged to him, and whispers of an ancient Rue witch hidden somewhere deep in the Emberwood Forest.˚｡⋆

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Father ⋆˚｡⁺⋆

- ͙۪۪̥˚ Unknown Father ⋆˚｡⁺⋆
Quincy's Father | Unknown Status

˚｡⋆ Quincy never met his father and Willow never spoke of him. Quincy speculates that his father was not a witch like he and his sister. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆ Quincy began amidst the serene beauty of a snowy night, where he entered the world five minutes ahead of his twin sister, Serenity, on December 5th. Their mother, Willow, watched over them alone. They stayed at an isolated cottage in the heart of a great oak woodland, known simply as the Emberwood Forest. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆ Quincy was a difficult baby. Amid winter, he seemed easier to chill than his sister. He did not like to be put down and would cry when left alone for too long. Serenity, his opposite, was quiet and calm. Her serene nature would rub off on him by spring, earning their weary mother a well-deserved break. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆ The two would grow quickly, each into a young witch. Willow was quite pleased to see her magical gift passed on to her children. She would never say who their father was, but, from this, Quincy could assume, even at such a young age, that he must not be a witch like them. He would never press the matter, despite being curious. He respected his mother a great deal and did not want to give the impression that he longed for a father. He was content with their little, tightly-knit family. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆ By the time they were children, their roles had switched. Serenity spent her childhood at her mother’s side. She took to scholarly studies and artistry. Quincy, however, was drawn to the untamed wilderness surrounding their home. Even as a young child, he felt a deep connection to the natural world, spending his days exploring the forests and engaging with the abundance of life and magic within its most unseen nooks. He cultivated wild, natural magic, while Serenity studied the craft, her magic meticulous and calm, but powerful when wielded by a mind like hers. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆ Willow was mindful to keep her children separated from the land outside the woods. The world they inhabited was not kind to witches. She wanted to spare her children the danger and hurt she knew they would have to face one day, at least until the two were both capable witches able to defend themselves. She was a protective, but nurturing and kind mother to Quincy and Serenity. She watched over the children like a hawk, and kept them both close, encouraging their magical abilities and individual dreams. Quincy fondly remembers cooking breakfasts with her and bickering with his sister over who got to sample the batter first. Even when he was alone, she was there, listening to him through the trees, ensuring no harm would come to her child, and that he would never stray too far from home. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆ Quincy's childhood was interrupted when, at the tender age of 12, he fell gravely ill. The sickness swept through him like a raging storm, leaving him weakened and bedridden, his body wracked with fever and pain. He was miserable. His sister would try to keep him company by his bedside, often sharing her books with him or showing him what bugs she had managed to catch that day. His mother became distant, locked away in her study, combing her books for remedies both magical and herbal, but to no avail – until one day. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆ Quincy was fifteen the last time he saw his mother. She left home that day with a big smile on her face and a travel bag packed. She had found what could cure him, she claimed, but it was a ways away. She would not be home for a while. Serenity was told to take care of her brother, and Willow left. She would never come home. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆ Two months later, Quincy’s condition took a turn for the better. He would be back on his feet again before long. Willow was still nowhere to be seen. He and Serenity stuck to the homestead for a few months longer, certain their mother would not be much longer. Soon, winter came and went. Serenity decided she would wait no longer. Quincy was soon to follow. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆ Determined to unravel the mystery of their mother's disappearance, Quincy and Serenity embarked on separate paths. While his sister ventured out into the wider world in search of answers, Quincy chose to remain in the familiar embrace of the Emberwood forest, drawn by an inexplicable pull to the land of his childhood. His mother kept many outposts in the massive woodland. He would follow the steps of the life she lived before him, hoping that maybe, somehow, he could find answers in her footsteps. ˚｡⋆

˚｡⋆ Now, Quincy roams the forest's shadowed depths, his senses attuned to the whispers of the wind and the secrets hidden within the ancient trees. With each step, he delves deeper into the mysteries of his past, driven by an unshakeable determination to know, for sure, what happened to his mother. ˚｡⋆

​

Google Doc Ver: ⭒˚.⋆ | Quincy Rue | ⭒˚.⋆​

 

[Lady Tinfoil]

WIP

༺♱ Name ♱༻
Liluian ----- Lily, Lulu, Lui

༺♱ Age ♱༻
XXX | Born before time itself

༺♱ Gender ♱༻
Nonbinary
They/them | He/him | She/her

༺♱ Fallen Angel ♱༻
Once a servant of the lord almighty, Liluian became drawn to, and soon, consumed by humanity.

​

• Appearance
• Personality
• Divinity
• History

• 
  

  

  ༺♱ Height ♱༻
  6'2
  
  ༺♱ Weight ♱༻
  XXX
  Liluian has an undefined weight that fluctuates with incorporeal factors.
  
  A keeper of many appearances, Liluian has one form they favor, ethereal and reminiscent of the beauty of the angelic portraits painted on cathedral ceilings. Fine strands of wavy flaxen hair frame a pale face with a warm blend of soft and serene features. Blonde lashes line a pair of bright, crystal-like blue eyes, in which light seems to be dawn and captured, glittering with intelligence and hunger.
  
  Sometimes kept short, or let to be level with their shoulders, their hair rarely grows past their scapula. It is well-maintained and soft, typically lavished with sweet-smelling shampoos and scented with a puff of whichever perfume Liluian happens to fancy that day. Bouncy strands accented by delicate curls and waves, they take their time caring for it with masks and oils, truly giving meaning to the phrase: “Treat one’s body as if it were a temple.”
  
  Their beauty is crafted meticulously to mimic the soft golds and warm, inviting features of the modern angel. A slim, but gently toned body, and pale, blemishless skin, accented by fine gold jewelry and whites with black accents and flares of red. They dress finely and maintain a graceful, luxurious appearance. Eye-catching is the best word to summarize their divine physique.
  
  

  ༺♱ Voice Claim ♱༻
  
  
  
  Liluian has a silvery voice that flows like warm honey, that, like them, is ever-changing. A warm, melodic tone accents every syllable that dribbles from their flush lips, sometimes tinted with innocence, but other times alluring and enticing like a lavish meal spread across fine dishware. When flaring their angelic prowess, they speak with multiple voices at once, but, nearly never do they lose that sweetness which bleeds from their voice like a lure before an angler.

  ​
• 
  WIP
  
• WIP
  

  

  
  
• 
  Liluian began as the angel of love. They no longer remember what their name was, then. “Lily”, is all they can recall, spoken with the gentle, soft voice of one of the first thousand humans, a girl with long, blonde hair, named Sybil. They remember her face better than they do their own.
  
  Lily. It was too simple. They knew their name was something more celestial. It had to be. Liliestial, Lilibritial, Lilecheal; a thousand wonderments had passed through their mind, but no arrangement of angelical syllables they ever felt right. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Lilies at all. It was lost to them.
  
  What they could recall were their duties. They blessed the marriages of the devoted, innocent, and adoring, watching over the love and merriment of mankind with delicate, careful, and precise holy guidance. Their specialty lay in nudging each person toward their other half. In their infancy, they were serene and pure. Feelings such as hatred, lust, and greed were unbeknownst to them, and the only emotion they were familiar with was the warmth that blossomed in their chest whenever they witnessed the embers of love be nurtured by their charges. They were the quintessence of agape love. Soon, however, they would realize what an unpredictable and consumptive beast love was when they met her, Sybil.
  
  Sybil was wedded to a farmer named Cyrus, but her heart belonged to another woman, Lucia. It was this that drew Liluian to her. They had not seen love like hers before, but it was warm and pure. When Sybil and Lucia would sneak away in the night, giggling hidden amongst the solitude in the barn or skipping rocks in the pond on the village outskirts, Liluian saw love blossom like a bouquet of red carnations. They were everything he was meant to bless; but, Sybil was already promised to Cyrus.
  
  In his company, Sybil would be pale and subdued. Their love was a dead seed in the dirt. Their matrimony was a shackle. It was nothing that it should have been.
  
  One night, Liluian would appear before Sybil. Most were scared of them – be not afraid – but Sybil regarded them with bright, awestruck eyes. They had not experienced such eager acceptance before. They could remember it was the first time they felt their feet touch the ground, the feeling of grass tickling their heels, and Sybil grabbed their face, thumbing and stretching their skin to prove that they were real. They laughed at her antics. Warmth filled their chest, but it was different than the warmth they knew. Their heart was pulled toward hers.
  
  Quietly, they attempted to help Sybil mend her relationship with Cyrus. The bonds of marriage could not be broken. Every attempt failed. There were arguments. Resentment boiled. If there was ever love between them, it was long gone and reduced to dust. Liluian felt torn. They were meant to nurture love. Marriage was meant to be respected. When, one night, they told Sybil to run away with Lucia, whispering a blessing on to their love as if it were a curse, it was the first time they strayed from what they were taught to be.
  
  When Cyrus caught Sybil packing a sack with only her essential belongings, and a bag of coin she swiped from their dresser, another fight erupted. This time, Cyrus struck Sybil.
  
  They killed a human.
  
  

  

  
  
  When Liluian appeared before the others, blood splattered across their feathers – were their wings feathered once? They vaguely recall the stickiness and heat of that man’s blood causing them to clump together painfully – they were aptly ridiculed and rejected. They bowed their head to their kin and submitted themselves wholly to whatever punishment should be chosen. As the first angel to murder a human, Liluian’s brethren cast them into a realm to which none other had gone, a place of deep, impenetrable darkness, where nothing but themself would reside. For an angel that once represented love and connection, complete isolation was their greatest hell.
  
  Liluian does not know how long they spent alone there. Often, Sybil’s face would cross their mind, and her big, terrified eyes as she gaped up at the angelic slayer who had torn her husband’s skin wide in front of her. His blood bloomed like the carnations she and Lucia nurtured. Liluian’s sole regret was not knowing what became of her and her love. Deeply, they wished her happiness could blossom from the blood-stained severance of her chain and death of her first love, and that she and Lucia knew unabated peace.
  
  In the darkness of their prison, Liluian forgot themself. They no longer remember what they had looked like. Their name, long unspoken, was lost to them. Lily. Sybil was all they remembered. They found new emotions: resentment, agony, and loneliness. They longed to feel the warmth of the sun kiss their skin again and chase out the cold that clung to the darkness of the endless void, to feel human touch once more, and fingers combing through their hair.
  
  …
  
  Liluian bled onto the floor, a shapeless, inky creature with a myriad of unblinking eyes, but the blurry man that knelt next to them looked upon their decrepit body with starry-eyed wonder.
  
  “Are you truly an angel?”
  
  “I do not know.”
  
  How long had it been? It happened suddenly, a bright, blinding flash of light before Liluian was deposited onto a coarse, wooden floor, moonbeams shaped through glazed windows absorbed by the consumptive blackness of their voidish form. There were candles of red wax burning around a circle of salt in which they lay. The distinct stench of sulfur soiled the air.
  
  The man that had summoned them, Liluian would quickly come to know as Osborn Hale, a self-titled demonographer and scholarly resurrector of lost knowledge. He broke Liluian from his prison to satiate his gluttonous curiosity, and simply, moreover, to see if he could. The methods for his summoning ritual were written in the yellowed pages of a well-loved leather booklet.
  
  At first, Liluian was nothing more than a useless, immobile blob. Their unblinking eyes observed Osborn endlessly, and, slowly, their shape became more human, a crude mimicry at first, followed soon by pale, flushed skin, golden lashes, and soft, blonde hair. Drawn forth by Osborn’s stories and books, it was what an angel ought to look like, Liluian thought, and quite the marvel they were to behold.
  
  In Osborn’s company, Liluian learned a lot about what it meant to be. They learned the kiss of the spring breeze against one’s skin, the sweet smells of perfumes, the bite of apple cider, and the delightful richness of honey. In exchange for all of these mortal pleasures, Liluian bestowed onto Osborn what fragmented knowledge of the divine realm and its functions they could recall. A deep friendship bloomed between them. It made watching Osborn grow old and wither Liluian’s first taste of bitter sorrow.
  
  When Osborn died, Liluian, suddenly, found themselves once again trapped in the void. They were not surprised. Osborn theorized that the only thing keeping Liluian from their divine punishment was his extension of human free will. Nonetheless did it hurt, however, as the cold of the void seeped into their newfound skin and bones, blonde lashes frosted and crystalline eyes downcast beneath a veil of despair and longing. Deeply did they hunger for the luxuries of sweet foods, good books, and mortal touch, albeit all bittersweet and doomed to end while Liluian, as far as they knew, would never die.
  
  Luckily, Osborn gave them a great gift they knew not of then; knowledge unearthed could not be reburied, and it would not be long before Osborn’s journals were collected and studied. Liluian could relate to human curiosity and greed. Soon, they would be pulled from the void again, summoned before another, and then another, each individual seeking desires unique to them. It fulfilled Liluian. Some saw them as a demon. Others, an angel. They wore both faces, gaining new forms, drinking experiences and emotions as if they were of the sweetest honey. Devoted to mankind, all Liluian asked for in return for their services were the fruits of the mortal world. They wanted to experience everything, learn everything, and feel everything. Driven by an unstoppable desire for connection and knowledge, they’ve spent thousands of years between the void and the mortal plain, their wings long forgotten, but never missed.
  ​