VIDESNOIR

RULES

AN INDEPENDENT, SELECTIVE SOUTHERN & PNW GOTHIC MULTIMUSE BY FRIG. SHE/HER 30+

MUSES

AN INDEPENDENT, SELECTIVE SOUTHERN & PNW GOTHIC MULTIMUSE BY FRIG. SHE/HER 30+

THE TARGARYEN'S OF LOAM COUNTY

For generations, the Targaryens have believed that the rules governing ordinary men do not apply to them. Even before their banishment, they were an ancient and powerful family whose wealth could not be explained by conventional commerce and whose traditions were increasingly difficult to separate from evil. For generations, the family had kept its bloodline pure in its homeland through incestuous relationships, believing it necessary to preserve the purity of their Valyrian blood. Blood is not just relatedness to them; it is religion, it is currency, and it is divinity. They think it makes them different from the rest of the world; therefore, it won't judge them. For a time, the family’s arrogance led them to believe in their invincibility, but then came the exile.

DAELLA TARGARYEN

personal playlist

as you go down, holly golightly
S.O.B, horrorpops
the garden, the creepshow
in the orchard, tiger army
my love for evermore, hillbilly moon explosion
human fly, the cramps
new rose, the damned
gluttony, alice bag band
77, alice bag
too drunk to fuck, dead kennedys
sinister rogue, bad religion
fight it, pennywise
waiting room, fugazi
I, bad brains

appearance

FACE CLAIM, mika abdalla
EYES, big, brown, bright, usually lines in smudgy black or brown liner
HAIR, brown with caramel highlights, bangs, naturally wavy
HEIGHT, 5'3"
BUILD, body like and hourglass, ticking like a clock.
PEIRCINGS, earlobes, belly button
SCARS, a few small and scattered from teen years of sneaking out or partying.
TATTOOS, dragon and celestial piece full sleeve into a larger dragon piece that takes up her left arm and shoulder.

attributes

COLOURS, bruised plum, Cedarwood Brown, Velour Pink, mossy green
SCENT, she smells like fruit loops and warm warm vanilla.
STYLE, Velour hoodies hung half-zipped over tiny lace-trimmed camisoles, low-rise denim slouched dangerously on her hips, saint medallion tangled with cheap charm necklaces, chunky rings, pink or printed scrubs. prints; zebra and leopard, hot pinks, chunky wedges, skate shoes, bodycon dresses, baby tees, big ass sunglasses.

psyche

ZODIAC, gemini sun, leo moon, taurus rising.
MBTI, ENFJ-T, The ProtagonistMENTAL PROFILE, ptsd, survivors guilt, anxiety, paranoia. in a near-permanent state of exhausted hyper vigilance, stretched taut by grief, sleeplessness, and years spent in survival mode. deeply nurturing disposition complicated by chronic anxiety and an almost compulsive need to make herself useful to others, often at the expense of her own wellbeing. unresolved trauma surrounding Veronica’s death and her ex boyfriend, results in fragmented sleep patterns, intrusive thoughts, dissociation during periods of stress, and a persistent fear of being watched or followed. these fears become more difficult to separate from reality the longer she remained entangled with the supernatural.TEMPERAMENT, sanguine, melancholic.POSITIVE TRAITS, Warm-hearted, resilient, emotionally intuitive, fiercely loyal, adaptable, quick-witted, nurturing, courageous under pressure, observant, resourceful, patient, self-sacrificing, empathetic, clever, dependable, playful, perceptive, comforting, street-smart, gentle, protective, charismatic, calm in emergencies, resiliently optimistic, affectionate, nonjudgmental.NEGATIVE TRAITS, Hypervigilant, self-destructive, stubborn, secretive, prone to dissociation, deeply anxious, distrustful, emotionally repressive regarding her own pain, prone to unhealthy attachment, guilt-ridden, conflict-avoidant, self-neglectful, suspicious, melancholic, occasionally manipulative without meaning to be, haunted by a persistent inability to fully let the past die.

QUIRKS/habits, chews watermelon trident and no other flavour. leaves half-finished cups of coffee everywhere. Sleep deprivation makes her deeply affectionate; after especially brutal shifts she becomes softer, clingier. she wears Veronica’s silver ring on a chain and touches it unconsciously whenever conversations turned too personal or she's nervous. dozing curled atop blankets with the television murmuring softly for noise, one lamp always left on somewhere in the house.LIKES/ hobbies, rainy morning, noon and night, the sound against a tin roof or any surface. Juicy Tubes in every hue and flavour, lips always glossy. watermelon trident, foggy backroads, silver jewelry, full body consuming cuddles, horror movies, gas station slushies, body glitter, stargazing from truck beds, overgrown gardens, sleepy small-town bars, warm baths after double shifts, cryptid folklore, soft blankets fresh from dryers, road trips with no destination, butterflies, being needed, cedar forests after rain. making mixed tapes and burned cds, dancing -- so much dancing. photographing abandoned places with disposable cameras. wandering flea markets and roadside antique shops.DISLIKES, Silence that lingers too long, being touched unexpectedly. deep water at night, unanswered phone calls, hospitals during daylight hours, people who stare too intensely, cheap lies, pity. feeling trapped, blood beneath her fingernails after failed procedures. static-filled phone lines, being underestimated, rotting flowers, losing control emotionally in front of others. mirrors in dark rooms, and anything that forces her to sit still long enough to think too deeply.FATAL FLAW, that she loves wounded things as though tenderness alone could keep them from turning monstrous.

skills

PRACTICAL, Emergency medicine nursing, trauma response, off-books surgical procedures, wound stitching and field suturing, blood transfusions under improvised conditions, identifying supernatural injuries and toxins, forensic-level observational skills, lock picking, de-escalation, handling panicked or violent patients, extensive pharmacological knowledge, IV insertion, reading body language, concealment and cleanup of medical evidence, pain management, herbal remedies passed down from her grandmother, navigating black-market medical networks, maintaining composure during extreme gore or crisis situations, and an uncanny ability to determine when someone is lying, dying, or hiding something from her.ABILITIES, Heightened intuition bordering on preternatural instinct, exceptional emotional perception, rapid adaptability in high-stress situations, remarkable pain tolerance, an almost uncanny ability to earn trust quickly, keen pattern recognition. natural charisma used for both comfort and manipulation when necessary, deep resilience following prolonged trauma exposure, acute observational awareness, strong memory for faces and details. an unsettling sensitivity to atmosphere, often sensing danger, violence, or supernatural presence moments before others do.

MISC

FLOWERS, Foxglove, hydrangeas, wild roses.
FOOD, greasy diner fries drowned in pepper, pancakes, toast with grape jelly and bacon.
DRINKS, sobe Strawberry Daiquiri or dragon, cherry slushies...mixed with white rum.

background

background

and then there was him. vincent, vinny to the world in how he presented himself. she rarely speaks his name now every letter rots in her mouth. a first real romantic love, found through her first year of college. beautiful beyond words, every childhood crush rolled into one charismatic body. but Beautiful things in old stories were almost always hungry underneath. He was a cigarette spark in darkness; charming, magnetic, devastatingly attentive, looked at april as though she had been handcrafted specifically for him. At first she mistook obsession for devotion. Many girls do.but veronica noticed long before April allowed herself to. She could see the forming rot underneath him, something entirely wrong about him, his eyes. and how 'he looks at you weird', or 'his eyes aren't right.' April laughed it off then. he was merely a beautiful, poetic man with damaged eyes, it was romantic in your late teens and early twenties Because obsession still resembled devotion before it became violence. Because he loved her so intensely it felt holy sometimes. until it didn't and veronica was the first to say she was afraid, the first to beg her to leave. The first to point out how isolated April had become. How she flinched now at sudden sounds. How she checked locks three times before sleeping. How exhaustion lived permanently beneath her eyes.VERONICA HATED VINCENT and openly. It became a problem quickly. There were screaming matches and threats. One particularly ugly night outside a bar where Veronica shoved him hard enough that he nearly hit the pavement and snarled something low enough only she heard it. Afterward she laughed it off, though April remembered how pale she looked driving home. 'You need to leave him.' Simple words, Impossible ones.Then Veronica disappeared.At first everybody assumed she’d gone off somewhere recklessly. That was believable enough, veronica vanished for days sometimes chasing bad ideas and worse men. But April knew almost immediately something was wrong. There are instincts women develop around danger that border on supernatural and some terrible thread inside her pulled taut the moment Veronica stopped answering calls. the night she went missing, april thought she heard her best friends voice calling out down the hall of her apartment.Her body was found three days later, or what remained. mangled like an animal had torn her a part, but any animal in those woods would never waste for anything, this was pure ritual and carnage. it was him, she knew it was him, he'd fled the town, but she'd given every detail she could to local police. but they wouldn't do a damn thing, or not enough in her opinion. it drove her mad. the guilt lingering on, if she'd just listened the first time and walked away, her best friend would be alive. __but part of her knew, vincent would have never let her walk unscathed. in her cruelest moments, April wonders whether Veronica died trying to save her. Whether her best friend saw the monster clearly and stepped between its teeth anyway.for a girl that never sought out the shadows that followed her around, she exhausted every avenue to try and reach veronica. she scoured where her body had been found, searching for remnants, clues, anything -- he found her then the outline of what he was, that mask of flesh deteriorating to the rot beneath. something vile and hungry and inhuman looking to finish something it already started. a shot rang through the forest mist, she had no mind where it came from, not even to this day. the accuracy clipped a hole between his eyes and april watched the man, or whatever he was, die.for weeks, she tried to reconcile but there was nothing she could do to make any sense, nothing she could read. nothing could bring veronica back, nothing made her want to stay. nothing tied her home, she left to fulfill her practicum elsewhere.Whatever the truth of his nature, death did not seem to hold him properly. he seemed to linger everywhere she went. In broken sleep and fogged mirrors. In the sudden scent of cigarette smoke inside sealed rooms. Sometimes she would catch sight of him standing at the edge of crowded street, pale and smiling beneath flickering neon. Sometimes she heard breathing through disconnected phone lines. Once, a patient opened their mouth mid-sentence and his voice crawled out instead.sleep was harder at night, impossible, unable unless the dawn stretched into the sky. so she surrendered herself to it. the Night shifts suited her, hospitals after midnight existed outside normal humanity anyway. the fluorescent purgatories humming softly with exhaustion, oddities and grief. Machines breathing for the dying, Hallways stretched long and empty as chapel aisles.eventually the strange cases found her, the unofficial ones. The things brought through back entrances instead of emergency rooms. Hunters with crescent bite wounds hidden beneath denim jackets, women feverish from venom crawling under their skin. Men carrying silver bullets inside old tobacco tins, men who had nothing at all unnatural about them but for the crime committed. then there was the occasional Creature trying very hard to imitate humanity while bleeding something much darker than blood. april made people, and non people alike feel a sense of ease. a warmth exuded that wasn't trying to be fake. she could make people laugh.when her grandmothers health began to deteriorate, she moved in. drawn back by obligation and guilt and the slow deterioration of her grandmother’s mind. also the notion that not a single soul on her mothers side would help her, selfish souls. The old woman lived alone in a weather-worn house tucked to the edge of the woods on a sparsely populated street. fog had a habit of swallowing the porch by evening, Wind chimes sang without a single breeze, Floorboards groaned at odd hours. The root cellar door swelled shut every winter as though something beneath it pushed upward against the frame.Her grandmother spoke often about something outside. Not metaphorically. Something watching from the trees. eveyone else dismissed it at first as dementia twisting old superstitions into paranoia, but april knew better somehow. she began noticing footprints circling the property after rainstorms, animals started vanishing from neighbouring land. she woke one night to find every light in the house flickering softly in unison while something breathed heavily beyond her bedroom window.always. always, there remained the terrible possibility that her ex had followed her home somehow. That he stood out there between the cedars waiting patiently for exhaustion to finally drag her into sleep. she keeps one of Veronica’s old silver rings looped on a chain, clutches when the fear tries to reach her. on nights she doesn't work, sleepless as they were, when the woods beyond her grandmother’s house breathe too heavily in the dark, April occasionally thinks she sees Veronica standing between the trees instead of him.

hanna jo freer

hanna jo freer

basics

NAME, hanna jo elizabeth freer
NICKNAME, hanna banana, jo jo
birthdate; november 26
canon age; 20- 35
ethnicity; white Cajun/acadian french
gender; cis female. she/her
orientation; heterosexual

connections

mother; tamara freer ( estranged )
step-father; craig sutton ( no contact )
father; unknown
siblings; one half brother; beau.
DAUGHTER; June West Freer ; aka little june bug
AUNT; June Freer-West
pet half catahoula half lab mix named burt

basics

birthplace; just outside cherrypick, mississippi
RESIDENCE, cherrypick, mississippi
OCCUPATION, former receptionist, mechanic
religion; polytheistic, non practicing
LINGUISTICS, english, some spanish, cajun french

CONNECTIONS

COUSINS; Colt West, Ty West & Aryn West. to be noted its not really a dynamic of cousins. Colt is like a father figure and the most prominent one she has or will ever have. That is her father, Her cousins are like brothers. her daughter calls Aryn and Ty uncle and Colt paw paw.

FX

VEHICLES; 1988 pontiac firebird trans am in attolle blue, 1979 ford bronco

personal playlist

up around the bend. CCR
long hot summer night, jimi hendrix
cry baby, janis joplin
bad moon rising, Creedence clearwater revival
southern nights, glen campbell
tusk, fleetwood mac
harvest moon; neil young
whole lotta love; led zeppelin
time; pink floyd

appearance

face claim; haley bennett
eye colour; light brown, flecks of mossy green and amber.
hair colour; a natural red head but she dyes it to a more blonde in hue, she lets it go back to strawberry blonde after giving birth. a sign of her being happy and in love is her going back to her natural tone. worn in big roller curls, messy updos.
height; 5'5"
body type; the Aphrodite hourglass. Soft and grabbable but conditioned in strength for her craft.
tattoos; a cherry behind her ear, another on either hip. a beautiful lower back tattoo of a butterfly, her daughters name on her forearm with a june bug.
scars; line down her bottom lip from where her mother's ring split it.
prominent features; freckles dappled across a peaches and cream complexion, eyes that draw you right in.
piercings; both earlobes, she did them herself with a needle and ice cube. belly button.

attributes

COLOURS, pink in every hue, earth tones
SCENT, cocacola, cherry, warm spice, caramel, cinnamon, vanilla..that’s the scent she’s remembered for or complimented on the most. outside of that, she’s a very balanced scent kind of individual. if it’s too sweet, she balances with spice and warmth. Everything she wears in terms of body care compliments her perfume,
STYLE, the absolute epitome of 90s era bombshells. the messy updos, the slip dresses hanging off the frame. lots of high waisted skirts and jeans, sometimes crop tops, mostly just a plain tank top. If she isn’t in her heels, she’s wearing the same cowboy boots she’s had since she was 21 and splurged on a pain after a huge tip. she likes soft fabrics, silks, patterns like gingham, pastels, natural colours as accents but never too much black because it washes her out entirely. seeing hanna undone is a rarity, she’ll always present herself in a certain way to the public. she’ll even sleep in silk sets or delicate, feminine slips. to see her without it all on is a treat.

psyche

ZODIAC, saggitarius sun, cancer moon, leo rising.
MBTI, esfp – the entertainer.
TEMPERAMENT, sanguine bordering choleric ( only based in the depth of how she feels )MENTAL PROFILE, ptsd + inattentive adhd; she moves fast, thinks fast, but also spirals hard. her trauma manifests in flashbacks, dissociation, and extreme emotional shifts kept to herself. she goes through deep depressive episodes that no one who isnt close to her would notice. time away from work spent in her room, closed door, lights out, cuddling her dog. she is in a state of perpetual burn out and refuses to burden anyone. she also experiences intense body dysmorphia with her appearance being tied to her worth.POSITIVE TRAITS, Quick-minded, perceptive, fiercely independent, mechanically gifted, deeply loyal, emotionally resilient, adaptable, witty, protective, resourceful, patient, dependable under pressure, genius IQ, intellectually curious, practical, intuitive, hardworking, self-sufficient, creatively inclined, detail-oriented, emotionally intelligent.NEGATIVE TRAITS, impulsive, avoidant, deeply insecure, self-destructive, jealous, clingy, melancholic, venerable, difficult to comfort, prone to pushing people away before they can disappoint her, impatient with incompetence, slow to forgive.
ㅤ

QUIRKS/habits, she plays with her hair a lot; twirls it, fluffs it, hides behind it. she keeps a lot of little sentimental trinkets, such as ticket stubs, pressed flowers from dates, bottle caps, matchbooks, polaroid's ect. she always wears perfume; it sticks to her hair and skin but not in a overbearing way, it lingers in your senses and memory. she pep talks herself in the mirror, she doesn't drink alcohol but she does smoke weed and has done cocaine on occasion but it's not a habitual thing. she does smoke menthols but she's trying to quit. sex is a coping mechanism as much as it is an indulgence but she never ever brings anyone around her daughter.LIKES, vintage tech and obsolete electronics, classic cars she insists she could repair better herself, storm watching from rooftops, neon diner signs reflected against rain, collecting strange facts just to have them, old sci-fi films, fixing things for people without being asked, a crisp, cold diet cherry coke, scented body glitter, old love songs, dogs, opossums, pet names, strawberry flavoured lip gloss, songs that break her heart, the sound of rain on an old tin roof, storms and storm watching, pink, being spoiled, affection, praise, girls nights, nail art, d.i.y. fashion; she loves an upcycle or makeover from a thrifted item, tarot reading, roller-skating.DISLIKES, her birthday, condescension, fake kindness, the sound of breaking glass, abandonment, waking up too early, her daughters father. Being underestimated, forced vulnerability, emotional manipulation, empty small talk, clutter she didn’t create herself, helplessness, dishonesty, overly polished people who feel artificial. being micromanaged, repetitive noises, dependence on unreliable people, people who just quit too easily.FATAL FLAW, aging out of her desirability, out of her worth, being tossed aside when she's no longer pretty. losing her family. finally revealing herself and being told she's too much; too much emotionally, sexually, personality, just too much.INTELLIGENCE, eidetic memory, emotional recall & mathematics. hanna's mind is both like a scrapbook and encyclopedia of memory. she remembers faces, expressions, movements, knowledge, dates, and weather patterns with startling clarity. she can recreate full choreography after seeing it once and repeating the images in her mind. the drawback is that her recall and emotional memory can be involuntary and intensely emotional. her recalls sweet moments and traumatic ones with the same visceral instinct, like its being relived. people also make the assumption based on how she carries herself, how she dresses, how she presents -- that she is ditzy. but hanna's brain is focused on recognition of patterns and specifically involving numbers. she understands odds, probabilities, bets, people, poker faces, can run equations faster than any calculator in human possession.

skills

PRACTICAL, Advanced mechanical aptitude, eidetic memory, electronics repair, engine maintenance and restoration, problem-solving under pressure, computer literacy and basic coding knowledge, quick pattern recognition, precision handwork, navigation and route memorization, improvisational repair skills, research and information retention, firearm handling, practical engineering knowledge, multitasking in chaotic environments, observational awareness, strategic thinking, driving and vehicle handling, scavenging and repurposing materials creatively, technical troubleshooting, blueprint and schematic comprehension, and an uncanny ability to learn complex systems frighteningly fast once she becomes interested in them.ABILITIES, hanna's brain runs fast. while you wouldn't know it from looking at her, she's sorting through ten thoughts, eight steps, and five songs at any given moment. her reflexes, reaction times and spatial awareness are above average. she can catch a falling drink before it spills, dodge and grabby hand without looking or adjust her weight on the pole without losing rhythm. her adhd makes her emotionally disregulated ( undiagnosed ) yes, but she also has the gift of rapid synthesis. she can connect things others cannot and can solve problems and crisis without breaking a sweat. more an in depth of all her other advanced perceptions. she can read a room because it’s a trauma response. she hears every huffed exhale or change in step. She can read moods and adjust or offer help.

MISC

favourite drink; diet cherry coke
favorite food; brisket,
hand; left
favourite colour;ㅤ soft pastel pink
favourite book/s; sense and sensibility is the intellectual answer but hanna is a consumer of dark romance novels but she won’t ever say outright, just say she enjoys romance:
favourite movie/s. ghost, room with a view, wild America
favourite animal.ㅤ she adores her dog but she loves possums, sometimes she cries remembering they only live four years.
favourite flower.ㅤ ㅤdaisies and sunflowers.

background

background

gloria CIERVO

gloria CIERVO

personal playlist

freedom; rage against the machine
needles and pins; deftones
forty-two & six; tool
cry to me; solomon burke
sextape; deftones
no me queda mas; selena
stranded.gojira
one; metallica
hurt; nine inch nails
war pigs;black sabbath
hypnotize; system of a down
omerta; lamb of god
under pressure; queen, david bowie
freak on a leash; korn
killing in the name. rage against the machine
i'll be seeing you; billie holiday
fear the dark; iron maiden
oogum boogum song; brenton wood
harvest moon; neil young
cowboys from hell; pantera
evil ways; santana
for whom the bell tolls. metallicaㅤ
you've seen the butcher; deftones
nutshell; alice in chains
the press corpse; anti-flag
reach for the sky; social distortion
wait and bleed;ㅤslipknot

appearance

face claim; isabel arraiza
eye colour; honey-brown
hair colour; black
hair type; curly, long, a little unruly. always kept up on missions.
height; 5'6"
body type; mesomorph, strong core, soft stomach, stronger lower body.
conditioning; peak endurance, quick reflexes, significantly stronger than appears.
tattoos; wrap around work on scarred right thigh, beneath breast and frontal ribcage, lower back, inner right bicep, and left forearm. ( shown below ) smaller ones added.
scars; deep tissue scar ; right shoulder entry and exit wound from bullet, mangled flesh from too long between injury and care. she was mid combat, had to pull a tourniquet on herself to keep going . multiple scars; right thigh from shrapnel, caught after getting shot and catching the debris from an IED. there are smaller, less significant ones scattered ( shown below )
prominent features; constellation of freckles across cheeks, scattered beauty marks, an irresistible softened expression in her eyes.
piercings; both earlobes, left ear rook, right helix, right nose ( post military )

psyche

character inspirations; ellen ripley, zoe washburn, samus aran, dwayne hicks, jordan o'neill, any final girl.
zodiac; Capricorn sun, Virgo moon, Taurus rising
archetype; caregiver overlapping into the reluctant and dutiful hero. death is the maiden, soft violent hands, antigone.
temperament; melancholic with a calm baseline in the face of chaos. shows choleric tendencies when working or opposing personalities with someone who encourages or brings out qualities. when she is working under intense duress and chaos, she thrives in that environment. incredibly calm, a beacon, a lifeboat for those around her that it becomes infectious. maybe a bit annoying because it's difficult to rattle her.
love language; touch, quality time
romantic partner preferences; a preference for older partners. she prefers experience and mature physical traits. she is not likely to entertain the idea of a partner much younger than herself or even the same age but there are exceptions.
anger type; passive-aggressive, can be challenged by opposing personalities.

fears; losing loved ones, helplessness, big ass bugs, idleness
IQ; 178
mbti; isfj
positive traits; witty, warm, perceptive, adaptable, hardworking, selfless, loyal, intuitive, sentimental, independent, reliable, clever, protective, INTELLIGENT, dedicated EMPATHETIC, courageous, challenging, charming.
neutral traits; SOFT, complex, progressive, outspoken, contrarian, STUBBORN, maternal, outspoken, grey moralistic, competitive, sarcastic, solemn, questioning, sensual.
negative traits; melancholic, calculated, WILLFUL, anxious, disobedient, manipulative, nihilistic, petty, opinionated, cynical, secretive, ASSERTIVE, blunt, fiery.
dietary habits. gloria doesn’t really care for red meat or pork. skips breakfast most of the time in favour of coffee. she has a sweet tooth, mostly consumes a balanced diet. plant based center but a lot of fish, chicken, and a bit of game meat.

primary diagnosis post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). This PTSD originates from exposure to conflict, including seeing and treating serious injuries and battlefield deaths. The patient was exposed to powerlessness for extended periods in high-casualty scenarios and observed the worst of humanity. The complicated trauma is worsened by moral harm (being placed in untenable ethical dilemmas as a physician) and betrayal trauma (sexual coercion by a commanding officer).comorbid/s; depressive disorder; connected to hopelessness, guilt, grief, loss of identity post discharge. generalized anxiety disorder (GAD); constant worrying and hypervigilance. C-PTSD: emotional dysregulation, problems sustaining safe relationships, shame, and a fractured sense of self.^{Patient appears with symptoms consistent with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD worsened by exposure to several experiences in the military. Intrusive memories, sleep difficulty, hypervigilance, anger and periods of emotional numbing are reported. Supports guilt and shame feelings associated with battle and non-combat experiences.}combat trauma: hypervigilance in civilian life; scanning exits, unable to fully relax, seemingly calm but compartmentalizing and assessing every scenario. nightmares and flashbacks of battlefield injuries, especially failed attempts to save lives, and things seen done to innocents by opposition or targets. scents, sights, and feelings. She experiences survivor’s guilt, believing she should have saved more people, particularly her best friend and other innocents. shame about times when triage was necessary to let soldiers & civilians die. moral injurySexual Coercion Trauma: deep mistrust of authority figures, especially men in positions of power. Somatic responses, such as stomach knots and a freeze response, occur when she is confronted with coercive or manipulative dynamics, and she may also become aggressive. shame, self-blame, and conflicted feelings.clinical presentations: interrupted sleep patterns, nightmares/terrors, often avoids rest. episodic triggers are irritability, restless baseline, and periods of numbness or deep melancholy. Mental cognition is clouded by intrusive images, poor concentration, and dissociation when triggered. body expresses through chronic tension in shoulders, phantom ache from injury, heaviness, and a rigid spine ready and waiting for action.she is not triggered by military sounds, helicopters, gunfire, even fireworks, blood, hospital smells, or medical triage scenarios. The brain just processes it as an assessment, like a switch has been flipped. chaos is a tool for success, training comes through over anything else.triggers: authority figures demanding blind/non-blind obedience, language that sounds coercive in a sexual or flirtatious manner. sometimes, there is no trigger; other times, there is. loss of a patient, failure on a mission, innocents caught in the crossfire or harmed.

skills

ㅤmedic.ㅤ ㅤas part of the intense scope of training operations, gloria chose her specialty of combat medic which meant an intense and rigorous program on top of the other physical and mental duress and demands required by special forces; intense training covered field medicine, trauma medicine, emergency medical care, evacuation, minor acute care, Tactical Combat Casualty Care (Chemical, Biological, Radiological, and Nuclear - CBRN), casualty triage and processing, battlefield medicine principles, airway management. there was another section of emphasis on midwifery in the case of extractions or humanitarian aid. as well as vaccine administration and veterinarian care.ㅤpolyglot.ㅤ ㅤenglish, spanish, portuguese, french, finnish, ukranian, arabic, farsi, understandings of russian and german
ㅤvehicle operation.ㅤ ㅤcivillian and qualifications to drive hmmwv, all terain, ltatv, jltv and m-atv
ㅤmma.ㅤ ㅤmilitary tactics include a multitude of techniques, most prominently; muay thai, jiujitsu, boxing, wrestling, judo, elements of defendo. six degree black belt in jiujitsu ( involved since three years old )
ㅤbaking/cooking.ㅤ ㅤㅤadvanced amateur home cook/baker.
ㅤempathy & patience.ㅤ ㅤㅤthe trait that will eventually place her six feet beneath the ground from the toll it takes on her soul. she is empathy incarnate, unyeildingly patient with those in her care.ㅤspecial forces training.ㅤ ㅤ gloria's additional training involved...extreme survival methods; in all possible terrains; all members experience extreme methods of torture and interrogation they might endure during capture.high-stress environments; all members are expected to attain a post-secondary degree while undergoing the training process to prove adaptability to a high-pressure environment.airbourne; a special para unit requires all members to be dropped into unknown territories and environments from all possible aircraft.
special tactical and close-quarters combat; which includes an extensive understanding of all firearms and other close-quarters weaponry along with a host of mixed martial arts and sedative combat techniques and guerilla warfare.
extraction methods and para techniques; pertaining to aircraft, boats or vehicles. methods of extraction and search and rescue done all ways.
de-escalation, an encompassing degree of methodology, de-escalating military tensions, hostage situations and hostile opponents.
assassinations; high profile often underground accords kept off official books to keep tensions between unfriendly countries or establishments from a plausible cause.
elements of espionage; quick resource work, tracking, stealth and a host of the most technical elements of the trade while maintaining a professional level of composed anticipation, preparation and anonymity.
interrogations; while all members experience the intense forms of interrogation and torture as a form of training, they are expected to employ the most effective tactics with a minimal cost of exertion and under the constraint of time.
interception of illegal substances; by land, by sea, by airlard deposits and shipments of drugs intercepted— held at cost or destroyed entirely.
interruption of human trafficking; involving the disruption of power and trade of human lives, a double edged process of attaining responsible parties, disposing of their underlings and rescuing the people effected by trafficking, providing medical and basic care needs as they are transported back to their countries of origin. and
humanitarian aid; providing basic human needs and medical aid, removing obstacles that come between and rescue when warranted and approved.

MISC

personal scent; Atelier des Fleurs Lavanda, Chlo* & lavender & amber, joe malone. you'll find the running theme of lavender no matter what scent. Leather warmed by sunlight, cedarwood lingering, copal smoke, magnolia and orange blossoms, clove.
favourite drink; ㅤamericano, black w/ extra shots. peaty scotch; ardbeg brand
favourite food; ㅤempanada's, mangoes, nutella and a spoon, chocolate chip cookies, shitty diner food: grilled cheese & tomato soup
hand; right handed writer, left handed shooter.
favourite colour;ㅤ medium sea green
favourite book/s; 100 years of solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the green house by mario vargas llosa, the wind knows my name by isabel allende
favourite movie/s.ㅤpredator, aliens, maid in manhattan, practical magic
favourite animal.ㅤ dogs; considerably more towards breeds deemed 'dangerous' like doberman, rotties, dogo argentino, pitbuls, german shepards ect. most of the ones worked with in the military
favourite flower.ㅤ ㅤtulips and wildflowers
COLOURS, Oxblood, silver, weathered leather, turquoise, faded denim.
STYLE, . Most days she wears worn bootcut jeans, battered cowboy boots, faded band tees, old thermal henleys, tank tops, and heavy work jackets. silver belt buckles, flannels, turquoise and silver jewelry inherited from family, tooled leather with floral embossing, embroidered fabrics, and old silver medallions worn close to the throat. And sometimes, unexpectedly, Gloria will appear in dresses, soft cotton sundresses with cowboy boots, dark lace sleeves, flowing skirts split high enough for movement.

background

childhood; second child, only daughter of then lieutenant mateo ciervo and his wife, maria ... she was born on a snowy January 5th in halifax, nova scotia. second generation on both sides of her family, gloria was born into the woven fabric of service and sacrifice that defined her family’s bloodline.gloria didn’t meet her father until she was six months old. deployments were the norm, as were goodbyes. They moved from base to base, never staying long enough to call any place home. her earliest memories are a blur of barracks, accents, and the comforting sound of her mother humming in two languages. summers, when possible, were spent on her grandparents’ modest ranch near, surrounded by the wide skies and slow rhythm of the canadian countryside, and horseback riding. it was a rare sense of stillness she’d always carry with her.as a girl, gloria was a wiry, scrappy little thing with wide brown eyes she hadn’t quite grown into and a tumble of curls her mother tried in vain to tame. she’d follow her older brother, edgar, from playground to playground—because no matter where in the world they ended up, he was home. the ciervo family’s postings took them across the atlantic early on: first to germany, then to england, where her father’s skill and rank were in high demand. Her father was a career soldier who, through a NATO exchange early in his career, was absorbed into the British Army, a transfer that would provide dual citizenship for the entire family.gloria was a bright child, testing at near-genius levels for linguistics and comprehension, but formal schooling bored her. she preferred the outside world, like scraped knees, skinned palms, muddy fields, and skateboarding. she’d end up in scraps, defending herself or other girls from the usual cruelty of boys twice her size. england is where she learned discipline and defiance there with Jutisu during the week and rugby on the weekends. she was eventually suspended for breaking a boy’s nose after he called her brother a slur—a story her father would later tell with pride.teenage years; she would meet her two best friends the first day her family moved back to canada. the rhythm of life slowed just enough for gloria to form bonds outside the constant cycle of arrivals and departures. she met her two best friends the first day they moved into the new row of service housing. catarine and diego were twins a year above her, and the trio became inseparable.The ciervo family actively worked on their bond together: family game nights, road trips, and the like. Her relationship with her brother was like any between siblings: a series of highs and lows, the tale of a younger sibling annoying their older one by merely existing, but ultimately, they only had each other when they moved from place to place. Gloria's father found immense ease in their relationship, as she embodied both the best and worst aspects of his personality. They shared many interests, through sports, movies, and music—it was easy for Gloria to idolize her father. Her relationship with her mother was a little more complicated. The love was there, of course, deep and unbending, but it almost came with conditions.Her father’s rank climbed, his absences lengthened, and her mother’s perfectionism grew sharper. Gloria loved her mother fiercely, but their relationship was strained—Maria thought her daughter too boyish, too blunt, too rough around the edges...too much things both lessened and worsened when her maternal grandparents moved in. with her father rising quickly through the ranks and his skillset required through his trade, deployments, and the like, they were still more frequent than they all would hope for. tensions between gloria and her mother often ran hot and cold through the years of middle and high school, and while gloria's abuela attempted to help, it would often result in more arguments.that is not to say Gloria and her mother didn't get along or love one another because they did, but no part of her ever felt like she'd be enough. because of this, gloria developed an intense work ethic and strived for perfectionism. her solution was to get better at everything. Gloria took on a heavy workload that included school, rugby, jujitsu, volunteering with animal shelters, and mentoring younger cadets in the Army Cadet Force. Always busy. Always trying to prove herself. eventually, edgar left for college and eventually med school. Gloria, meanwhile, quietly made up her mind to serve but on her own terms.Through her youth, her father climbed the ladder of army rankings through hard work, dedication, and an unmatched skill. She graduated middle school a week after he received his major stripes and weathered her first heartbreak as a junior when he became a lieutenant colonel, and by the time she graduated high school, they celebrated his rank of colonel. Her mother became a community leader, maintaining her part-time position at the family morale center and the number one source for neighborhood gossip. with the pressure of post-secondary looming overhead, she and her mother fought more consistently. gloria had too much on her shoulders and finally cracked on the night, hanging out with friends and getting caught drinking by military police. her father had to hide his amusement; her mother couldn't handle the neighborhood gossip being turned on her family. even burnt out, gloria never slowed down. Her mother wanted her to consider something more adaptable to the real world; it wasn't a feminine trade.my father's daughter but my own way; this was a battle her father stayed out of, and while he had his own opinions, he never forced them onto her. Instead, he sat her down close to graduation with a bottle of scotch and a piece of paper to list the pros and cons of each route. It was militant and completely in line with his personality. she would choose the military, and nothing would deter this choice. she believed with all her heart and soul that this was something she had to do. to help, to make a difference she set off for basic training two weeks after graduating high school. her father never pushed her toward the uniform, but he didn’t have to.gloria chose service. she joined the Canadian Armed Forces straight out of high school, enlisting rather than commissioning. she wanted to earn every stripe the hard way. while her brother rose through the officer ranks, gloria started at the bottom—in infantry medic training, field deployments, and endless drills and rotations. she earned a reputation early on: sharp, reliable, and quick-thinking under pressure.Her aptitude in medicine and her physical endurance marked her early for combat medic training under the Royal Canadian Medical Service. For the most part, her last name went unnoticed; however, there were occasional officers who recognized her, and while most left her alone, she stressed that she did not intend to rely on her father's reputation and influence to advance her career. in many regards, she just wanted to be a peon on the bottom rung of the ladder, but her willpower, intelligence, and work ethic caught the eyes of a few. she'd never just be someone of insignificance no matter how hard she tries to blend in. her first attempt at the trials for becoming part of the Canadian Special Operations Regiment was a success. it wasn't enough for her. Despite being a driving factor, all odds and statistics against her, gloria surpasses expectations to become the first female active serving combat medic of JTF2. A PATH THAT WAS FAR FROM EASY, but she felt as though she had something to prove.

her personal life takes a few twists and turns; her best friend catharine and brother edgar start dating, her other best friend, Diego, thrives in his position in JTF2, and the pair are lucky enough to work with one another on occasion.After years of exemplary service and advanced training, Gloria was recruited into a special operations regiment informally known as The Demons—a multinational task force under Commonwealth and NATO command, composed of elite medics, paratroopers, and reconnaissance units. Colonel Rhodes and General Barnett, the current commanding officers of the 107 Demons, were the ones who approached her. they'd sat her down with her record laid out: every success, every iq point and test rate, every exercise, every tick on the insubordination chart, everything down to what she ate for breakfast that morning. travelled all the way to where she was deployed and in the middle of nowhere, offered gloria a position as a combat medic for the 1st regiment of the 107 demons. one she couldn't refuse.gloria was flown home for a stint of decompression leave and just in time to stand beside her best friend as a maid of honor. her best friend is now her sister-in-law, and it didn't take long to hear the news that she'd become an aunt. things changed between them, however. tension between gloria and her older brother, who was their mother's messenger, constantly guilting her choice and undercutting accomplishments. catarine would agree with her husband, of course.demons; The 107 demons welcomed their new combat medic with more decorum and respect than she was used to. They valued skill above pedigree, and Gloria finally felt seen for what she was. unflinching, precise, and enduring. they gave her the call sign Morning Glory for her habit of being first up, first in, and the last to falter. She falls right in with her comrades. Her life as a military brat and years as a mere peon rank-wise helped break the ice and forge friendships based on mutual respect. She earned the call name of morning glory and the respect of her commanding officers—the 107 was a well-known company, known for efficiency and tact across all branches. As a para unit member, He took pride in being a para unit member and being recognized and being seen as one of their best assets. she put her heart and soul into every assignment. she was well established in her new unit. She felt content, fixated on her ability to do so much good even while cleaning up the messes left by others. she had to focus on the good lest she be entirely haunted by how easily she pulled the trigger without hesitation every single time.her nephew is born; she and her mother begin to mend bridges from her childhood, and gloria is clinging to the mundane, the normal, between assignments. bit by bit, nothing stays. gloria is halfway to an assignment overseas when she receives a satellite call from her brother on the other end, and his voice trembles on the other end. their father had been killed in a joint operation with the SAS. the plane he had boarded had gone down over the Pacific; the craft crashed into a fishing vessel, and there was hardly anything left of the wreckage to salvage. her father was dead, her mother was a widow, and she still had to do her job. she told not a soul the shock was working in her favor to a point; there was no luxury to grieve in the moment; she had to steel herself to keep going.Their family had experienced grief as individuals. She has dual citizenship, built connections, and a strong reputation, but nothing could compare to the collective sorrow and loss they faced together. gloria had lost her only champion in her family. part of gloria began to question whether or not she wanted to continue onward with the military, but duty would always win. she'd made commitments; she had people relying on her. gloria's mother begged her not to go, and yet, barely healed, she returned to the fray because she had been designed for this; she knew nothing else.monster with lapelsWhen british officer Major Christopher Greene assumed command, everything shifted. He was an arrogant, ambitious, and careless man more concerned with rank than the people beneath it. she soon found herself often butting heads with their new leader. he often put his quest for rank above the welfare of his squad. he wasn’t offered or recruited; he merely bullied his way into the unit through family connection. his disregard and apathy would begin to tarnish the legacy of 107, which had been long-standing for decades. Gloria often challenged him openly. He didn’t like that. The harassment began with small words, jokes, and lingering looks. then it escalated. Gloria endured it silently, protecting her comrades and her career, and she carried the burden alone.BEGINNING OF THE END op ares carried out multiple task units spanning the commonwealth's SF operations. her best friend was among them, and while she was excited to be next to one of her best friends again, the looming threat posed by Major Greene's leadership was taking its toll. she felt helpless then. her disillusionment with her purpose in the military sprouted a seed of doubt. It would only grow worse; what was meant to be a more complicated trafficking interruption and extraction became a bloodbath. Greene’s disregard for intelligence led them into a massacre. Out of forty, thirty came home and only barely. Gloria worked until her hands shook, dragging wounded soldiers through smoke and debris, trying to hold back the tide with nothing but gauze and willpower.their superior officer had thrown all empathy out the window, ignored heeding words, and led them to the slaughter because it seemed the reward was far greater than the cost. out of forty- - Thirty survived, and by some standards, that seemed successful, but for two teams that experienced few casualties and high rates of completion, it was a grave loss. ==diego was the last to fall, but she'd dragged him to the edge of their convoy and tried to desperately pull him back from the grasp of death to no avail. all she could do was hold him in his final moments. by the time thomas pulled her out of the fray, her hands were drenched in the blood of those she couldn’t save. ==*she had sustained a massive gunshot wound and caught the debris of an IED with shrapnel in her thigh. gloria had pulled a tourniquet on herself and kept going. adrenaline pumping through her veins. ==guilt and deep mourning slowly curled away at the strength she upholds when they made it back to the extraction point. gloria insisted on treating the injured survivors, working well into the night to see them through until the break of dawn. and when she finally had the chance to sit down, the rage hit her; it was heavy and thunderous. it consumed any rational thought or action, and in a flimsy tent in the middle of nowhere, she lunged at major greene. The blood of those who died because of his willful neglect stained her bruised knuckles. it took three soldiers to pull her off him. a moment that should haunt her still, full well believing she would have killed him if the blood loss and injury hadn't caught up and she blacked out.aftermath All has never been fair in love or war. greene is dealt with by moving him from the unit entirely, but just as the system it's part of, justice never gets served. he's promoted and assigned as someone else's issue. gloria attempts to remain steady through it all. but she'd lost so much in such a short time. she would never find justice for the loss or sexual harassment under the reign of major Greene.ARC... (one) she is, however, pulled into a transfer to the UK. She has dual citizenship, built connections, and a strong reputation enough to push the bounds. it was presented as a joke by a few to try for the SAS, and she did, earning her spot quietly among them as a combat medic. this arc allows for her to be stationed in england for operations.In this arc, she is released from all military service and attempts to live as a civilian but eventually returns to international mercenary work.

VERSES

isyla wyl

personal playlist

saturine saturnalia; VV
venus theatre of tragedy
the heartless; him
the night he died; my dying bride
burnt flowers falling; type o negative
dusk mariner; draconian
blood money; sisters of mercy
the passion of lovers; bauhaus
rx queen; deftones
cleopatra; nova twins
bark like a god; sloppy jane
bones of ours; Max Madley
buried alive; radio werewolf
farben; orange sector
pain; boy harsher
native state; kontravoid
acid rain; lorn
be my druidess; type o negative
red sex; vessel

appearance

face claim, savannah lee smith
eye colour, her eyes are amber golden, large, emotive, and enthralling. siren like in certain light and expressions.
hair colour, black, reflective of sunlight with a rich deep crimson highlight when struck.
height, 5'4"
build, aphrodite esque, comfortable in her form, soft bellied, full breasted, thick thighs, full hips and rear. her curves are serpentine, motions much the same.
scars/markings, scattered across her forearms, ankles, and the backs of her hands, the lingering marks of dozens of adder bites suffered as a child after falling into a serpent's den. most are nearly invisible until caught by candlelight, where they resemble tiny stars or freckles.
peircings, right nostril ring, ears.
tattoos, full snake tattoo wrapped around her leg, tail at her ankle and wrapping around her upper leg with its head ending at her ribs.

psyche

zodiac, virgo sun, aries moon, Sagittarius rising
mbti, INTJ — The Architect
temperament, Melancholic–Phlegmatic
love language, acts of service & physical touchanger type Isyla rarely raises her voice or indulges in impulsive outbursts by letting her temper get the better of her. She possesses an extraordinary capacity for patience, preferring to observe, listen, and allow others every opportunity to reveal themselves before she makes a judgment. There is a certain stillness to her anger, an unease for those upon the receiving end. When her patience finally fractures, she grows colder instead of louder, her words measured with the same precision she brings to her work, venomous and spiteful. Isyla has an excellent memory for cruelty and an even better one for the people who believed she would forgive it. She does not seek confrontation for its own sake, but neither does she believe every injury deserves absolution. Her retribution, when it comes, is rarely impulsive.fears / fatal flaw Isyla finds asking for help profoundly difficult, having inherited the conviction that responsibility means bearing hardship in silence rather than allowing it to fall upon someone else. She has spent much of her life tending to other living things, preserving what others might discard, and attempting to understand what cannot easily be explained. Between her scientific education and the traditions of the Orthys women, she has come to regard care as both a refined discipline and an obligation. She will exhaust herself searching for a remedy, remain awake through another's suffering, and take on burdens that were never hers to carry, all while insisting she is perfectly capable of managing. Even those she loves most are often kept at arm's length when she is struggling, because she cannot bear the thought of becoming a burden to them. There is a particular cruelty in the fact that she understands the necessity of intervention in every other living thing except herself. Her childhood brush with death, and the knowledge that she returned carrying a connection to those who have passed beyond it, have only deepened her reluctance to surrender control. She knows how fragile life can be and has never quite forgiven herself for the things she cannot save. Her greatest strength is her refusal to abandon others; her greatest weakness is believing that she must be the one to keep them from falling apart. She will remain loyal to the point of detriment, sacrifice her own peace for another's survival, and mistake her capacity to endure for proof that she ought to. Isyla can accept death more readily than helplessness, and forgiveness more readily than the admission that she, too, sometimes needs saving.traits, Observant, playful, Compassionate, Guarded, Diplomatic, Hypervigilant, highly intelligent, Patient, Perceptive, Steadfast, Resourceful, Wise. loyal, curious, Inflexible, vengeful, warm, Resilient, Adaptable, Unforgiving, Courageous, Secretive Nurturing, Melancholic, Gracious, witty, Self-possessed...Stubborn...Stubborn...Stubborn!

likes, Toxicology and botanical research, herbology, apothecary work, perfumery, botanical illustration, gardening, rare and medicinal plants, conservatories, antique botanical texts, historical archives, ethnobotany, old family records, folklore, the study of death and funerary customs, collecting unusual specimens, the scent of crushed stems and damp earth, the creation of perfumes, composing bouquets, antique perfume flacons, old books, handwritten manuscripts, natural history collections, the endless pursuit of knowledge, thunderstorms, the smell of summer rain on warm pavement, overgrown cemeteries, historic architecture, candlelit libraries, moonflowers, night-blooming jasmine, silver jewellery, lace, old photographs, strong coffee, pleasant conversation, the company of animals, the occasional glass of something expensive, and people who keep their word. She has a particular fondness for oddities and forgotten things.DISLIKES, She dislikes cowardice, empty flattery, deliberate ignorance, blind obedience, intellectual arrogance, the misuse of scientific knowledge, the exploitation of traditional spiritual practices for profit, people who treat the dead as curiosities, unnecessary cruelty toward animals, wasted botanical specimens, poorly documented research, the careless handling of dangerous plants, people who mistake wealth for intelligence, social obligations performed without sincerity, and invasive questions concerning her family. She despises the waste of knowledge, the deliberate destruction of family histories, and the belief that some truths should remain buried simply because their discovery might inconvenience the living. Most of all, she dislikes being made to feel helpless. She can tolerate uncertainty, provided she is allowed to investigate it; what she cannot abide is being expected to stand aside while something she might have saved slips beyond her reach.INTELLIGENCE, Brett possesses a deeply intuitive, pattern-oriented intelligence. less of formal structure and more by observation, sensory awareness, and lived experience. Her mind absorbs details constantly, bird migrations, weather shifts, animal behaviour, changes in forest silence, the smallest inconsistencies in a person’s tone or posture. she is often processing information faster than she can verbally explain it. with Years spent immersed in wildlife rehabilitation and conservation work, she is exceptionally knowledgeable in animal behaviour, ecosystems, tracking, and environmental science. She struggles in rigid or overly institutional environments, especially when expected to conform to linear thinking or social expectations, but thrives in hands-on problem solving and field work. Brett’s AuDHD manifests strongly in the way her mind jumps rapidly between interconnected observations, making her startlingly perceptive in areas others overlook while simultaneously leaving her prone to overstimulation and emotional exhaustion. People often mistake her quietness or discomfort with social norms for aloofness, only to realize later she notices and understands far more than she initially lets on. Much of Brett’s intelligence feels almost environmental, like the wilderness lives inside her.

skills

ㅤEducation.ㅤ double major masters in ethnobotany and toxicology.ㅤlanguagesㅤ a polyglot who speaks english, understanding of the multiple dialects of french including Parisian, creole and cajun. she also speaks latin, arabic and has a very deep and private understanding and fluency in ancient languages.ㅤtoxicology.ㅤ Extensive understanding in the discipline of toxicology, especially in the area of venomous animals, plant toxins, antidotes and physiological consequences of poisons. Her poisoning as a child led to a lifelong interest in the difference between a healing agent and a lethal one. approaches her job with scientific rigor, rigorous documentation, and a healthy appreciation for the boundaries of her expertise.botanical knowledge Expert in botany, medicinal plants, poisonous flora, and cultivation of rare or temperamental species. Expert in plant identification (leaves, blooms, seeds, growth conditions) with a deep knowledge of their historical uses and ecological value. Holds a personal collection of botanical specimens and pressed flowers, treating the natural world as a subject of study and a source of calm comfort.ethnobotany & traditional medicine Looks at the link between plants, humans, and hereditary knowledge. She knew the old herbals, the old cures, the lore handed down by word of mouth, and all the healing arts kept by the women of her mother’s family. Respectful of cultural context and approaches ancestral knowledge with both reverence and critical inquiry, never believing tradition and scientific evidence are mutually exclusive.Perfumer, A perfumer, with a good nose and innate knowledge of the composition of perfumes. Expert in recognizing specific notes, merging harmonious blends, and creating distinctive scents in line with one's personality, memories or goals. Drawn to the oddball ingredients: earthy resins, bitter greens, old woods, white florals.floriculture & floral design, Expert in flower growing, caring for fine botanical collections, and creating custom arrangements. Her bouquets are made with an understanding of the meaning of flowers, color, texture, seasonality and scent. Includes unusual foliage, heirloom flowers, dried botanicals and meaningful details, creating arrangements to commemorate, comfort, reconcile, seduce or preserve a memory.herbal preparations & apothecary, Skilled at preparing botanical infusions, salves, tinctures, aromatic oils and other traditional plant-based preparations within the bounds of her training. Specific on the labeling, storage, dose records and origins of ingredients. Realizes that natural substances are not necessarily safe and approaches medicinal preparations with a healthy skepticism, not romanticism.Spiritual sensitivity Following a near-death experience in her childhood, Isyla developed an unusual sensitivity to the dead and to ancestral presences. She might see apparitions, hear voices, or feel the unquestionable presence of some unseen occupant of a space. Inconsistent encounters cannot be reliably summoned, interpreted, or controlled. Her power is no guarantee of truth or safety, and she doesn't know if her experiences are a gift, a burden, or something unnatural.ritual & magical practice, Her work is based in plant magic, ancestor worship, protective amulets, and rituals of remembrance, frequently with the plants she grows herself and the perfumes she creates. She works each one with the same patience she applies to her studies, attentive to the history of an ingredient, the intention behind a gesture, and the potential that certain things are better left undisturbed. Whatever happened in death left Isyla with a thinness between realms that she has never quite understood; the dead sometimes make themselves known to her, appearing at the edge of her vision or arriving in dreams that are too vivid to deny. So her magic is as much an exercise in listening as it is in doing. She does little ceremonies for the dead, she does family rituals in her own way, and she is especially attracted to workings of protection, healing, grief, and the keeping of memory. But she is not all-knowing, nor infallible. Rituals can go wrong, signs might be misread, and not every presence that calls is worthy of her attention.

MISC

color palette, black, pomegranate, Verdigris, Ivory, aubergine, Sage, crimson.
SCENT, cedar, freshly laundered flannel, faintest brush of campfire sometimes, warm honey, something sweet and fruity.
SCENT, bergamot , orange blossom, crushed rosemary, wild sage, moonflower, lavender, amber, and cinnamon.
FAVOURITE FOOD, Honey-glazed figs, Lavender shortbread, Stuffed peppers.
favourite drink, Lemon verbena tea, pomegranate wine.
favourite flower, Moonflower, Poppies, Lavender
STYLE, Isyla is partial to black lace, antique silver, old designer pieces, rich dark lipstick, and heirloom jewelry. Romantic gothic influences mixed with the worn leather, heavy boots, and band shirt she had worn now and again since her teenage years. Her attire is feminine, but not especially faithful to conventional standards of femininity. She might show up at a black-tie gala in a finely designed dark gown and appear perfectly at home, and then spend the next morning going about in an old shirt and scuffed, worn-in boots, collecting specimens from under the hedgerows. She had never believed that elegance and practicality were mutually contradictory, or that a good family name meant she had to dress and act as other people liked.

background

Isyla Wyl, the youngest child and only daughter of Olyvar Wyl and Saera Orthys, was born into not one but two of the oldest and most prominent families in the South. Her family had sailed its history over the seas and made its home among the old money of the American South. Generations of Wyls had settled their bit of mountain terrain, the name linked to the conservation of ancestral land, a fearsome reputation for self-sufficiency, and an in-depth knowledge of the natural lands surrounding their property. Their wealth was not the kind that needed to be flaunted; it consisted of acres, old houses, long-standing investments, and the quiet power that families, whose names had been recorded long before anyone currently alive was born, had enjoyed.Meanwhile, the Orthys family had built a quite different history. Their roots went back deep in Louisiana, where generations of the family had maintained a corpus of hereditary knowledge that was somewhere between medical, folklore, and the incomprehensible. For centuries their family tree had been populated with physicians, naturalists, herbalists, and goalkeepers of old family lore, who left behind them vast libraries, botanical collections, handwritten journals, and accounts of practices dating back to before the institutions that would one day attempt to explain them into existence. The Orthys women knew things about the land and its vegetation and the illnesses of the body that had been passed down from mother to daughter for generations, as well as traditions that could not be so readily reduced to scientific observation.Their family magic was ancient Louisiana magic, stitched into the everyday fabric of their lives, not held in reserve for show. It lived in the knowledge of which herbs could relieve a fever and which could bring one on, in the murmured prayers that went with specific treatments, in the retention of family charms, and in rituals whose origins had long since become indistinguishable from the stories recounted about them. Some rituals were publicly discussed among the family; others were kept close by the women to whom they were passed, their purpose recorded in private notebooks or entrusted only to those deemed competent to carry them forward. Whether every tradition had the power they claimed was a question of interpretation, even among the Orthys themselves. But there was no denying the family’s commitment to preserve what had been handed down. While the Wyls had built their name on endurance and knowledge of the land, the Orthys had devoted themselves to comprehending its living properties, its histories, and the unseen forces that their ancestors thought moved through it.She was a cheerful youngster, bursting with energy and curiosity that often strained the patience of those who cared for her. Her older brother, Veryn, was her favorite companion and unwilling partner, always finding himself pursued through the woods, across creek beds, and into places their father had forbade them to go. Isyla cared little about the constraints put upon respectable young ladies. She would rather have dirty hems than clean clothing, a bird's nest than an afternoon with company, and the excitement of an unsolved question than practically any lesson that required her to be still. There was little need for her father to raise a daughter who could not take care of herself. She learned to ride, to follow animals, to find her way along the mountain trails, to handle a rifle, and to recognize the signals of coming storms.Saera had ensured that her daughter grew up knowing both the scientific and the traditional side of their family inheritance. Her education involved the identification of plants and their use in preparing medicines and in the study of things that may be either good or bad for humans, but it also brought her into contact with the customs that had endured for generations of Orthys women. She grew up with dried herbs hanging from ceilings, glass jars with labels in the handwriting of her mother, old family testaments and logs with remarks inked in that no modern textbook would copy, and family artifacts whose meaning was disclosed only when she was old enough to appreciate their history. There were prayers over certain preparations, charms maintained for certain times, and old stories of the women who had come before her. Saera had never required her daughter to take every inherited belief on faith. If anything, she encouraged Isyla to learn the history behind each activity, to grasp what could be witnessed, what had been written, and what remained a matter of spirituality. In the Orthys household, Isyla's later scientific training would not always lead her to expect a clear distinction between medicine and magic. Her mother told her that a tradition may include the accumulated wisdom of generations without every word of it being true and that skepticism was healthy and didn't have to mean disrespect for the people who kept it.The incident took place when Isyla was just shy of ten, that adventurous spirit of hers carrying her farther into the mountains than she had any business wandering alone. She had followed a narrow trail into a rocky hollow where pale blooms grew between the roots of ancient trees, heedless of how far she had strayed from familiar ground. The earth crumbled beneath her feet, sending her tumbling down a steep embankment into a den of timber rattlesnakes. It wasn't the fall that nearly killed her. The animals struck again and again, their fangs finding her wrists, arms, and ankles before she could scramble away. By the time she was found, the venom had already begun to take hold. Her breathing grew shallow, her limbs weakened, and a fever seized her with such violence that those gathered around her bedside began preparing themselves for a death they could not prevent. Saera refused to accept it. Physicians were summoned from the nearest towns, old medicines were retrieved from locked drawers, and every reference book concerning venom, antivenom, and snakebite treatment was spread across the tables of the Wyl home.Yet even as the household exhausted every remedy within its reach, Saera knew that medicine alone might not be enough. Word was sent to all her relatives, Black Cord elders and everyone between of the Orthys family and members of their wider Louisiana and Mississippi covens arrived at the house, bringing their traditions, their medicines, and prayers older than the books laid open before them. They came to try, to bargain, to pray—anything that might keep the child from slipping beyond their reach.For days, the house remained awake around her, the air thick with the scent of crushed herbs, beeswax, bitter tinctures, and the casseroles neighbours had left untouched on the kitchen counter. Nurses, a doctor skittered around the estate, and her mother measured treatments with trembling hands, watching the child she had borne into the world struggle to remain within it. And then, at the height of the fever, Isyla's heart stopped. For several minutes, there was no breath in her lungs, no pulse beneath her mother's fingers, and no response to the desperate efforts of all who gathered around her bed. a medical team attempted to resuscitate the child, but by every ordinary measure, the little girl was dead.Saera's grief was so immediate and absolute that even those who had come to pray fell silent; the elders turned to their oldest rites, calling upon the ancestors and whatever powers their family had spent generations learning to approach with reverence. No one could later agree upon precisely what happened in those terrible minutes. Some swore the room grew impossibly cold, while others remembered the candles guttering despite the absence of any breeze, and to this very day, Saera would never speak plainly of what she heard or whether the voice answering her prayers had belonged to anyone living. What remained certain was that, after Isyla had been declared beyond saving, her heart began to beat again. She drew a ragged breath, her small body arching from the mattress as though something had dragged her back from a tremendous distance. The physician could offer no satisfactory explanation, and her mother did not ask them to provide one. She had seen her daughter die, and she had seen her return. Whatever had happened in the space between those two moments, Saera couldn't possibly believe that Isyla came back unchanged.The recuperation was difficult and unpredictable, stretching across months of weakness, fever dreams, and broken sleep. Isyla survived, yes but there wasn't a return to the normalcy of childhood and carelessness kept before. At first, the strange happenings were more infrequent, always at night. She would wake, insisting that someone had been standing at the foot of her bed or that an unfamiliar woman had been speaking to her from the darkened corner of a room. She described faces she had never seen in family portraits and distorted voices that made her feel inexplicably homesick for places she had never visited. On occasion, she spoke of people who had been dead for generations as though they had only just left her company. Her mother initially attributed these experiences to the lingering effects of her illness and the lingering trauma of a child who had endured too much too soon.But the accounts continued long after the fever had passed, growing more specific as Isyla grew older. She began to see figures standing at the edges of crowded rooms, recognise the presence of the departed in places thick with memory, and hear the occasional whisper of a name that no one near her own age ever knew. often, the dead appeared as plainly as anyone else, unaware or unconcerned that she could see them. At other times, she sensed them only as a shift in the air, a shadow where no shadow ought to fall, or the distinct and dreadful feeling of being watched by something or someone.The scars left by the snakes gradually faded, remaining as little markings for survival, and the spiritual consequences proved considerably more enduring. Her relationship with death turned to one of uneasy familiarity, shaped by the knowledge that she had experienced its finality, if only for a few minutes, and returned carrying memories that no science could account for. The veil between the living and the dead seemed thinner around her than it did around other people. She developed a deeper fascination with the obscure, with the rituals and histories through which people attempted to understand mortality, and with the ways different traditions described the passage of a soul beyond the body. Her academic interests in toxicology and botanical research grew alongside this spiritual curiosity. She wanted to understand the venom that had brought her so close to death, the medicinal properties of the natural world, and the physical mechanisms through which life could be lost or restored. But she also began collecting stories, studying the histories of the Orthys family, and asking questions about the ancestors whose names appeared in old records and whose faces sometimes appeared to her without invocation.The dead lingered in family homes, in old cemeteries, where generations had lived and suffered and been laid to rest. Some were quiet and Others were persistent. she could not always summon them, could not always understand what they wanted, and could not be certain that every presence she encountered had come with benevolent intentions. Her mother taught her the old protections, the prayers, and the boundaries that the Orthys women had preserved for generations, while the elders cautioned her against assuming that every voice deserved an answer.Isyla had been given a second life, though no one could tell her why. Whether it was a blessing, a burden, or an obligation remained a question that followed her into adulthood. She would spend the years that followed trying to understand it all. She had returned from death once, and she had little reason to believe that anything from the great beyond and spirit realm would allow her to forget it.

Despite the demands of her studies, Isyla never lost the inclination toward strays that had characterized her childhood. She possessed a peculiar tenderness for creatures considered inconvenient, dangerous, or unlikely to survive without intervention. When a pale wildcat cub was born on the Orthys estate, the smallest of its litter and conspicuously unsuited to the world into which it had arrived, she took it upon herself to keep him alive. His mother had rejected him, and his unusual colouring left him poorly equipped to survive in the wild. Isyla fed him warmed milk, kept him close beneath blankets, and remained at his side through the fragile weeks in which his survival was uncertain. The cub grew into an enormous animal, his coat nearly white and his eyes pale enough to appear luminous in certain light. Though he tolerated others, his attachment to Isyla was absolute. She named him amant, and he followed her through the gardens, slept at the foot of her bed, and accompanied her whenever the household permitted it.As he grew, so too did the stories surrounding him. Visitors claimed to have seen a great white beast moving among the trees at dusk, while servants swore that he could distinguish Isyla's footsteps from those of anyone else on the estate. Whether the animal was merely unusual or something more became a matter of local speculation. Isyla, who had little patience for the embellishments of frightened people, maintained that he was simply a cat who happened to be considerably larger than most, a witch's familiar if anything.Her interests in postsecondary education extended beyond laboratory work and the identification of botanicals. This fascination grew into a secondary specialization in historical archives and ethnobotany, enabling her to look beyond her doorstep at the relationship between plants, traditional medicine, cultural traditions, and the populations that had relied on them. Her research included historical herbals, local medicinal traditions, and the link between scientific medicine and hereditary knowledge, especially the differentiation between practices documented and the folklore accompanying it.now grown, Isyla had become accustomed to navigating two worlds that often clashed. The first was the private world of her maternal family, with its deep roots in Louisiana's magical legacy. This world underpins the archives, botanical collections, and rituals. The second was the world into which she had been born, the carefully preserved social world of old Southern families, in which one's place in society was precarious, introductions were important, and the least misstep in public might be the talk of the town before evening. The Wyl name opened doors to a society of old friendships, philanthropic institutions, exclusive clubs, historic estates, and families whose influence went well beyond their areas.She'd been brought up knowing the responsibilities of that sort of privilege. She was taught the art of conversation, the history of the leading families, and the social expectations of her class. She knew how to behave at formal meals, how to work her way around a room full of people whose views mattered to each other, but not in the larger world beyond. She could play her role well enough and even manipulated it, showing no concern for the ladder of success that was set up before her. Her father gradually entrusted her with responsibilities that extended beyond the household, involving her in the management of the family's property, its business affairs, and the relationships maintained with neighbouring landowners and local institutions. isyla proved far more knowledgeable than her elder brothers.

Maison orthys

The establishment, hidden down Royal Street in the center of New Orleans, is a bizarre summation of all she has ever been. The boutique, half scent story, part antiquarian bookstore, botanical apothecary, and florist. Behind stained glass windows and an old-world façade, shelves of leather-bound volumes are interspersed with amber bottles of medicines, dried medicinal herbs, and botanical specimens carefully labeled in her handwriting. Antique and ornate perfume flacons line the shelves, their contents a mix of oils, resins, florals, and darker, more exotic notes distilled and blended by Isyla herself.a sought-after aspect of Maison Orthys is Isyla's custom work, through which her botanical knowledge and the old Louisiana traditions of her maternal family find their most personal expression. Bouquets are made with more than colour, season, or occasion; each is designed around an intention from the person commissioning it. Love, reconciliation, protection, mourning, prosperity, remembrance, and letting go are among the sentiments she translates into carefully selected blooms, fragrant herbs, and symbolic foliage, drawing upon the historical language of flowers alongside the inherited practices of the Orthys women. Some arrangements are commissioned for weddings and anniversaries, while others are meant to honour the dead and mark a private turning point. Isyla approaches each with the attentiveness of a researcher and the sensibility of an artist, taking the time to understand what a client wishes to convey before choosing a single stem.Isyla also develops bespoke fragrances from memory, mood, and intention. Using botanical extracts, essential oils, resins, and precisely chosen aromatic compounds, Isyla crafts aromas that feel like a second skin, intimate and personal. A client may ask for the scent of a garden after rain, the smokey warmth of a lover’s old shirt, or a scent to inspire confidence, sensuality, comfort, or security. She muses on the wearer’s background, likes and associations, and constructs each composition in layers until the different notes settle into something recognizably their own. Her personalized commissions are consequently less about selecting scent notes than about converting the ethereal into the concrete. The work has a very personal quality to it, and among those who know Maison Orthys well, it is said that Isyla has an uncommon ability for understanding what a person is attempting to portray, even when they are having a difficult time putting it into words.

evelyn beauchamps

basics

full legal name; Evelyn Joy BEAUCHAMPS.
ADOPTED LASTNAME; Nazareth, dropped from her name legally
nickname; eve, evie
birthdate; march 20
age; 21- 35
ethnicity; creole, cajun
gender; cis female, she/her
orientation; pansexual / demisexual

connections

birth mother, cordelia beauchamps
ADOPTED FATHER, reverend Boaz nazereth
ADOPTED MOTHER, . ruth nazereth
adopted siblings, adam, Joshua, mary, michael, eliah, eunice, jonah, martha, rebecca, samuel. ( estranged )

basics

birthplace; just outside new orleans, lousiana
RESIDENCE, cherry pick, mississippi ...or anywhere there is a morgue/ funeral home
OCCUPATION, mortician, amateur artist, sculptor
religion; Raised in a Christian fundamentalist cult, escaped, non practicing.
LINGUISTICS, english, creole french

& FX

PETS, turkish van/norwegian forest cat, white with one blue and one green eye, named ivy
vehicle, 1998 subaru forester, red.
property, roomates with april hart.

personal playlist

ballroom blitz; sweet
hot stuff; donna summer
i'm your boogie man; kc and the sunshine band
do it again; steely dan
mercy mercy me; marvin gaye
lets dance; david bowie
ma baker; boney m
out of touch; hall and oates
bitter with the sweet; carole king
you & me; penny and the quarters

appearance

FACE CLAIM, isabella briggs
EYES, warm brown, big and bright
HAIR, dark, braided or worn naturally, there is a natural amber, dark russet to her hair when the sun hits.
HEIGHT, 5'7"
BUILD, statuesque, goddess structure, hourglass, thick thighs, hips, full breasts, soft stomach.
PEIRCINGS, earlobes, septum
SCARS, Thin pale lines circle her wrists from restraint straps and rope burn rubbed raw over years of “cleansing rituals.” Tiny round marks dot parts of her back and ribs from ritual candle burns and repeated applications of heated crosses meant to “purify” her body. A long uneven scar rests beneath her sternum from the attempted sacrifice at sixteen. Her knees have thickened scar tissue from prolonged forced prayer hours spent kneeling on rice, salt, bottle caps, or rough wood floors until skin split open.
TATTOOS, beautiful black and grey fine line work. half floral sleeve on her left shoulder to end of bicep.

attributes

COLOURS, Dusty Lavender, Soft Mauve, Ivory, fog blue, warm oak.
SCENT, rosewater, honey & earl grey, marshmallow, brown sugar, sugared violets.STYLE, Her wardrobe leans delicate, vintage, and deeply comforting. long cream or pale pastel cardigans, wool skirts brushing softly against her knees, soft blouses with lace collars and tiny pearl buttons and silk scarves, soft denim overalls. She gravitates toward warm neutral tones and faded romantic colours: ivory, ash rose, soft mauve, cream, dusty lavender. Eve adores old vintage nightgowns and robe sets collected from antique shops and estate sales. Satin trimmed with lace, quilted robes, soft flowing fabrics that make her feel ghostly and feminine. silk slips worn beneath oversized sweaters, delicate embroidered house dresses. Even when dressed for work, traces of that softness remain.

psyche

ZODIAC, pisces sun, capricorn moon, aquarius rising.
MBTI, ISFP - the adventurerMENTAL PROFILE, Evelyn deals with the long-term psychological aftermath of profound religious and developmental trauma. she truggles heavily with complex PTSD symptoms, fragmented sleep, dissociation during stress, touch sensitivity, panic responses tied to religious imagery or raised voices, and a persistent fear that there is something fundamentally wrong inside her despite knowing rationally that she was abused. she channels her trauma into acts of meticulous care and gentleness, using routine and ritual through mortuary work as forms of grounding and reclamation. Preparing the dead gives her a sense of purpose and control; she finds comfort and pride in preserving dignity for others because so much of her own was stripped away during childhood. Emotionally, Evelyn tends toward emotional repression, often carrying grief, fear, or exhaustion privately until it manifests physically through burnout or withdrawal. Despite everything, she retains a remarkable capacity for tenderness and empathy.TEMPERAMENT, sanguine, melancholic.POSITIVE TRAITS, deeply empathetic, intuitive, patient, resilient, observant, soft-spoken, dependable, thoughtful, artistic, meticulous, perceptive, comforting, kind-hearted, intelligent, devoted, adaptable, selfless, careful, graceful under pressure, warm.NEGATIVE TRAITS, Hypervigilant, self-sacrificing conflict-avoidant, guilt-ridden, touch-sensitive, internalizing, uncomfortable expressing anger, prone to burnout, avoidant of burdening others, overly private about her suffering.

LIKES, painting, sketching, sculpting, vintage nightgowns and robe sets, soft blankets fresh from dryers, antique shops, rainy mornings, baking late at night when she cannot sleep, delicate jewelry, funeral lilies and white roses, embroidery and mending clothing by hand, old libraries, low lighting, soft-touch fabrics, gentle voices, collecting vintage perfume bottles, anatomy sketches, pressed flowers between book pages, old porcelain dishes, honey on warm biscuits, caring for abandoned graves, restoring vintage clothing and antique nightwear, embroidery and lace mending. photographing cemeteries and historic spaces, arranging flowers for memorial services, reading, occult texts and old medical texts.DISLIKES, Raised voices, aggressive religious preaching, sudden non-consensual physical restraint, crowded rooms she cannot easily leave, people mocking grief or death, cruelty disguised as righteousness, wasted food, broken porcelain, harsh synthetic perfumes, abandonment, seeing children frightened, chaotic homes.FATAL FLAW, she confuses suffering with usefulness. The deeply wounded part of her still believes love must be earned through endurance, sacrifice, and caretaking, because that is how affection was weaponized against her throughout childhood. She struggles to believe she deserves care without first providing something in return, which leaves her vulnerable to emotional exhaustion, manipulation, and quietly self-destructive levels of self-sacrifice. Beneath all her gentleness lives the persistent terror that if she stops being useful, stops comforting, fixing, tending, preserving, that people will eventually realize she is still damaged underneath and abandon her the way she fears she deserved all along.INTELLIGENCE, a detail-oriented intelligence. She absorbs information carefully and thoroughly, particularly in subjects tied to anatomy, mortuary science, psychology, and the emotional dynamics surrounding grief and trauma. Evelyn excels in structured, meticulous work that requires patience, gentleness, and precision, approaching restorative as an art form. she possesses remarkable emotional intelligence and intuitive understanding of suffering, allowing her to connect deeply with grieving families and recognize truths people attempt to hide beneath composure. Her intelligence is rarely loud or performative; instead, it manifests through careful observation, extraordinary memory for personal details, artistic sensitivity, and the quiet ability to make deeply distressed people feel seen, safe, and dignified during the worst moments of their lives.HABITS, her habits stem from deeper roots, she has an instinctual practice to leave everything better than how she left it. She folds clothes and blankets immediately after using them, smooths wrinkles from clothing absentmindedly while speaking, and always keeps her hands busy when anxious, fidgeting with jewelry, embroidering fabric, polishing jewelry, reorganizing flowers in vases that do not need rearranging ect. she speaks to the dead...the bodies she's tending, walking them through each step, taking extra care, instilling words of respect and passing on words of their loved ones or observations. she apologizes constantly, even for things beyond her control.

skills

PRACTICAL, Mortuary science and restorative care, embalming and body preservation, forensic observation, reconstructive mortuary cosmetics, anatomy and pathology knowledge, grief support and family liaison work, evidence recognition in suspicious deaths, record keeping, emotional de-escalation, trauma-informed care, sewing and delicate reconstruction, vintage textile restoration and fabric repair, baking and domestic caretaking skills, detail-oriented pattern recognition, artistic sketching and anatomical illustration, knowledge in funeral customs and religious practices and the occult.ABILITIES, Heightened sensitivity to supernatural presence, strong intuitive pattern recognition, the ability to sense emotional residue lingering in places tied to trauma or death, unusually vivid perception during dreams and liminal states.Since childhood, Evelyn has also experienced intermittent visions, auditory phenomena, and fleeting encounters with entities or presences existing just beyond ordinary perception. manifesting as figures standing in doorways, whispers, shapes reflected incorrectly in mirrors, sensations of being watched by something neither wholly benevolent nor entirely malicious.she no longer interprets these experiences through the lens of evil or possession. Instead, she understands herself as someone unusually attuned to liminal spaces, death, grief, memory, and the thin boundaries separating worlds. Around corpses and sites of unresolved tragedy, especially, Evelyn occasionally perceives fragments that others cannot. She's aware of impressions, emotions, lingering energies, etc. Whether these abilities are genuinely supernatural or the result of a nervous system sharpened by years of trauma remains uncertain even to her, though deep down Evelyn suspects some doors opened during childhood and were never fully closed.

MISC

FLOWERS, she loves lilies and roses.
FOOD, Fresh bread still warm from the oven with honey butter or cheese and blackberry jam. cinnamon rolls, baked pears, and strawberry shortcake.
DRINKS, Chamomile tea with honey, lavender London fogs. she is a tea girl to her core.
book, frankenstein, dracula, the secret garden.

background

evelyn was born just outside new orleans her mother was all but a girl herself, seventeen with her life ahead, scared but entirely sure of the love she had for her unborn daughter. She comes from an old magical lineage with roots deeply embedded in the ecosystem. Witches and folk magic were integral to her family, as the women healed using herbs and whispered prayers over feverish bodies. Old blood and ancient knowledge form a lineage that fundamentalists label as evil because they cannot control it.That blood is exactly why the cult comes for her.all her mom could leave her was a name, a birth certificate, and a deep love. She would never get the chance to know evelyn. EVEEVE: Reverend Boaz Nazareth prayed and paid for all his parish's soldiers to search for the image that found him in psychosis. a baby born beneath strange omens. A girl carrying blood touched by witchcraft and old pagan roots. To Boaz, Evelyn is the prophecy, Corruption made flesh. Original sin is reborn into the world, so it might finally be purified through suffering and God.The Nazareth family presents itself publicly as devout, charitable, and deeply religious. But behind closed doors, the compound operates more like a living organism feeding upon fear and obedience. Reverend Boaz Nazareth rules it as the prophet swollen with delusion, charismatic enough to make frightened people mistake fanaticism for holiness. Beside him, a beloved, obedient, and infinitely cruel wife, Ruth. oh, she was never loud; she was joyful in it, smiling and speaking love to suffering and punishment, salvation.The compound overflows with children. Some are born to them biologically. Others are adopted through church networks, foster systems, desperate mothers, and “ministries” targeting vulnerable families. Every child is stripped apart and remade into the Nazareth mythology until individuality disappears in scripture, piety, and fear of god.Adam Nazareth, the eldest son, becomes Boaz’s chosen successor almost immediately. he is cold, deeply indoctrinated, carrying cruelty with pride of inheritance. Joshua survives through quiet compliance; Mary grows into Ruth’s image—so gentle-faced and severe—policing younger children. Michael becomes openly violent because violence earns praise. Eliah watches everything silently with hollow eyes, already too old for childhood. Eunice clings to doctrine desperately because obedience feels much better than original thought. Jonah rebels in small, frightened ways until punishment crushes most of it out of him. Martha resents Evelyn for the attention (poor or excellent, everything in between) the congregation places upon her. RebeccHe is a grief-ridden man seeking purpose, and he, one of the youngest girls, loves Evelyn when it's convenient. Samuel was too young to understand much beyond the fact that adults speak about Evelyn as if she carries demons in her bones...And Evelyn never learns how to conform correctly, and that becomes her greatest offense. Even as a child, she remains solitary in a way, and the others are not. She speaks softly to herself while wandering the compound gardens, sketching everything she finds interesting or beautiful. But Evelyn hears whispers beneath walls after dark, sees shadows moving strangely in mirrors and candlelight, and feels presences lingering in rooms long after everyone else leaves them. The cult insists these experiences are proof Satan festers inside her soul; he has a grasp.The truth is far older than that.Her sensitivities are hereditary whether she knows it or not. The veil between worlds is thinner and Spirits linger, energies gather near her because they recognise something open and resilient within her. But the Nazareth family mistakes spiritual attunement for possession because fear is easier than understanding.So the punishments begin young. Prayer is a first torment. Hours kneeling on rough floorboards, and salt until her knees split open through thin stockings. Forced fasting, isolation closets, and scripture screamed inches from her face, while adults restrained her hard enough to bruise. Heated crosses pressed against skin, candle wax dripping over open wounds. Ritual purgings, Hands gripping her jaw, while Ruth softly asks Satan to release her soul.The exorcisms come. He is a grief-ridden man seeking purpose and heter. she hadn't been possessed by anything other than a gentle whimsy and thirst for art and knowledge. Entire rooms are full of adults crying and praying over a trembling child while Boaz bellows scripture loud enough to drown out her breathing. pain was a holy thing to people desperate enough to justify cruelty in God’s name. And perhaps the most tragic part is that she genuinely tries to be good.She tries so diligently. She memorizes verses, keeps her eyes lowered, and apologizes constantly. Makes herself quieter, softer, and smaller, hoping that eventually they will stop looking at her like something monstrous pretending to be human. But the congregation has already built mythology around her suffering. Boaz begins preaching openly that Evelyn is the reincarnation of Eve herself. The first woman, the first corruption, original sin reborn into flesh for purification...she was still just a girl. By thirteen she stops crying during routine exorcisms, which unsettles the congregation elders.all the while, Evelyn continues seeing things. it isn't god, not their god, never their god. figures standing in doorways in the dead of night, voices whispering warnings, Shadows gathering at treelines surrounding the compound, something ancient watching the Nazareth family with mounting hunger.When she turns sixteen, the congregation decides purification finally requires the foretold sacrifice. The prophecy surrounding her spirals down enough that no amount of sanity could save her. Boaz becomes convinced Evelyn must die willingly to sever corruption from the righteous. Preparations begin quietly, and those from around the state come to witness.The ritual takes place deep in the woods, deep enough that the reverend traversed to speak to god and where god always spoke back. scripture crashing violently through trees while adults tremble with pious, maddening conviction. Evelyn is restrained against an altar while Boaz speaks of purification, sacrifice, and divine mercy. she felt the knife first, the burning sensation like a hundred burning ropes carving her open, and she would have died there if not for outsiders finally forcing their way through.Law enforcement and first responders arrive alongside hunters and local covens who have been tracking the Nazareth congregation for years already. Too many disappearances. Too many strange deaths. Too much genuine darkness festering beneath the guise of religion. Thomas Mercer is among them. a Widowed fire chief and hunter. a grief-ridden man seeking purpose, and He is the one who cuts her restraints apart. The one who carries her through stormwater and sirens while blood soaks through white ceremonial fabric in his arms.The Nazareth elders go to prison, and the children scatter into foster systems, distant relatives, and state custody. evelyn is left behind, all the more grateful for it. Thomas refuses to abandon her to that fate completely. Though technically a foster placement, his home becomes the closest thing Evelyn had ever known to safety.Evelyn becomes ravenous for knowledge. freedom to express changed her entire outlook and access. thomas encouraged everything; he'd never had children of his own, never remarried after losing his wife, and knew he didn't have many years ahead, but at the very least, he could provide stability for this girl. The transition is not miraculous. There is no sudden healing waiting on the other side of rescue. Freedom feels frightening at first, too full of choices she has never been allowed to make before. She enters public school late, awkward and painfully behind socially despite her intelligence. Other teenagers speak in references she does not understand, wear trends she has never seen, and complain about parents who merely enforce curfews. For a long time, Evelyn feels less like a normal girl and more like something pretending to be human.People stare at her. not always openly, but enough to make her feel strange in her own skin. Everyone in the county, in the country, and well beyond knew about the Nazareth raid. Local papers, national papers, and international papers turned it into a spectacle for months. This cult survivor was rescued from ritual killing, with photographs of flashing ambulances, church ruins, and blurred courtroom footage.Thomas remains the one stable thing in her life through all of it. He never pressures her into conforming and never treats her like she is broken beyond repair, though he understands perhaps better than anyone how profoundly damaged she truly is. His house was warm in all the ways the Nazareth compound never was. soft lighting, soft fabrics, Fresh coffee brewing before dawn, but a drawer full of tea for eve. Old records crackling softly through quiet evenings, he showed her music and movies she missed and gave her space to exist without being watched constantly.At first, Evelyn sleeps poorly enough that Thomas starts leaving lights on for her without comment. She wakes screaming most nights, still convinced she smells candle smoke and blood. Certain Bible verses triggered violent enough attacks to leave her vomiting afterwards. She cannot tolerate locked doors or kneeling for too long without phantom pain flaring. Yet slowly, painstakingly, she begins piecing together a self outside the cult’s mythology.she graduates high school and enrolls in university to study mortuary sciences. death had never frightened her, and she understands with devastating intimacy what it means for a body to carry suffering. But whatever the reason, Evelyn finds herself drawn toward funeral homes and pathology texts with spiritual certainty.she still imagined who her real mother was**, all the while trying to search for her, to find a piece of her, to understand who she was. Thomas helps, however he can, with access to Old records, police reports, and foster archives buried beneath years of bureaucracy. They drive down to Louisiana together more than once, searching. Eventually they uncover the truth: that Her mother never stopped searching for her. That realization destroys Evelyn more completely than almost anything else.The Nazareth family repeatedly said she had been abandoned willingly, discarded because even her biological mother sensed evil inside her, but the truth is infinitely crueller. Her mother fought for her; she Asked questions and Went looking in places she should not have. And not long afterward, she was murdered. Officially the case remained unsolved. And unofficially, too many threads lead back toward the Nazareth congregation.Evelyn grieves a woman she never knew. She becomes consumed by the need to know everything about her: old photographs, school records, recipes, and stories from distant relatives lingering around New Orleans. She learns that her mother laughed loudly and painted her nails in bright colors. that she Loved magnolia perfume and disco music. The grief is so heavy it changes her permanently. Evelyn realizes for the first time that she was so very loved, enough that her mother risked life and limb to try to find her. it gives her purpose more meaning.The work as a mortician fits her naturally, not that most people understand why or care to understand. Her hands are steady and gentle around death and the grieving process. She approaches restorative care with respect, reconstructing faces and preparing bodies with the precision of both scientist and artist. Professors praise her attention to detail and emotional composure. She notices things others miss constantly. Over time, she develops a reputation among funeral homes, coroners, and even local investigators for her remarkable restorative work and post-mortem exams. Families do not experience more horror; their loved ones are returned to them looking peaceful, not ruined. Evelyn treats everybody with dignity and kindness because she understands how it feels to have it stripped away.but then, in her rhythm of finding purpose and belonging, Thomas dies. Years of firefighting, hunting, and unresolved grief had slowly worn his body down until eventually it simply could not carry the weight anymore. Evelyn was older by then, fully grown, working professionally, and new in her career, but the loss cracks something foundational inside her. Thomas is not merely her guardian. He was the first person who ever taught her that love could exist without pain attached to it, and now he was gone, and she was alone.Now Evelyn lives in the strange, quiet aftermath of her short life. She works long hours, balancing restorative work with occasional consultation on unresolved or suspicious deaths because her instincts around violence remain unnervingly sharp. Her home smells like vanilla, beeswax candles, coffee, and old books. Vintage nightgowns hang beside black funeral attire. Sketchbooks overflow with anatomical drawings and pressed flowers from memorial arrangements. she paints when the mood strikes or the lighting streams through the window.she lives in Thomas's house, and everything was left in her name with definitive instructions to paint and change what she wanted. His journals, his vehicle, all hunting records hidden beneath floorboards, shelves of occult knowledge, and a savings account she never knew existed because Thomas spent years preparing for the possibility she might someday stand alone again.she sees things. Shadows linger too long near the dead, spirits gathering around unresolved grief, and whispers moving through funeral halls after midnight. She no longer mistakes them for evil, though she rarely speaks openly about them either. Some doors opened during childhood never fully closed again, and despite everything, Evelyn remains impossibly gentle.

bretton corbitt

appearance

face claim; luciane buchanan
singing voice claim; tia blake /emmylou harris combo
eye colour; brown. warm warm brown
hair colour; dark hair, often in her youth it was adorned by twigs and leaves from being out in the woods.
height; 5'3"
body type; Hourglass, soft stomach, thick and sturdy thighs from spending so much time in nature.
tattoos; a raven on her left forearm surrounded by a trio of crows. petunia's on her right inner wrist, a varied assortment of local flora, a falcon on her right forearm, a vulture on her inner right bicep.
scars; scattered
prominent features; ㅤbig expressive brown eyes, her smile is infectious and so genuine when it comes. if you catch a glimpse of her ass, consider yourself very lucky.
piercings; both earlobes but she rarely wears earrings.

personal playlist

cactus tree; joni mitchell
silver dagger joan baez
wayfaring stranger; emmylou harris
old man; neil young
stairway to heaven; led zeppelin
until its time for you to go; buffy st. marie
old man; neil young
the funeral; band of horses
the chain; fleetwood mac
wild world; cat stevens
harvest moon; neil young
hangman; tia blake

psyche

character inspirations; Fleur Pillager, laura palmer, Wynema, fox mulder, mina harker, fern arable, anne shirley,
zodiac; pisces sun, virgo moon, capricorn rising.
archetype; the liminal woman, The Woman of the Woods, The Child of the Forest, the animal empath.
temperament; Melancholic-Phlegmatic Blend.
love language; acts of service and quality time. with the most select of people, touch is included.
romantic partner preferences; Bretton is drawn to people who are quietly self-assured, patient, intelligent, and emotionally steady. She does not desire a partner who attempts to draw her out of her shell or "correct her out of her shell" or "fix" her perceived awkwardness. she gravitates toward someone slightly more socially capable than she is, but not overwhelmingly extroverted. Someone who can handle conversations when Bretton doesn't have the bandwidth, navigate social situations without making her feel incompetent, and gently translate the unspoken rules of a room without treating her like a child.She'd also need someone who genuinely respects the land, animals, and her work. A partner who complains about mud, thinks her wildlife rehabilitation doesn't matter, or treats her connection to the woods as an eccentric hobby would lose her rapidly. she needs someone grounded, patient, protective (perhaps slightly possessive), dryly funny, observant, emotionally mature, independent, a gentle animal lover who is comfortable outdoors, and intellectually curious.anger type; Her first response to anger is usually withdrawal. She gets quieter and completely avoids making eye contact. Her answers become short and precise. She'll leave the room rather than argue because she knows that if she stays while overwhelmed, she may say something she can't take back.POSITIVE TRAITS, adaptable, benevolent, Captivating, charming, cheerful, clever, earnest, dreamy, Empathetic, fair, gentle, hard-working, lovable, loyal, maternal, moralistic, observant, optimistic, playful, romantic, sweet, sympathetic, warm, Whimsical.NEGATIVE TRAITS,Anxious, Argumentative, Cautious, complex, Disobedient, introspective, Fawning, Fiery, Melancholic, Naive, Stubborn, Quirky, Questioning, Vulnerable.

LIKES: birdwatching, wood and bone carving, whittling, reading folklore, and regional ghost stories. caring for injured or unwanted animals. stargazing during migration seasons. The activities include early mornings and late evenings. horseback riding and hiking. Weather shifts like storms rolling in, with shifts like storms rolling in, sudden cold fronts. peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Worn denim and flannel; natural fibres only. She loves the smell of pine, damp earth, cedar, and oakmoss. clear rules, honesty, and ethical consistency. she loves all animals but has the most special spots for dogs, falcons, ravens, vultures, crows, and any wayward creature that stumbles on her door. reading, researching, and learning in general.DISLIKES, fluorescent lighting, crowded rooms with overlapping conversations, synthetic fabrics, or tight collars. being touched without warning or consent by someone she doesn't know. She's not a big handshaker; she hugs those she knows. Authority figures who don’t follow their own rules, hypocrisy, Small talk, People who treat animals as disposable.fears/fatal flaw: Every choice she makes is shaped by a desperation to hold onto what remains before it can be taken from her. she clings fiercely to her grandparents, her animals, the land, the forests, the routines, and places that tether her to herself because somewhere deep down she believes loss is inevitable because she loves something or someone. that fear makes her resistant to change, emotionally withdrawn, and dangerously self-isolating. at times, she becomes so consumed by protecting the land and validating what she has seen within it that she risks alienating herself from reality and from others entirely. worst of all, some hidden part of brett fears the woods are calling to her for a reason and that if she listens too closely for too long, she may eventually stop wanting to come back to humanity at all.INTELLIGENCE, Brett has a very intuitive, pattern-oriented intelligence. less formal framework and more observation, sensory awareness, and actual experience. Her mind is all the time taking in details: bird migrations, variations in the weather, animal behavior, changes in the silence of the forest, and even the slightest discrepancies in a person’s tone or posture. She is often thinking ahead of her speech.After years working in wildlife rehabilitation and conservation, she is well-informed in animal behavior, habitats, tracking, and environmental science. She does not do well in rigid or heavily institutional settings, particularly when she is supposed to conform to linear thinking or societal norms, yet she is proficient at practical problem solving and fieldwork.Brett’s AuDHD shows up in the way her mind can bounce quickly from one linked observation to another, making her stunningly sensitive where others are blind but also prone to overstimulation and emotional tiredness. Her stillness, her uneasiness around the social niceties, is sometimes misread as aloofness, but she eventually reveals that she sees and knows much more than she originally lets on. Brett’s intelligence is quasi-environmental, as if wilderness lives inside her.

full mental health profile

AUDHD, combined neurotype of Autism and ADHD, which is comorbid with C-PTS. Brett’s cognition is rapid, pattern-oriented, and vigilant, a combination of autistic perception and ADHD intensity that produces a person who is both very capable and exhausted. She is calm, competent, and reliable, often to her detriment. She sees it all: the emotional fluctuations, the discrepancies, the sensory alterations, the masks. She feels things deeply, but with a delay, suffering sensory overload and rejection sensitivity in silence until burnout flattens her rather than breaking her publicly. Her attention is interest- and safety-based, her organization is internally logical but externally chaotic, and her nervous system controls through pressure, repetition, and physical anchoring. In social relations she favors clarity, binds slowly but strongly, and loves by way of consistency and deeds of service, not spectacle. brett is “high-functioning,” high-effort, ethical, devoted, resilient, and intensely emotional, surviving by containment in a world that rarely acknowledges how much it costs her to appear fine.quirks/habits. Collects little objects like feathers, polished stones, bottle caps, bits of antler, anything the woods seem to offer her. Talks to animals and unconsciously narrates tasks aloud while working, especially when anxious or overstimulated. her voice softens around living things. Touches and talks to trees as she passes them. she becomes visibly distressed when natural rhythms feel 'off': too-quiet forests, absent insects, strange migrations, etc. Brett struggles with eye contact during emotional conversations, instead focusing on hands, clothing seams, or movement around her, though she can maintain intense observational focus elsewhere for hours without noticing time passing. She tends to pace while thinking, circles rooms or trails repeatedly, and self-regulates through repetitive tactile motions like tapping each finger to her thumb, rubbing fabric between fingers, or tracing scars and old callouses absentmindedly.

skills

ㅤEducation.ㅤ Brett had begun an internship with the parks department; her extended education includes a double major in environmental studies and wildlife biology. She is constantly evolving in courses on her path to a master's in conservation biology. she learned hands-on throughout her university education; every break was spent at home, within the woods, with a deep purpose.nature conservation & animal rehabilitation. As a specific branch of her skill, brett has been involved since her youth. she is an expert on the local biology and ecosystems down to the last fern. she is heavily involved in the preservation of all natural wonders in the state and beyond. At present, she is involved in the culling of invasive species of flora so that near-extinct plants can thrive in wetlands once more. Brett is extremely passionate about animal conservation and rehabilitation. She's been volunteering in animal shelters since she was a little girl. It gave her purpose and meaning. animals seem to have a gravitational pull toward her, an energy they find comfort in. she has participated in the rehabilitation of countless animals, from wolves to alligators and everything in between. Her real place of expertise is with raptors (birds of prey). She has worked in the rescue and rehabilitation of eagle, falcon, owl, vulture, crow, and raven populations—local birds are familiar with her; ravens and crows still leave trinkets for her. She is also adept at falconry and training injured raptors unable to return to the wild, hunting to reduce the overpopulation of rodents or other small prey.survivalist Brett is an expert survivalist, both by chance and by profession. She has extensive knowledge of all forms of life, can identify plants and their uses, build fire from nothing, and use her resources from nature to make her way to safety or remain if she must. She can track by compass, wind, and constellation. This is her realm of expertise; she'd find it easier to navigate wilderness than a big city.ecological attunement & resonance. Brett's nervous system unconsciously synchronizes with the living rhythms of old-growth ecosystems. She experiences disruptions in biodiversity, root communication, disease, decay, and supernatural imbalance as physical sensations. her body has evolved and is still slowly evolving to become the primary sensory organ of the forest itself. she can feel the forest grieve after wildfire, clear-cutting, or needless violence. she can feel when it's hungry and when it requires atonement for slights or harm from mankind.

MISC

SCENT, cedar, freshly laundered flannel, faintest brush of campfire sometimes, warm honey, something sweet and fruity.
favourite drink; ㅤsweetened coffee; she likes flavoured creamers like hazelnut. dr. pepper.
favourite food; ㅤpeanut butter and jelly sandwhiches in many different forms. fresh off the cast-iron pan, Bannock is slightly crisp around the edges, with butter or berry preserves. she makes her own pemmican and would eat salmon over every other meat.
hand; right
favourite colour;ㅤ pine green
favourite book/s; Monkey Beach, split tooth, and a multitude of compediums
favourite movie/s.ㅤthe blair witch, balto, my girl, the secret of roan inish
ANIMALS, she has a deep love for all raptor birds but in particular is very bonded with ravens and vultures. she adores the misunderstood. great horned owls, dogs, has a deep love and fascination with orcas
COLOURS, raven, rusted copper, golden brown, pine green.
STYLE, she carries pieces of her father. his old hunting jackets, flannels, tee shirt collection, sweaters and all do not fit her frame at all. always a bit oversized. dark denim, thermal shirts, canvas jackets, cargo pockets stuffed with notebooks and gloves. practicality always. She accessorizes with silver accents, mostly flat or embossed rings, but nothing that can snag.

background

Bretton Aspen Corbitt spent her childhood in a house along the edge of the woods, family property on her father's side. Her mother was present only in the technical sense. Annabelle was once a warm woman, perhaps, and maybe she lost it when she gave birth to brett. her unhappiness sat sharp and restless under her skin; it turned to disdain for a child. annabelle wanted a boy, and Brett should have been a boy because boys were easier, stronger, less needy, and less wrong. It's why she refused to change the name she'd set out for a son when she was born. somewhere in her mind, she thought her child would be more like her. but this child was brown-eyed and strange.and brett learned so quickly how to stay out of her mother's way, how to make herself small enough not to draw notice. it was clear how much annabelle resented the life she was living, regardless of how much hudson worked to give her everything he could. Affection was rationed, praise was rare, and anger was not. She described Brett as too strange, too soft, and too much for her. every tuesday and wednesday, her grandparents would make the 30-minute drive from their home to watch after her while annabelle worked too. those days were cherished by brett. her grandfather taught her to fish and hunt with respect and to whittle and carve. her grandmother was a veterinary tech and the world's greatest cook; she showed brett ways that have been passed down through generations of women.other days, in her mother's care, Brett raised herself when her father was at work. She spent most days outside with her dog, sprockett slipping away into the surrounding property and woods as soon as she could. The creek became her little refuge. She'd pace the cold water, bare feet, and smooth stones she collected and lined up carefully on the bank. She learned the language of rocks, how the shape was perfect for skipping, what stones could be tumbled into something beautiful, and how weight and shape mattered. She constantly engaged in full conversations with her dog, speaking softly and matter-of-factly. She talked to the woods too; it wasn't like a child playing make-believe; she spoke because she knew the woods were listening. Brett would always listen when it spoke back. in the rustle of trees or leaves, in the stream of sunlight showing that child where a geode was hiding.she met the stranger when she was five. The experience was always the same, yet it felt different each time. Some days he appeared as another child, muddy-kneed and quiet, sitting beside her on a fallen cedar, teaching her about what stands between the trees while sharing the pb&j sandwich she brought along. Other days he stood as a man, or something like it, broad-shouldered beneath the pines, his face ever-changing and shadowed, fanged like a wolf but speaking as a gentle roll of thunder. he spoke of balance, how the woods were waiting for her, would always welcome her, and would always protect her. there were mornings he was little more than a silhouette between pine trunks, and evenings when she could have sworn he had scaling antlers coated in moss and viscera disappearing into the canopy. she was never afraid of him; he told her once that his name was Ylthren.Her father worked himself down to bone. He was always worn out, hands cracked, shoulders slumped, and eyes dulled by exhaustion—but he loved her fiercely in the narrow spaces he had left. He carried her on his shoulders when he could. He fixed what she broke and listened when she talked excessively about it, even when she discussed things he didn’t fully understand. He never told her she was mistaken for seeing what she saw. He didn’t always understand it, but he never punished her for it. But when her mother left him, left her for a new family and financial stability—that love between Brett and her father was enough to keep her alive, but it wasn’t enough to save him. She watched the grief eat him alive in the most unnatural way. like her mother somehow cursed him through betrayal. she had enough sense to call her grandparents and her aunt, trying to get him help—nothing helped, and Brett was eight when she watched her father walk into the shed. She left the phone dangling off the hook when she heard the crack of her father's hunting rifle.Spooked, alone, and overwhelmed by the immediate wash of grief and confusion over why he would just leave her like that, Brett ran into the woods with her dog trailing behind. For two weeks, the land held her. She survived because she knew how, because she’d been unintentionally practicing her whole short life. She drank from the creek, slept curled into roots, followed paths, and foraged in spaces she felt called to. When she was found, she was quiet and changed in ways most adults fear. She spoke of the figures that kept her safe and how she survived, and with that, the state descended quickly. Her mother returned just long enough to sign her away, her cruelty sharpened by inconvenience rather than concern. she wanted comfort, and she was left to sterility and the echo of her grandparents fighting with local law enforcement, whose hands were either tied or paid off by the state. was there, in different forms, and She saw things out there—presences that did not hide from her, shapes that stood just beyond the edge of understanding between one world and another. ancient beings, entities, and shadows that stood long before the foundations of the county itself. They did not threaten her; they observed and kept her safe. The woods accepted the child, protected her from threats to the natural balance, and guided her toward the light of a search party.When she was found, wild and dirty-cheeked, she tried to reach back for Ylthren—she wanted to bring her friend to keep her safe. she spoke of him, spoke of the others, and spoke of how she survived. she was frantic, insistent, crying, and pleading to go back. her grandparents were there, comforting, offering sanctuary for their grandchild. her mother was there, briefly, apathetically, signing her daughter over to the state. she wanted comfort, and she was left to sterility and the echo of her grandparents fighting with local law enforcement, whose hands were either tied or paid by the state.What followed was a year of observation. She underwent a year of observation that included therapists, evaluations, machines hooked to her scalp, and electrodes mapping brainwaves that the doctors couldn’t categorize. Rooms hummed with electricity; doctors asked the same questions over and over, hoping repetition would turn mystery into diagnosis. *for months she would cry for her friend, for the woods, for her dog, and for her grandmother and grandfather. * she would insist ylthren was real, over and over and over again. and every single time, her Blood was drawn, and her cells were harvested for study. notes are written and stacked into files. but Brett adapted to their patterns; she learned which answers made the needles come back and which let her rest or play. She endured all that pain in an attempt to uncover the reason behind her words.The state released her when a final diagnosis was made, and the pressure from her father's family drew far too much attention. they demanded an outside psychoanalysis, and Brett was diagnosed with AUDHD. She had a nervous system tuned for vigilance and patterns, hypersensitive and resilient. Her brain catalogued everything, storing it away with detail-oriented precision. The girl they'd deemed otherworldly and advanced, who spent a year trying to understand, was suddenly worthless in their eyes.

her grandparents won the fight to bring her home. she was nearly ten when they brought her to the home her father grew up in. She slept in his childhood bedroom and walked the same path he once did to school. They didn’t force her to explain the woods; they didn’t ask her to be normal. They gave her structure, responsibility, unconditional love, and access to all the peanut butter and jam sandwiches she ever wanted. and most importantly, she had her best friend, Sprockett, once more.Her grandparents’ house was steady, but school was another matter. Small towns notice the difference immediately. Parents talk, and their kids listen; they overhear rumors and spin cruel words. Brett flinched at loud sounds. She walked the perimeter of playgrounds instead of joining them and preferred sitting with her back to a wall, watching birds circle overhead. Kids called her weird, a forest freak, or the bird girl. They whispered about the two weeks she’d vanished like it was a campfire story, then the year spent in the 'loony bin. ' Some swore she’d been feral, others said she talked to ghosts, and more of them talked about how she spent time in an asylum. Brett didn’t correct them; she had believed from her time spent between those sterile walls and in her mother's care that truth was rarely believed and often punished. so, She kept her head down, kept her hands busy, and kept herself small.She learned the rhythm of school like she learned the woods. She memorized schedules and found the safest paths between buildings. Sat at the edge of groups, listening. She brought rocks in her pockets and rubbed them smooth between her fingers when the noise got too loud. When kids mocked the way she talked to animals or wandered the treeline after school, she said nothing. For a while. But cruelty, like rot, spreads when left unchecked.One girl took particular interest in her. she was popular, rich, and from an untouchable family. she shoved Brett's books out of her hands, yanked her backpack, and pulled her hair once, hard enough to make her eyes water. She told Brett that she should’ve stayed lost in the woods; she should’ve stayed lost in the woods where freaks and animals belonged. Brett once warned her with words reminiscent of her grandparents' advice. The next time she put her hands on Brett, something in her snapped into place. she punched her. a clean, direct blow to the face, enough to crack her nose. All the strength she had been holding back, along with all the pain and grief, finally surfaced. the bully went down hard, shocked more than hurt. brett never apologized, and that was the end of it. She still wasn’t popular. she was still considered strange and solitary, but the teasing dulled, and the whispers softened only a bit. brett's life prospered when she was pulled from public school and started to attend school closer to the reservation. closer to the woods.Her grandparents never forced her to bury what happened; they listened if she wanted to speak of things, but she rarely did. They understand that certain children come into the world attuned to it differently. More perceptive, more sensitive to things other people ignore because acknowledging them would fracture the illusion that humanity stands alone in the world. So while outsiders continue whispering about Brett, her grandparents give her routines. they give her tasks, work, and space to roam. she makes friends easier now.Her grandfather teaches her practical things like repairing fencing, tracking wildlife movement, and reading weather patterns before storms roll in. Her grandmother teaches rituals rooted in traditions, leaving offerings for the land, respecting old-growth trees, and understanding that grief and nature are intertwined, the same as any other emotion. brett still seeks the stranger—her friend knows he's always watching.Brett spends more time outdoors than inside. Animals trust her, the likes of which could be studied as preternatural in nature. The design of rehabilitation was a natural progression. She brings home an injured hawk first, then a fox kit, and then a barred owl tangled in illegal wire traps. all helped, all sent back to the wild. By sixteen, she is volunteering at local conservation centers and veterinary clinics after school. Adults are quick to realize Brett possesses extraordinary patience around frightened animals. Wounded creatures calm beneath her hands. She studies anatomy, ecosystems, migration patterns, environmental damage, and poaching activity. Her hyperfocus becomes an asset. And slowly, for the first time in her life, Brett begins to realize her sensitivity may not be weakness at all.After graduation, she attends university for wildlife biology and environmental conservation; academically, she flourishes. Professors and mentors recognize that Brett notices patterns others overlook entirely... shifts in wildlife movement tied to environmental imbalance, subtle behavioral changes in predator species, and interconnected ecosystem disruptions that eventually prove significant later. brett never fully leaves behind the feeling that nature itself communicates with her differently than it does with other people. and she isn't wrong in the slightest.The older she gets, the more she notices strange overlaps between environmental destruction and events similar to what happened to her as a girl. Forests cleared for development foster businesses that never flourish. Human disappearances spike near disturbed land, and certain areas feel wounded when damaged by industry. Brett begins researching folklore, land stories, asking elders up and down the rainforest coastline, and historical disappearances tied to wilderness regions across the Pacific Northwest. Most people assume her interest is academic. But it isn't, not really. she knows there is still more out there, watching and waiting and grieving alongside the land itself.She works her way into conservation and wildlife rehabilitation throughout national and protected park systems across the Pacific Northwest, spending long stretches stationed in dense and rain-heavy forests with her dog. She warns people not to wander off trails after dark, not to disturb old-growth groves or stacked stones or abandoned structures hidden deep in the trees. and when they don't listen, their fate is sealed.She becomes deeply involved in land preservation efforts, especially after inheriting her father’s property. Rather than sell it, Brett donates massive portions of the land to conservation easements and rehabilitation programs, working alongside national and regional park services to restore damaged ecosystems, rehabilitate wildlife, and prevent developers from carving roads through old-growth wilderness. It becomes one of the proudest and most painful decisions of her life. The land remains hers emotionally and spiritually, but she refuses to let ownership become another form of exploitation. She would rather surrender pieces of herself than watch the forest become parking lots and luxury cabins.the rehabilitation center built there grows into something beloved and immensely invaluable. injured raptors can recover in real trees, orphaned fox kits are raised away from human imprinting, and wolves are monitored carefully before being released back into protected territories. Brett spends time there for research and purpose; it is also used as a training facility for younger generations.beneath all the scientific work and environmental advocacy, there remains something older guiding her. Brett knows the woods are listening; she can feel the pulse. she knows ylthren is always with her, changing forms. Sometimes hikers go missing near areas she warned them away from or that markers clearly outlined to not stray from. Occasionally she finds odd (and familiar) symbols carved into bark far beyond marked trails. Sometimes animals return to the rehabilitation center wounded by things no ordinary predator could have inflicted. Brett documents everything in journals and shares her findings with the woods, with ylthren.to brett, conservation and protection are not separate things in places like these. To preserve the land is also to preserve the boundaries, holding something else back. some nights, walking fence lines or open woodlands beneath heavy rain with her flashlight cutting weakly through cedar fog, Brett still touches old trees gently, her fingertips brushing bark, greeting something ancient and unseen and known in her soul. she asks every listening ear to keep protecting the forest the way it once protected her.

roxana flora

roxana flora

basics

full legal name; marnie beatriz ciervo de luna
nickname; marn, Mars.
birthdate; september 15
age; 21- 35
ethnicity; white & latina; mexican, cuban & italian.
gender; cis female, she/her
orientation; homosexual / homoromantic

connections

MOTHER, monica de luna
FATHER, sebastian ciervo
siblings, molly ciervo
grandparents, edgar & xaveria ciervo
cousin/s, gloria ciervo, edgar ciervo

basics

birthplace; mississippi / lousiana border / washington
residence; mississippi/washington
OCCUPATION, bartender, cage fighter, aspiring writer
religion; raised in a spiritual/catholic
LINGUISTICS, english, spanish, french,

& FX

PETS, she fosters many dogs and cats.
vehicle, 1983 Nissan Patrol 4×4 in burgandy mist
property, a small house, two bedroom, bought in cash.

personal playlist

hunger strike; temple of the dog
black; pearl jam
them bones; alice in chains
fine again; seether
violet; hole
this town; green river
volcano girlas; veruca salt
losing skin seaweed
nutshell; alice in chains
come out & play; the offspring

appearance

FACE CLAIM, christian serratos
EYES, amber brown, there is an inhuman quality depending on the lights. they reflect in the dark.
HAIR, dark, thick, almost pin straight and down to her waist.
HEIGHT, 5'7"
BUILD, strong, enduring but her body is soft at the stomach, she has stretch marks on her round hips and ass.
PEIRCINGS, earlobes, nose on the left.
SCARS, There are eight major one. one is high up, just beneath her collarbone where the knife narrowly. there are another two more along her ribs on the left side. Another wound was carved deep into the soft flesh of her side near her hip. There are two wounds across her back, One sits just beneath her shoulder blade, the other lower near the curve of her spine. the seventh scar rests low on her stomach, and the eighth is to the right of her heart.
TATTOOS, thorned blackberry vines climbing her hip and ribs, a crescent moon curved beneath her chest. a wolf in motion on her right forearm, tiny stars on her knuckles because her sister loves astronomy.

attributes

COLOURS, charcoal, dark forest green, oxblood, faded denim blue, rusted copper, and the muted silver.
SCENT, vanilla bourbon, cedar, layered with black cherry, smoked rose, and warm sandalwood.STYLE, Nothing about Marnie ever looks perfectly put together. beautiful in the way abandoned places are beautiful, rough around the edges, bruised, feminine, and impossible not to stare at even if she hates when people stare. she hides and intentionally. Her colour palette stays deep and moody, charcoal, black, oxblood, forest green, washed denim. dark jeans sit higher on her hips, worn in band tee shirts, black dickies, oversized flannels, oversized hoodies, and rings on nearly every finger. combat boots, vans.

psyche

ZODIAC, virgo sun, capricorn moon, taurus rising.
MBTI, ISTP-T the virtuosoMENTAL PROFILE, deep roots in c-ptsd. marnie's mind lives in a body which is equally trapped in survival mode. like the wolf-blood, her trauma is sharpened and animalistic, anticipatory. she is hyperaware of danger, emotionally guarded, and held together more by responsibility than true stability. The events in her life fractured her identity so completely that she stopped seeing herself as a person with dreams. She suppresses emotions aggressively, channelling grief, rage, and fear into work and underground fights. Yet beneath the hardened exterior, she remains deeply empathetic and painfully loyal. The wolf's blood intensifies everything already unstable inside her. she has heightened instincts, violent impulses, emotional volatility, and a restless hunger for adrenaline that terrifies and excites her. Though she appears cold, sarcastic, and self-contained, Marnie feels everything with overwhelming intensity. she experiences night terrors and severe bouts of insomnia.TEMPERAMENT, melancholic, cholericPOSITIVE TRAITS, protective, loyal, resilient, intuitive, quick-thinking, adaptable, resourceful, hardworking, dependable, brave, street-smart, observant, nurturing, independent, honest, determined, charismatic, disciplined, survival-oriented, compassionate, enduring, protective, and capable of immense love.NEGATIVE TRAITS, self-destructive, hyper-independent, reckless, stubborn, volatile, overly guarded, distrustful, suppressive, confrontational, impulsive, violent, emotionally repressed, cynical, restless, exhausted, prone to isolation, self-sacrificial.habits/quirks; Constantly rolls rings around her fingers when anxious, cracks her knuckles before fights or stressful conversations, a light sleeper who keeps a gun or knife or both under her pillow/ bedside drawer. Keeps her back to walls in public places, watches doorways and exits automatically everywhere she goes. smokes, drinks excessive amounts of alcohol (barely has any effect ), weed smoker.

LIKES/hobbies, grunge music, the sound of sisters laughter and ability to be carefree. she still loves soccer instinctively and she watches games alone sometimes. cage fighting, writing in little notebooks she carries absentmindedly in notebooks, fixing and tinkering with things before having to replace them, sitting outside during storms with coffee or a cigarette just to listen to the rain. she fosters dogs and cats from a local program and makes sure they go to good homes.DISLIKES, dishonesty, crowded spaces, hospitals. she cannot stand silver jewelry, authority figures, manipulation, and being told what to do, which will grate on her almost instantly. More privately, she dislikes reminders of the life she lost; ...soccer fields, scholarship letters, family photos she cannot bear to throw away but can't really look at because they force her to confront the version of herself that never got the chance to exist.FATAL FLAW/fears, Marnie’s greatest fear is losing the people she loves and surviving it again. More than death itself, she fears helplessness. That the thing inside her is not grief or trauma, but something truly monstrous inherited through her blood. She is terrified that one day the wolf will fully surface and she will lose control or hurt someone she loves.
her fatal flaw is self-destruction. she will run herself into the ground. She suppresses her own needs, refuses help, bottles emotions until they erupt violently, and repeatedly places herself in dangerous situations because, on some level, she no longer values her own survival the way she values everyone else’s. Her inability to let people carry her pain, combined with her growing attraction to violence and adrenaline, slowly isolates her, feeding the very darkness she is terrified of becoming.INTELLIGENCE, highly intelligent, but different from before. Before her life unravelled, she was an honour-roll student with scholarship potential, naturally excelling academically without struggling. She learns quickly, processes information fast under pressure, and has a sharp, practical mind built for adaptation and survival. Her intelligence leans heavily toward emotional and situational now. she reads people, notices shifts in tone and body language most miss, and can assess danger within seconds of entering a room. Years of raising Molly, working bars, and surviving on very little also made her financially and socially adept; she knows how to stretch money, manipulate difficult situations, diffuse threats, and navigate personalities.

skills

PRACTICAL, Bartending and mixology, conflict de-escalation, Street fighting, underground combat, Locking down and securing spaces instinctively. Basic first aid and wound care, Athletic conditioning from years of soccer. Working long hours under stress without breaking composure. Thrifting, repairing, and repurposing old items, running a household from cooking to cleaning to maintenence. Caring for animals, especially difficult or reactive ones.

MISC

FLOWERS, Marigolds and dandelions.
FOOD, Rare steak or venison, Dark chocolate, and pickles.
DRINKS, Black coffee, Cheap bourbon, Hot chocolate with Molly.
books, she reads a bit of everything but she keeps a lot of poetry books.

background

background

born in southeastern turkey, martina çiçek came from a long line of women who believed faith and folklore have never been mutually exclusive beneath her grandmother's roof. futures were read from coffee grounds left behind in delicate porcelain cups, blue nazars hung above every doorway to ward away ill intent, herbs were grown as readily for healing as they were for cooking, and every flower had meaning. martina inherited all of it, though she never considered herself a witch. she simply believed that God had created a world too beautiful and mysterious for mankind to ever fully understand.At sixteen years old, with only the basics of English and little more than a suitcase to her name, Martina immigrated to America, searching for opportunities. she spent several years working at a roadside motel in Florida before taking a chance on a newspaper advertisement looking for a live-in nanny and housekeeper in Heavenly, mississippi. it felt like an answer to prayer. Rev. Calvin halston and his wife, grace, welcomed the young woman into their home, where martina's gentle nature quickly endeared her to both the children and the congregation alike. she possessed the sort of warmth that made people feel at ease without ever trying. the halston children sought comfort in her company, church ladies praised her kindness, and even strangers found themselves lingering a little longer whenever she smiled. Grace noticed it all.there was an underhanded, quiet resentment toward the young woman almost immediately. perhaps it was jealousy. perhaps it was insecurity. perhaps grace recognized something in Martina that she'd long since lost in herself. whatever the reason, it festered. Calvin's affection for the young housekeeper only deepened that bitterness until admiration blurred into an affair neither of them had ever intended.When Martina confessed she was pregnant, the conclusions took little time to reach. Calvin claimed the child was a blessing sent by God himself while grappling with his guilt. grace, outwardly gracious and inwardly seething, had little choice but to accept the arrangement. When whispers spread throughout Heavenly, the congregation was informed that Martina had already arrived carrying another man's child and that the Halstons had generously taken her in. Every Sunday, they were praised for their charity, while Grace silently prayed for the girl's removal.She would get half of what she wished.martina died from complications only hours after giving birth, but not before naming her daughter roxana isabella. Grace held the infant in her arms and felt that all she could see was punishment. Calvin saw the woman he had once loved. nor realized the little girl knew nothing beyond reaching instinctively toward the people holding her. her name was changed to anna mary halston before the congregation ever met her. and she wouldn't hear her mother's name again for another fourteen years.she was introduced as an act of charity. a child whose wayward mother had died shortly after giving birth. a poor immigrant girl who had arrived in heavenly carrying another man's child and, in the boundless generosity of reverend calvin halston and his wife, grace, had been welcomed into both their home and their family. every sunday the story grew softer around the edges until people forgot it had ever been anything else.anna was a happy baby. she'd become an even brighter ray of sunshine into childhood. sweet, curious and forever busy, she toddled after her older siblings with unwavering determination, forever trying to help despite being too small to do much of anything. she insisted on carrying baskets twice her size, watering flowers that had already been watered, memorizing the next page of scripture for sunday school. she loved because it never occurred to her not to and the congregation adored her for it.little old ladies pinched her cheeks after sunday service and tucked taffy and quarters into her tiny hands. teachers praised her manners. neighbours remarked on what a thoughtful little girl she was, forever asking after someone else's day or offering a flower she'd picked from the garden. stray cats somehow found their way onto the halston property, only to discover a little girl determined to feed every last one of them.grace heard every compliment, and somehow, each one sounded like criticism. it wasn't that anna misbehaved because she hardly ever did. she simply existed too brightly. the older she became, the more her real mother seemed to look back through those impossibly warm brown eyes. strangers admired her smile, church ladies praised her gentle disposition and the children naturally gravitated toward her kindness. calvin found himself lingering a little longer whenever the youngest girl climbed into his lap with another book she'd convinced him to read aloud. he loved all of his children, that much had always been true, but guilt has a curious way of making affection resemble favouritism.grace noticed every glance, every laugh and every little trinket calvin brought home from his travels. she began keeping score against a little girl who never knew she was playing. anna never understood why some days felt safer than others. she learned instead to read the energy. the stiffness settling into grace's shoulders before supper. the clipped responses. the silent treatment that somehow felt louder than screaming. children become fluent in emotional weather long before they ever learn the language for it. anna could feel storms before they arrived.still...she chased sunshine anyway and all she wanted was her 'mother's' approval. every drawing she brought home from school found grace first, every report card was placed into her hands before anyone else's. she memorized scripture because grace valued scripture, practiced her manners because grace valued appearances, she smiled a little prettier, stood a little straighter and apologized for things she'd never done because somewhere inside herself, anna believed she hadn't earned the sort of love her sister received so effortlessly. children have an extraordinary habit of blaming themselves for wounds they never caused. that girls wounds ran deep.both girls were enrolled in ballet and other styles of dance when anna was old enough. her sister loved the dresses, but she adored dancing. for that time, the sisters were inseparable. friday nights became sacred beneath the halston roof. once the house had gone quiet and grace finally retired upstairs, the girls would sneak into the living room wrapped beneath the same blanket. the television volume turned almost silent, and the brightness lowered until the screen barely illuminated the room. together they'd watch old black and white films on tcm, completely enamoured by women like mae west, rita hayworth and ava gardner. anna didn't yet have the language for what fascinated her so deeply. she only knew they looked...free, beautiful, adored and they laughed loudly. they occupied space without apology. she would spend years unknowingly becoming pieces of every one of them. grace noticed that too.being the children of a reverend came with expectations. they were to be polite and well-mannered. appearances came before nearly everything else. the halston children represented more than themselves; they represented the church, the family name, and every sermon reverend calvin halston preached from behind the pulpit.anna did her best, she always did. she studied harder than most of her classmates. volunteered whenever the church asked and never complained about early sunday mornings or long evenings spent shaking hands after service, while the congregation told her how much she'd grown. she smiled until her cheeks hurt, remembered names with startling ease and made people feel as though they mattered simply because she'd listened. but none of it ever seemed to reach grace. if anything, it only widened the distance between them.mary grace had prettier dresses, shinier shoes and more ribbons for her hair. little things that anna never thought to question because she loved her sister too much to envy her and admired grace too deeply to resent the differences. it wasn't until strangers began complimenting anna instead that punishments followed.you're showing off."..."must you always make everything about yourself?"..."go pray on your vanity." and she would kneel obediently beside her bed, asking forgiveness for sins she didn't understand. because if her mother believed she'd done something wrong, surely she had. children trust their parents before they trust themselves. all anna wanted was her mother's approval.all grace saw when she looked at the little girl was the ghost of martina. she saw her husband's betrayal and infidelity smiling back. every dance recital, every kind word offered to a stranger, anna had inherited none of her mother's memories, yet somehow all of her softness. she loved openly. forgave quickly. found beauty in ordinary things. the older grace became, the more unbearable those qualities seemed.calvin tried. tried not to miss recital's and never forgot birthdays. he brought little trinkets home from revival tours and county sermons. pressed flowers inside books because anna had once told him that she hated it when beautiful things disappeared forever. he praised her report cards, framed school photographs in his office and kissed the top of her head every night before bed. he loved her, and there was never any doubt about that.love, however, is not always brave and he saw enough to know something wasn't right. he heard enough sharp words exchanged in passing, he listened to the endless critiques and the snap of heavy-handedness. he noticed how quickly anna apologized and how often she flinched whenever grace raised her voice. he never imagined the woman he'd built an entire life beside capable of being truly dangerous. he never did a thing to stop it.anna entered fourteen, believing perhaps hope had finally arrived. that spring, she'd been awarded the solo performance during the annual ballet recital, but she hadn't told anyone. she wanted it to be a surprise, and it was. those lights were warm, she performed her little heart out. when the curtain fell, applause thundered through the auditorium. her father, her sister, even her stoic older brother praised her performance and for perhaps the first time in anna's life, her mother embraced her without hesitation.they celebrated afterward at a fancy restaurant in town. she could order dessert she wasn't normally allowed, grace complimented her hair, she praised the performance and held her hand across the table. anna floated through the evening, convinced she'd finally done enough, so much that she went to sleep smiling and it was the happiest she'd ever been.the following week calvin left for louisiana alongside anna's older brother, spending several days preaching throughout a string of churches.before they left, grace suggested the girls spend time together. she promised shopping and new clothes and even a little makeup now that anna was growing into a young woman. she idolized grace, despite everything.that's the thing about children. they rarely stop loving the people who hurt them. they become convinced that loving harder might finally fix it. her sister, mary grace spent the afternoon at their grandmother's house. the sky opened with one of those heavy mississippi storms where rain swallowed the horizon whole. anna climbed into the passenger seat, smiling to herself, already imagining lipstick colours and pretty dresses.oh, but grace drove in silence, the roads grew unfamiliar, the trees darkened the horizion, a forboding canopy and church bells echoed somewhere beyond the rain. she'd called out mama and gotten no answer. first appeared a cemetary, rows upon rows of familiar names washed grey beneath storm clouds. then the chapel -- so empty and silent, too large and eerie without a congregation inside it. something ancient stirred low in anna's stomach. it was an instinct no one teaches, something you are born with or not. anna finally asked why they were here.grace smiled, and then she screamed. years of resentment and hostilty poured free all at once. about ***martina, the affair, the lies. every ugly word she'd swallowed for fourteen years now thrown like stones at a child who had never asked to be born. anna sat frozen, tears falling because her name wasn't anna and her mother wasn't her mother. and her father—her father...she hardly had time to think before fingers buried themselves into her hair. grace dragged her from the car, through the muck and rain and through the empty chapel doors. down the centre aisle where generations had been baptized beneath promises of grace and forgiveness. anna roxana stumbled, begged, cried and apologized for things she hadn't done. grace heard none of it. by the time they reached the baptismal basin, the woman before her no longer resembled a mother. she was something twisted and unholy in human form. she forced anna roxana beneath the water. once. twice. again, longer now until her lungs burned. until her hands clawed desperately at the smooth stone. until all muffled screaming disappeared and light followed and then, everything became still.there was no fear or pain, only warmth. as if sunlight trickled through beneath water and she felt herself drifting somewhere vast. voices echoed softly around her in languages she didn't know yet somehow understood. shadows moved gently beyond sight, but not frightening. they were all waiting and watching.one hand reached toward her, soft and scented by cardamom and roses, calling her name so gently, as though she were being called home when the streetlights fluttered on a summer night. then—she came back coughing violently across the stone floor, expelling holy water, bile and tears. grace stared down at her with wide, horrified eyes. for the first time, she looked small and afraid but not to what she had done, merely of what just came back from the dead. There was no atonement or desire to comfort the girl she'd drowned, apologize for her bout of madness. she threatened her instead with another drowning, with public humiliation and certain hellfire if she spoke a single word. anna roxana simply nodded.

the girl who came home from the church that afternoon was not the same one who had climbed into the passenger seat beside grace. somewhere between the baptismal basin and waking on the other side of life, something inside anna roxana had changed. she smiled less now, her laughter no longer came so easily and sleep abandoned her almost entirely. there was a constant tension settled beneath her ribs that made every sudden noise feel like another pair of hands dragging her beneath the water. the congregation praised her for growing up, commenting on how much more poised and mature she seemed in only a matter of weeks.calvin noticed the change almost immediately after returning from louisiana. she lingered a little longer in his embraces, clung tighter whenever he kissed the top of her head before bed and startled far too easily whenever someone entered a room unexpectedly. grace was never far behind him, watching and listening to make sure she didn't dare tell him the truth. part of her believed grace would make good on every promise she'd whispered inside that empty chapel. another part had already convinced herself no one would believe the daughter over the wife of a beloved reverend.life continued exactly as it always had. she still sat through every sunday sermon, still volunteered whenever the church needed extra hands, still attended dance classes and smiled politely while old women pinched her cheeks and remarked on what a lovely young woman she was becoming. outwardly, nothing had changed to the average onlooker. inwardly, she relived the drowning every time she stepped through those chapel doors. the scent of damp, polished wood, the scrape of nails on marble, rain violently thrashing against stained glass, the burn of water filling her lungs.a small thead of reprieve in recalling the sound of that voice, calling her name. she first convinced herself that it was merely her frightened mind inventing things to survive something it couldn't yet understand. that was, until shadows began lingering where shadows shouldn't. movement caught the corner of her eye, only to disappear whenever she turned her head. sometimes it was footsteps crossing the upstairs hallway while she sat alone downstairs, or whispers so faint they could almost be mistaken for the wind threading through open windows. she spent weeks explaining away every strange occurrence before finally running out of explanations altogether.the first spirit she ever truly saw was a little boy standing near the fence line behind the church cemetery. he couldn't have been older than eight, his trousers muddied to the knees and one front tooth missing whenever he smiled. he stood there watching her gather flowers, hands folded politely behind his back as though he'd been waiting to ask permission to interrupt. instinctively, anna smiled back, but when she blinked, he was gone. she searched the cemetery until sunset, convinced some child had wandered away from his family, only to find no footprints, no voices and no little boy. he returned the following afternoon and the afternoon after that. he didn't speak, but eventually, as though willing himself enough courage to beckon anna roxana to follow. she did, and what she discovered at the edge of a swamp were his remains. she'd plunked a quarter into a payphone to call in a tip to the sheriff's office, they'd settled the case for a missing child in the 1950's with those remains, they buried them and suddenly, the boy was gone.not all of them looked as sweet as a lost child; some appeared exactly as death had left them...burned, broken, bloodied faces twisted in fear or grief, clothing still bearing the violence of their final moments. they terrified her. there were nights she buried herself beneath blankets, praying she would wake up ordinary again, begging God to take whatever strange affliction had settled over her. but beneath every horrifying face she saw the same things. lonliness, wayward grief and loss of self loneliness. people who weren't people anymore and had nowhere left to go and no one willing to listen.answers were nowhere to be found inside the church, so she began searching elsewhere. the library became her sanctuary because she desperately wanted someone, somewhere, to explain what was happening to her.she learned about folklore and mythology and old healing traditions. dreams, spirits, forgotten religions, books dismissed as superstition by nearly everyone around her, somehow described pieces of a world she'd already begun to see with her own eyes. she hid them beneath her mattress, read them long after midnight by flashlight and began collecting small things that brought her comfort. a piece of clear quartz tucked into her dance bag. dried lavender pressed between notebook pages, rosemary tied together with twine and hidden inside her dresser drawer. little acts of rebellion as much as they were lifelines.by sixteen she'd found work waitressing at the local diner. grace decided almost immediately that because anna roxana now earned a wage, she should begin paying rent but that expectation was. never placed upon any of the other halston children. calvin argued and that made grace raise the rate another fifty dollars.the diner, however, gave her something home never had. older women fussed over whether she'd eaten enough and packed her slices of pie into takeaway boxes after long shifts. they hugged her, called her baby, and taught her how to stitch the hem back onto her work skirt after noticing it'd begun to fray. they snuck her cigarettes and passed down old costume jewelry, they gave that girl love for nothing other than because it was easy to love her. it gave anna roxana confidence, so much that even the ghosts noticed. they came more often now, she still was still frightened but it was in her nature that she couldn't ever ignore someone asking for help. living or dead, it made no difference, she answered. she always answered.like most young girls, she met someone special and his name was holden bennett. he was handsome and carried himself with an easy confidence that immediately put people at ease. he remembered the little things she mentioned in passing and somehow always found an excuse to linger until the end of her shift or at her locker so he could walk her to her car or class. for a girl who had spent her childhood believing affection had to be earned, being loved so openly felt almost miraculous. she fell hard, completely and without reservation, wore his letterman jacket through autumn, tucked his promise ring safely around her neck whenever she danced and built an entire future around the assumption they'd someday marry, just as everyone else in heavenly seemed to.she loved him with every part of herself because she'd always loved with every part of herself. more than anything else, anna roxana loved being in love. so when holden's attention sharpened into jealousy, she tucked those first warnings somewhere unseen. when he openly disliked the way other boys looked at her, she mistook it for protection. when he questioned what she wore or how late she worked, she told herself he was just worried. she had been raised in a house where fear and love were so often seated at the same table that she did not yet know how to separate one from the other.her senior year should have been celebrated. she pushed her grades higher than they'd ever been, worked as many shifts as the diner would give her and secretly saved every dollar grace didn't take in rent. most of her siblings had already left for college by then, leaving the halston house feeling larger and more dangerous in its emptiness and she became estranged from siblings who she was once closer with.grace had always been cruel, but now there was something desperate and nervous beneath it. age had started unravelling the beauty she'd built her entire worth upon, and anna roxana, with her dark eyes and soft smile and youth stretching bright ahead of her, became an unbearable presence. every compliment paid to the girl felt like another slight. every bit of confidence she managed to gather became something grace seemed determined to destroy. one night in particular, she'd taken hold of anna's roxana's hair and hacked it off with a steak knife. grace cried after, as though she were the one wounded by the action. that she'd been pushed to do it, all her fault.that thanksgiving would be the end of everything. the house was filled with relatives, church elders, and respected members of the community; all of them gathered around a table heavy with food and practiced decorum. grace moved through the room like the perfect hostess, smiling as though she had not spent years making a child afraid to breathe wrong. anna roxana sat with her hands folded in her lap. listening to people praise the family, praise grace, praise the life she'd built beneath God. something about it finally cracked through the last restraint she possessed.she told them everything, the veneer cracked and burning on her skin. it wasn't gentle or pretty, every ounce of obedience that had been screamed and beaten in to that girl came to a head. she spoke of her birth mother martina and her father who was unwittingly at the head of the table. how her existence was a lie uttered to the congregation. she spoke of the punishments, the screaming, how the preachers wife blamed everything on a child who wanted nothing more than to be loved by her. then she told them about the church they all prayed in on sundays and the baptismal basin. the water in her lungs and grace's hands holding her beneath it, let her die and blamed her for coming back to life. grace screamed, denied, wept, and called her wicked and ungrateful, but anna roxana had finally reached a place no threat could drag her back to.she left that night with very little to her name. marge, a waitress from the diner took her in without question, clearing space in a spare bedroom that once belonged to her daughter. she finished her credits in the spring and worked every shift she could manage. she didn't have a chance at college; she'd estranged herself from kin. a call from her older brother, the one who'd started a life in lousiana far from the mess of their family would give her an out.

roxana çiçek

roxana çiçek

basics

full legal name; marnie beatriz ciervo de luna
nickname; marn, Mars.
birthdate; september 15
age; 21- 35
ethnicity; white & latina; mexican, cuban & italian.
gender; cis female, she/her
orientation; homosexual / homoromantic

connections

MOTHER, monica de luna
FATHER, sebastian ciervo
siblings, molly ciervo
grandparents, edgar & xaveria ciervo
cousin/s, gloria ciervo, edgar ciervo

basics

birthplace; mississippi / lousiana border / washington
residence; mississippi/washington
OCCUPATION, bartender, cage fighter, aspiring writer
religion; raised in a spiritual/catholic
LINGUISTICS, english, spanish, french,

& FX

PETS, she fosters many dogs and cats.
vehicle, 1983 Nissan Patrol 4×4 in burgandy mist
property, a small house, two bedroom, bought in cash.

personal playlist

hunger strike; temple of the dog
black; pearl jam
them bones; alice in chains
fine again; seether
violet; hole
this town; green river
volcano girlas; veruca salt
losing skin seaweed
nutshell; alice in chains
come out & play; the offspring

appearance

FACE CLAIM, christian serratos
EYES, amber brown, there is an inhuman quality depending on the lights. they reflect in the dark.
HAIR, dark, thick, almost pin straight and down to her waist.
HEIGHT, 5'7"
BUILD, strong, enduring but her body is soft at the stomach, she has stretch marks on her round hips and ass.
PEIRCINGS, earlobes, nose on the left.
SCARS, There are eight major one. one is high up, just beneath her collarbone where the knife narrowly. there are another two more along her ribs on the left side. Another wound was carved deep into the soft flesh of her side near her hip. There are two wounds across her back, One sits just beneath her shoulder blade, the other lower near the curve of her spine. the seventh scar rests low on her stomach, and the eighth is to the right of her heart.
TATTOOS, thorned blackberry vines climbing her hip and ribs, a crescent moon curved beneath her chest. a wolf in motion on her right forearm, tiny stars on her knuckles because her sister loves astronomy.

attributes

COLOURS, charcoal, dark forest green, oxblood, faded denim blue, rusted copper, and the muted silver.
SCENT, vanilla bourbon, cedar, layered with black cherry, smoked rose, and warm sandalwood.STYLE, Nothing about Marnie ever looks perfectly put together. beautiful in the way abandoned places are beautiful, rough around the edges, bruised, feminine, and impossible not to stare at even if she hates when people stare. she hides and intentionally. Her colour palette stays deep and moody, charcoal, black, oxblood, forest green, washed denim. dark jeans sit higher on her hips, worn in band tee shirts, black dickies, oversized flannels, oversized hoodies, and rings on nearly every finger. combat boots, vans.

psyche

ZODIAC, virgo sun, capricorn moon, taurus rising.
MBTI, ISTP-T the virtuosoMENTAL PROFILE, deep roots in c-ptsd. marnie's mind lives in a body which is equally trapped in survival mode. like the wolf-blood, her trauma is sharpened and animalistic, anticipatory. she is hyperaware of danger, emotionally guarded, and held together more by responsibility than true stability. The events in her life fractured her identity so completely that she stopped seeing herself as a person with dreams. She suppresses emotions aggressively, channelling grief, rage, and fear into work and underground fights. Yet beneath the hardened exterior, she remains deeply empathetic and painfully loyal. The wolf's blood intensifies everything already unstable inside her. she has heightened instincts, violent impulses, emotional volatility, and a restless hunger for adrenaline that terrifies and excites her. Though she appears cold, sarcastic, and self-contained, Marnie feels everything with overwhelming intensity. she experiences night terrors and severe bouts of insomnia.TEMPERAMENT, melancholic, cholericPOSITIVE TRAITS, protective, loyal, resilient, intuitive, quick-thinking, adaptable, resourceful, hardworking, dependable, brave, street-smart, observant, nurturing, independent, honest, determined, charismatic, disciplined, survival-oriented, compassionate, enduring, protective, and capable of immense love.NEGATIVE TRAITS, self-destructive, hyper-independent, reckless, stubborn, volatile, overly guarded, distrustful, suppressive, confrontational, impulsive, violent, emotionally repressed, cynical, restless, exhausted, prone to isolation, self-sacrificial.habits/quirks; Constantly rolls rings around her fingers when anxious, cracks her knuckles before fights or stressful conversations, a light sleeper who keeps a gun or knife or both under her pillow/ bedside drawer. Keeps her back to walls in public places, watches doorways and exits automatically everywhere she goes. smokes, drinks excessive amounts of alcohol (barely has any effect ), weed smoker.

LIKES/hobbies, grunge music, the sound of sisters laughter and ability to be carefree. she still loves soccer instinctively and she watches games alone sometimes. cage fighting, writing in little notebooks she carries absentmindedly in notebooks, fixing and tinkering with things before having to replace them, sitting outside during storms with coffee or a cigarette just to listen to the rain. she fosters dogs and cats from a local program and makes sure they go to good homes.DISLIKES, dishonesty, crowded spaces, hospitals. she cannot stand silver jewelry, authority figures, manipulation, and being told what to do, which will grate on her almost instantly. More privately, she dislikes reminders of the life she lost; ...soccer fields, scholarship letters, family photos she cannot bear to throw away but can't really look at because they force her to confront the version of herself that never got the chance to exist.FATAL FLAW/fears, Marnie’s greatest fear is losing the people she loves and surviving it again. More than death itself, she fears helplessness. That the thing inside her is not grief or trauma, but something truly monstrous inherited through her blood. She is terrified that one day the wolf will fully surface and she will lose control or hurt someone she loves.
her fatal flaw is self-destruction. she will run herself into the ground. She suppresses her own needs, refuses help, bottles emotions until they erupt violently, and repeatedly places herself in dangerous situations because, on some level, she no longer values her own survival the way she values everyone else’s. Her inability to let people carry her pain, combined with her growing attraction to violence and adrenaline, slowly isolates her, feeding the very darkness she is terrified of becoming.INTELLIGENCE, highly intelligent, but different from before. Before her life unravelled, she was an honour-roll student with scholarship potential, naturally excelling academically without struggling. She learns quickly, processes information fast under pressure, and has a sharp, practical mind built for adaptation and survival. Her intelligence leans heavily toward emotional and situational now. she reads people, notices shifts in tone and body language most miss, and can assess danger within seconds of entering a room. Years of raising Molly, working bars, and surviving on very little also made her financially and socially adept; she knows how to stretch money, manipulate difficult situations, diffuse threats, and navigate personalities.

skills

PRACTICAL, Bartending and mixology, conflict de-escalation, Street fighting, underground combat, Locking down and securing spaces instinctively. Basic first aid and wound care, Athletic conditioning from years of soccer. Working long hours under stress without breaking composure. Thrifting, repairing, and repurposing old items, running a household from cooking to cleaning to maintenence. Caring for animals, especially difficult or reactive ones.

MISC

FLOWERS, Marigolds and dandelions.
FOOD, Rare steak or venison, Dark chocolate, and pickles.
DRINKS, Black coffee, Cheap bourbon, Hot chocolate with Molly.
books, she reads a bit of everything but she keeps a lot of poetry books.

background

background

marnie was a girl made of sunlight once. And before tragedy touched them, her family had been impossibly happy. For the first six years of her life, Marnie was an only child and the entire center of her parents’ universe. Their home had always been loud with music, teasing, and affection. Marnie never doubted she was loved, her father kissed her forehead every morning before work, her mother sang while cooking dinner, her voice drifting through open windows into heavy Southern evenings thick with cicadas and magnolia bloom. There were bonfires in autumn, fishing trips, sleepy Sunday mornings piled together on the couch beneath old quilts while thunderstorms rolled in.Then Molly was born when Marnie was six, and Marnie took sisterhood very seriously. From the moment they placed Molly in her arms, Marnie found her best little friend. She hovered constantly, would lay beside her crib and count Molly’s breaths while she slept. She followed adults around anxiously with bottles and blankets tucked under one arm, desperate to help. If Molly cried, Marnie appeared instantly. If another child pushed her on the playground, Marnie stood in front of her with scraped knees and blazing eyes like a tiny guard dog prepared to die over it. her father used to joke that Marnie had been born with teeth already sharp.marnie came from old blood on both sides. her father, Sebastian came from a long line of ranchers and hunters.. not of the ordinary ilk though. men and women raised by custom, knowledge and folklore that was all too real for a small population of people destined to maintain the balance between worlds. they fought monsters of myth and made roots on land with tradition and spiritual protection. His family had carried that duty for generations, and he, like his father, and older brother, kept to ranching and hunting.then, sebastian met monica. Monica’s family ca;ried wolf blood so old and rare that it had nearly disappeared entirely from the world. Their line was deeply matriarchal; the wolf blood passed only through mothers to daughters, skipping unpredictably through generations as a sleeping curse. For centuries, families like Monica’s survived by remaining hidden and protected, because rarity made them vulnerable. Old packs coveted their bloodlines for offspring; others hunted them outright. Sebastian’s family had once acted as guardians to women like Monica generations ago, protectors bound through uneasy alliances. But Sebastian did not marry Monica out of duty, he loved her desperately and from that love, came two beloved daughters.Marnie had a faint understanding that there was something profoundly different about her own family....about herself. her mother would insist doors remain locked during certain lunar cycles. her father watched tree lines too carefully. Sometimes, older relatives would look at Marnie too long with unreadable expressions before exchanging glances over her head. But none of it ever truly frightened her because her father was there, large and warm and impossibly steady, making the world feel safe simply by existing inside it.but there was marnie, expressive in her joy. safe in the world. her laughter could brighten any day; it made people turn their head and join, it made cranky old people smile. she was all motion and energy, long legs flying across soccer fields, scraped knees and ponytails whipping behind her. sunshine. and she loved soccer, loved to write silly little poems between pressed flowers, loved to ride her bike and horses on her grandparents' ranch.She was eight years old when her was killed. grief was heavy and impossible to escape. Monica tried desperately to keep life soft for her daughters despite the fracture running through the center of it. Marnie became more protective of molly, taking care of her while their mother was dealing with the pain of loss.When Marnie was ten, Monica remarried. Her stepfather, alvin was patient at first. Charming and Helpful, he could fix broken cabinet doors and carry groceries inside without being asked. Marnie never truly bonded with him the way Molly did, she was old enough to remember Sebastian too vividly for that, but she tried because Monica smiled more after the marriage, and for a while, that felt like enough. thought, Looking back , she thinks the wolf in her must have sensed something long before her mind ever did.Life continued anyway, because the world does not stop simply because yours has. Marnie grew into herself beautifully through those years. Taller than most girls by fourteen, long-limbed and sporty with easy laughter, she carried the kind of effortless magnetism people are born with. Soccer became the center of her world, once her father's favourite sport; she was quick-footed and relentless, driven by the same intensity that would later keep her alive. Coaches adored her, teachers praised her constantly, and she maintained straight A’s while balancing practices, games, part-time work, and helping raise Molly without complaint. By sixteen, university scouts had already begun circling, and she had a scholarship by junior year. Monica kept newspaper clippings on the refrigerator beside Molly’s drawings, pride swelling.sunlight incarnate. That is perhaps the greatest tragedy of her story, that she was not hardened by grief; it drove her to live in a way her father would have been proud of instead. she still kissed Molly’s forehead before bed and made time for a story. She still laughed too loudly with friends in parking lots after games or on a Friday night. She still sat on the kitchen counter, yammering away and stealing food while her mother cooked. She was alive and grateful for what she had and everything that could be for her future.though it was, one evening, she game home from a game, the first one her mother, step-father and sister missed, disapointed but victorious --- there was blood on the kitchen floor, so much fucking blood. There are moments so catastrophic they divide existence cleanly into before and after. That was hers. One second, she was a teenage girl worrying about scholarships and boys and whether Molly had finished her homework upstairs. Next, there was blood soaking into the tile grout, and her stepfather was standing over her mother's body with a knife in his hand. Her mother was dead. Silver flashing beneath kitchen lights, the metallic smell of blood thick enough to choke on.later, marnie would learn the deeper truth. that alvin came from a hateful brood of wolves, cannibalistic sort, family lines so pure they rarely stepped outside their own kin. but they had once loved de luna she-wolves, once relied on their blood for strength in lineage. but their refusal to participate in their practices led to bad blood over centuries. it led to thinning out her entire bloodline, and he'd waited long enough to fulfil his own prophecy to end them all.alvin attacked her immediately.The silver knife entered her body eight times. Once high beneath her collarbone, twice through the ribs. Across her back when she turned to evade and run toward Molly, screaming upstairs. Low through her side, through her stomach. One final strike missing her heart, but meant to kill her completely. The pain was unbearable; it burned her alive, silver poisoning wolf blood before the wolf itself had fully surfaced. A human girl should have died there. and marnie nearly did.but the wolf blood woke up, howled in her lungs with an ancient snap. molly screamed for her again. and something feral inside Marnie answered before death could claim her. She shouldn't have remembered the struggle as clearly as she did, but it replays most nights. Wrestling for the knife, blood slick beneath her hands, her bones feeling too large beneath her skin, as though her body was beginning to split apart from the inside out. Rage and instinct flooded her so completely that she could no longer separate where girl ended, and the wolf began. She killed him before he could reach Molly. Then collapsed, shaking violently beside her little sister, cradling her, hiding her from the sight downstairs while sirens wailed somewhere far away.The wolf never went back to sleep after that night. It stayed alive beneath her skin permanently, pacing through her bloodstream with another violent pulse. The full transformation came later, staved off for months. it was brutal and grotesque; there was nothing graceful about it. Bones snapped loud enough to echo through the woods, joints dislocating before snapping back wrong and then right again, while claws split through fingertips and silver scars burned with reopened wounds beneath reshaping flesh. The silver had poisoned the wolf permanently, somehow. Every transformation became agony severe enough to leave her feverish and trembling afterward, blood sometimes streaking down her skin where scar tissue tore under the force of shifting.With Monica gone, Sebastian long dead, her grandpar,ents passing in rapid succession and her cousin, Gloria, barely eighteen herself while fighting to hold onto family property and legacy, there was nobody left to step in for Molly. Marnie dropped out before graduating from high school. Soccer vanished first, then any prospect of university, alongside every future she had once imagined for herself. She worked wherever she could, diners, bars and eventually, bartending stuck because it paid enough to keep Molly fed, housed and thriving. Everything revolved around her sister. Molly got lunches packed, birthday cakes every year, no matter how broke they were, rides to school, and clean clothes folded warm from dryers. Marnie learned how to stretch twenty dollars into a week of groceries and how to smile through exhaustion.Marnie practiced restraint; most wolves surrendered, but she endured. Within those first few years, she learned that violence relieved the pressure building inside her. Adrenaline soothed the wolf enough to quiet the restless instinct clawing beneath her ribs. she entered Underground fighting rings, and every victory or loss was cash shoved into her pockets afterward. she was good. too good, good enough to step in front of men three times her size and send them home in an ambulance but it wasn't sustainable more than once a month, she still had to keep Molly safe enough to send her to college. marnie hid bruises beneath oversized flannels. She raised Molly as best as she could, loving her so completely that Marnie stopped viewing her own life as something belonging to herself at all.somewhere beneath all of it, the wolf waited. awake, restless and patient. Most people who met her now saw only the aftermath. they only met the bartender with haunted eyes, and few realized she had once been sunlight itself.