The Silk

Biography

Bedisa was not born alone–she was once told a rumor that she was pulled from a saint’s own hand, carved in marble with fine details devoted to one so pure. They created the perfect servant, wrapped in crinoline by the creator. A rumor, certainly, but she kept the notion close to her chest. For she was never as noble as the gods, but her wings, caught in the opalite, fluttered breathlessly upon first use to reach her saints. Not quite by their side, but certainly at hand, wings tapering if they ascended too close. Not that she’d mind.

For there was a time where this world of magic made sense to Bedisa. Where orchids fluttered beneath the hands of saints and where mortdials and primordials alike knew their place. A world where she was not alone, saddled by endless nights and a silence so deep it sends shivers down her spine. Why, the gods used to call to her. They spoke to her when her siblings couldn’t answer. That security was a comfort–a way of life that made sense to her, a way of life she honored with her affection. Choosing the fate of a mortdial would give any being an inflamed sense of power. A sense one would be remiss not to lose.

That pride she once felt is now replaced by a deep tragic sorrow, a hollowness unmatched by worldly evils. She drifts through halls in darkness, the stars and the moon turn away from her as she passes them in the woods. Her legacy is nothing now. Prophecies broken and lost in night and time. There remains grace in her voice, despite its raspy nature these days. It spends most of its time silent, speaking without words, mostly to those ghostly saints that still greet her in her dreams. They speak of a return, she knows they do, and she will do everything in her power to wait for it, to preach of it to others, if she is told to do so. Such steadfast devotion feels like an addiction, and she is caught dangling on the end of Life’s weary string.

Core (tw body harm)

Was she too meant to fall?

Or worse yet–was she left behind?

Bedisa now walks the lands of Cantyra more Wraith than Angyl. She welcomes the strong breezes from the west, her teeth turned to stubs from their chatter. For she does not deserve the light of fire nor the sun’s rays to keep her warm. Those are meant for the saint’s return. Their greed was a curse of her own making. But Bedisa was never once greedy. She took what was hers to take and never a moment too soon. Her love was so loyal she would give them her magic again if they asked. (Maybe she gave them too much)

She clipped her own wings; her feet, sodden from the earth’s mud, now her only way to get around. For she refuses to let the wind guide her as it once did. And where would it guide her anyway?

She is lost in a world that is flourishing, believing still that her suffering is part of her destiny. Her selfless acts are a fortune foreseen by the gods. She claims the saints still whisper in her ears and speak to her in visions at night. They tell her what to say, who to speak to, where to go to find the ancient relics in moss and stone. She acts as if she cannot hear the village children ridiculing her through foolish nursery rhymes, not hymns, of her delusions.

Material

She holds dear a thread plucked straight from the robes of Sacrosire, held taut by Bedisa’s own hands that tells the story of every passing soul. A thread only as strong as the shears that thrash through it with unwavering fervor, deciding the fate of those who lost their own battle with time. The string would guide them and her palms would guide the way.

The string, always morphing with the mortdial, used to tie itself around Bedisa’s wrist–resolute and impossible to lose. Tight when it needed to be. Looser when it wanted to be. She would release the strings clasped around her wrist when the grand god of time itself commanded.

Despite the years, a ghostly mark leaves an indent on her wrist to this day. A reminder of what once was. Her failure, her purpose lost, always present. Still she feels there is a reason that the dent hasn’t disappeared after all these years. She sometimes feels an uncontrollable jolt in her wrist, as if someone, or something, is giving her directions and telling her where to go.

Possible Plots/Connections

I think it could be fun to explore Bedisa’s siblings (inspired by the other Fates) to be brought into the group as OCs, if anyone feels so inclined! I think she is harrowingly lonely right now and reconnecting with them would be very fun and also could put a lot of things into question, since she knew they existed but didn’t necessarily have to grow up with them.

Her skeleton mentions “divine intervention” and I would just like the opportunity to play something out with this! Maybe she pulled the string when she thought it was time but the gods thought differently and retaliated in some way?