there are no gods here.

i. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐬

full name. mammon

alias. maren morrow

species. demon

age. unknown ( appears thirty-two )

date of birth. unknown

place of birth. heaven

gender / pronouns. cis woman, she/her

orientation. bisexual

occupation. divorce attorney

family. n/a

ii. 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

zodiac. n/a – though she most identifies with scorpio

negative traits. eloquent, intelligent, charming, persistent, ambitious, astute 

positive traits. duplicitous, amoral, argumentative, obstinate, selfish, avaricious  

temperament. choleric

mbti. estp-t (the entrepreneur)

enneagram. type eight (the challenger)

character inspirations. jennifer check, jennifer's body / edie britt, desperate housewives / arnie becker, l.a law / saul goodman, better call saul / villanelle, killing eve / lady macbeth, macbeth

pinterest. here

iii. 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥

faceclaim. sobhita dhulipala

build. mesomorph

hair colour. dark brown, almost black

eye colour. dark brown

iv. 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭

The worst part is that you still remember what it is to be divine. You remember the sounds of heaven's chorus, the warmth of basking in the glow of God's love. You remember the voices and the laughs of your fellow angels – and you remember their silence as you were cast out of heaven. You remember feeling as though the floor had given way beneath you, you remember plummeting from the heavens and the sound of your bones cracking as your body made contact with the pits of hell. You remember the taste of blood in your mouth as you clawed your crushed body across broken ground – you remember Lucifer himself offering you refuge, and you remember taking his hand like a lifeline.

You suppose that your fall from grace was largely inevitable. You were always different from your fellow angels. You were made with a hunger that none of them could ever understand. A yearning for something you could never quite name. It made you selfish, and dishonest, and wrong. You learn quickly that you are more at home in the chasms of hell than you ever were in the halls of heaven. You take to sin like a moth to a flame – bitterness over your exile fuelling your greed. You give into the insatiable appetite you had long suppressed, and you fall further and further into trespass.

The realm of mortals is little more than a playground to you – countless souls ripe for corruption. Over the centuries, you have worn many faces, but your goal has always been the same – to sew discord and pain. To make God's playthings feel the same way you did when you were cast from the heavens – betrayed, unwanted, wretched. To strike the kingdom of heaven wherever and however you can. You have done unspeakable things in your pursuit of revenge, each act stoking the fire of hatred deep in your belly, keeping it burning bright and hot for millennia.