Like A Star Burst.

BY PURCHASING MY ADOPTS, YOU ARE AGREEING TO THE FOLLOWING.

You must Credit me for the design

You may NOT edit my original work in any form or way.

You may change the design and species after you've bought the design, but must keep the design recognizable and Still leave me credit.

Gender and bloodcolor is ultimately up to the buyer.

You may not repost the original artwork to deviantart, instagram, or other social media/portfolio sites.

You can however store it in your deviantart sta.sh, post it to tumblr profiles, or upload it to websites like toyhou.se with proper credit. (Lil-Nort)

IF THE ADOPT IS POC DO NOT CHANGE THAT DETAIL

You may NOT resell, gifting is fine. Do inform me of who it has been gifted to so I may keep track for my ownership chart.

I can hold for 3 days max

Any future commissions of adopts brought from me will have discount.

DO NOT USE THE ADOPTS FOR GROSS STUFF ( hate messages, racism, N/FTS etc etc use common sense)

ADOPTS WILL NOT BE USED FOR COMMERCIAL USE. (you can however buy commercial use license)

ABSOLUTELY NO USE OF AI WITH ANY OF MY WORKS

He called the child Levlyn. A pleasant name, and one he claimed carried great meaning. He spoke of it whenever he first showed her off, petting the infant as she shivered in his lap.

A word from another world, he would say, the most dazzling of all the planets he encountered during his time in the fleet. A charming people with a colorful language, both now lost forever to the unrelenting tides of time and war.

He painted such a picture, leaving his colleagues to bemoan this loss as if it ever would have meant something to them before. How tragic that they would never see it, they said, of a place that had never existed.

And he would agree, a tragedy, yes, before drawing the conversation back to the grub, his latest acquisition.

He never was forced to decide exactly what her name would have meant. It was difficult to translate, he would explain. It required knowledge of the culture.

She fussed whenever they came, a hulking, many-eyed beast, with rattling laughter and clamoring voices that boxed her in on all sides. With no other place to flee, she would press her face against him as if trying to phase into his abdomen, spinning around to hide each time he turned her back to face the crowd.

And the sycophants would croon, “Just look how affectionate!”

Levlyn grew up rowdy and cheerful, far less pliant than his first, who had always been quiet and polite. That was no matter, of course– a child was a simple thing to train. He was the Autocrat, after all, and titles were not awarded for nothing.

She quickly learned that obedience would be rewarded, and there seemed no limit to the toys, sweets, and clothing that he offered her, each accompanied by a gentle pat on the head.

She learned just as quickly that these rewards could be revoked.

Be it honest mistakes or deliberate disobedience, he did not hesitate to show her his ire. On the occasions his anger could not be expressed so quietly, a slap on the wrist and a night in her room would often suffice.

His other charge never seemed to find herself on the receiving end of these punishments, and Levlyn grew resentful of her sister. 

What made Bellys so perfect?

She wanted to hate her, and many times she almost did. But when he wanted to know who broke the dining ware, who scratched the hardwood, who left a coat where it didn’t belong, Bellys would bow her head and lie. It was me.

When Levlyn lay in bed shivering, her blankets confiscated for the crime of running in the halls, Bellys shared her linens.

When Levlyn fell and scraped her knee, it was not the Autocrat who kissed it.

Still, she was his favorite, and for that, Levlyn almost truly hated her.

When he threw his parties, they were made to perform. Bellys, long-limbed and graceful, had found her talent in dance. Levlyn, meanwhile, was his songbird. She was always eager to entertain, thrilled when it came her turn to take the stage.

She would wait with bated breath, peering around corners into the ballroom full of trolls. Mostly seadwellers, save for the scattered purple socialites and indigo bodyguards that floated through the room. 

They were always dressed beautifully, covered horn to toe in glittering jewels, precious metals, and the finest of Meretian fabrics. When he called her out, she reveled in the attention, fins fluttering as they marveled at the sight of her.

They would call her beautiful and pet her head, and some would even slip her treats from the table she was not allowed to touch. She relished every second she was paraded before them, proud to be a wonder.

She thought nothing of the way they spoke as if she were not there, the way each compliment was directed not at herself, but at him, standing just behind her with a hand upon her shoulder or head. She knew no different.

When she first felt something was amiss, it was their touch that set her off.

“May I?” they would ask, reaching for her fins. “May I?” some would plead, hands drifting towards her tail. “May I?” they always said, looking directly at him.

One early morning, she shied away when they reached for her, taking her guardian’s hand and looking up at him with large, pleading eyes. “I don’t want them to,” she whispered, just before the rage began to pool within him. 

The following night, her bedroom was stripped of most belongings. She would not attend the next party, he told her. Bellys would take her place. Perhaps this would teach her not to take their admiration for granted, he said, locking the door as he left.

She might have learned her lesson, were it not for that last little phrase.

Was she not being taken for granted? Why did Bellys get everything? It wasn’t fair, and she was angry.

So she fled.

Her bedroom window contained no mechanism by which to open, but with enough force, her table lamp was enough to shatter it. She would come back, she told herself as she clambered outside, into air so fresh it made her lungs ache. She would come back in a night or two, when he realized how much he missed her.