FENICE VI AETIER’S EXISTANCE IS AN ENIGMA. She had the entirety of her world at her fingertips before she was even born. A princess to one of the richest nations of the century and daughter to KING DANTALION and TITANIA OF TAUL, two of the most powerful mages of their generation and whose love story was once the stuff of legends. She was conceived with the promise of unimaginable power, an experiment from which a god-child should have been born. Through her, Dantalion’s still contested claims to the throne would be stabilized. Through her, Dantalion and Titania would create a dynasty unparalleled.
And then, the young princess was born dead.
Deadborne. A condition that leaves parents mourning their children as soon as they are born. ANIMUS MAGIC is a prerequisite to living, and for all those poor infants who came into the world without it, their death is an inevitability. Some last a few minutes, others a few days. It is why Fenice vi Aetier’s existance is the greatest mystery of them all, having survived eighteen years as a deadborne, earning her the scorn and morbid curiosity of many.
Fenice led a very isolated life in Isidore— her mother’s fiefdom and primary residence after their divorce—both due to her rank as princess and future duchess, and her condition manifesting in a weakened immune system that left her weakened and susceptible to most illnesses. This, too, was a deviation from the norm, as most royal children are raised within the palace until their coming-of-age. This period of her life would prove vexing to future historians as, with the exception of her correspondents with her uncle prince Andras, not much is known about Fenice’s early life. She is studious, had taken to learning all sorts of instruments, had a penchant for learning languages, and is very partial to sewing and embroidery— but then again, there are only so many things you can do when stuck within a house (however palatial it may be).
She idolizes her mother, Titania of Taul, of whom it’s been stated many times she remarkably resembles. Titania was mother, friend, and protector; those who sought to harm the young princess stood no chance with the Witch of Taul guarding the gates. When Titania suffered an “untimely” death, Fenice was left emotionally and physically vulnerable against all who wished to do her harm. And so, at the urging of her father and uncle, she was whisked away to the royal court for her protection.
But court life has given Fenice a taste for the life that could have been— should have been hers, and she finds that she has quite the palate for all the politicking. The crown is now within reach. For Fenice whose jealousy and ambition have been stewing for years, the only way to sate these new desires is to rectify the wrongs destiny has dealt her. Princesses trapped in their towers are hardly as docile and sweet as the stories would have you believe, and dead men have little else to lose.
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“Everyone has to fail sometimes. Even the Warlord Emperor was a boy once.”
You think about the faceless thing you encountered in the dark with its clicking tongue-speak. The heat on your neck. The claws reaching for your skin, sticky with blood that wasn’t yours. You want to believe Svanja, so you say, “You’re right”, because she always is. Still you wonder, traitorously: Was he?
WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL DAY 7 — THE LOVER ARCHETYPE [ QUEEN SERIKSA OF GLORIATA, THE SUN OFFERS NO REDEMPTION ]
“Do you not understand? I do not care! I will doom the entire kingdom if I could! My husband can execute me. My kingdom can call me a whore, a traitor.” Seriksa turns to look at him.
“They can all burn. I did not want to be Queen. I accepted him in the belief that I would receive love. I have not received that here. I am only getting what I am owed.” wip intro
And that is it!! special thanks to the admins at thewriteboardwalk for creating this event, this was loads of fun & gave me an excuse to procrastinate by creating graphics & talking about my wips lmao 💖💖
WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL. DAY 1: PROTAGONIST
↳adelina de la cruz
Adelina let her head tilt back to gaze at the massive stained glass windows that lined the cathedral, covered in scenes and portraits of the Saints, those holy people who had once built these cities and their history.
She did not believe, by any means, there was anything to these people. They had been humans, like she was, like her mother was, like Emilio. So she highly doubted praying to them would elicit anything. Still, swept up in the moment and the buzz of a shared experience between the people in the cathedral, she sent out a little prayer, a note she told herself, asking for just a little bit of help. If not for herself, then for Emilio and for her uncle.
House Roza is the house of the Imperial Family of the Amadian Empire, and the house founded by the first Emperor, Tiberia I herself. House Roza has ruled over the Amadian Empire since the day it was first founded, and their grip on the strength of the Empire seems unlikely to falter anytime soon. The Imperial Family carries the Godsblood of Zenobiel, the Knight Radiant, and frequently births individuals with great strength and powerful Godsblood, though whether this is due to the Imperial Consort system is difficult to say. The resplendence and glory of House Roza is known throughout the world, not just within the borders of the Empire it created and guides to this day. House words: ‘Victory is inexorable.’
House Kazimir is one of the Empire’s great noble houses, descended from one of the warriors who aided Tiberia I in her war against the Gods--that warrior being Kazimir, of course, the great knight from the western mountains. House Kazimir once ruled its own nation (the creatively-named kingdom of Kazimir), but that nation was absorbed into the Empire nearly three hundred years ago, and House Kazimir has served the Imperial government faithfully by ruling the Archduchy of Kazimir ever since. House Kazimir bears the Godsblood of Malusiel, the Bloodied Lord, but in recent generations their line’s power has thinned, resulting in no Godsblood-bearing heirs. Their last Godsblood-bearing heir, Ilya von Kazimir, ended up becoming Godeaten and passed awawy quite recently, resulting in further misfortune for the family. House words: ‘Drink your blood, son of the mountain.’
House Conchobhair hails from Caethell Mor, and has long been a highly-regarded clan there, though they have not always ruled. The house has held the throne of Caethell Mor for a little over a hundred years as of now, and ruled for a three-hundred year stretch after the war against the Gods, as well. This house is known for producing strong warriors, most notably Conall mac Donnchadh ua Conchobhair, who was known as the Wolf of Caethell Mor for his bold (yet ultimately unsuccessful) military offense against the Empire from Imperial Year 1856-1861. Conchobhair, the legendary founder of this house, was known for slaying Brónach, the Weeping Maiden in the war against the Gods, and his descendants carry Brónach’s Godsblood to this day. House words: ‘By our hearts and our spears.’
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WriteBoardwalk Ferris Wheel Day 1 – Red – Protagonist
Zᴇʟᴅᴀ Fᴀɪʀᴄʜɪʟᴅ was born on April 4th, three days too late to be the universal joke she feels like.
She doesn’t belong in the town of Gramarye. She doesn’t belong in North Carolina, or the USA, or anywhere else she can think of, either. She doesn’t even belong on the other side of the Door, where people like her father walk freely amongst each other in a warped mirror of another world.
She’s not brave or stupid enough to do anything about it, though. So she sits behind the cash register in her dad’s flower shop and watches as people eye the fake iron cross propped up in the window and the silver bells, clappers removed long ago, that make no sound when customers enter or leave. She waits for the day that everything clicks into place and she’ll suddenly know what she wants to do with her life.
Until then, she takes orders from snotty higher-end customers who won’t even look her in the eye. When they do, she can see the fear they struggle to hide under a thin veneer of high-society manners.
margot has two love interests in lovely, dark and deep--alexandre emile and adaline hugo.
alexandre emile
Three paces ahead of me: Professor Emile, with his casual posture, shoulders broad in form but relaxed in his navy sweater, the left one lifted just slightly to support his brown bag. He was never overbearing; lean, but softly so. Benign. His hair shifted when he laughed at something the cashier said and then he went to wait for his drink. I knew it was a latte since his breath always smelled of cinnamon when he was on an earlier cup, during class. He handed the barista two crumpled bills in exchange and smiled: an easy, crinkled beam I saw in profile. He took his beverage to stay, in a porcelain cup with a saucer.
adaline hugo
“Hey. You’re here. I’m Addie,” she said. She smiled like she was telling me a secret. “What’s your name, roomie?” She tossed her black-studded clutch onto her bed. It caught the light, which was pink as farm-raised salmon. The bag sat there, where it seemed to gain weight and its own gravitational force. She glided around the room like a phantom, on light steps, barely moving her arms.
“Margot Carmichael,” I said. Here was my great savior from boredom after a day of solitary unpacking. She was Venus on a chariot of seafoam. Something about the delicate lines of her neck made me feel like I should sit down again. After witnessing her in those first moments, I knew suddenly that if I were capable of love, the word itself was just an epithet of hers.
In hindsight, I see that my loneliness colored this initial encounter. I latched on to her. But there was no other way it could have happened, noir-esque and carved in marble as it was. It was formative, something novel, unexpected in a way, true like an arrow to my chest. I saw in that girl the potential to alleviate my great, seemingly inherent isolation.
Raj is one of the main characters of my wip Deck of Cards. Ever since he was little, everyone always knew there was something special about that scrawny little kid in the orphanage. Raj himeself felt like his life fitted into something more. Some part of him sensed that, someday, he would be a part of something bigger, much more powerful and unnerving than his mundane life. That day came when he accidentally stumbled upon an old intricately patterned tarot card in an antic shop in East London. It read The King.
Extract: Raj absentmindedly traced the delicate golden pattern of his card, eyes lost into the empty space before him. He was acutely away of the drawing and the title at the back of the tarot card. The King. What a king he was. A king was supposed to lead, to strategize, to save his people... Raj didn’t know how to do any of those things. He’d liked to think he would fit his role when he first understood who he was, but he’d been a fool then. And arrogant fool. If he was a king there was no doubt he was a bad one. He was terrified. So terrified of losing his friend; Jack and Will with their familiar banter, Marlene with her soft spoken advice and Dimitri with all his books and his wry comments. And Lyann. Lyann and her warm smile and the sparkle in her eyes. Lyann with her exasperated sighs and sudden bursts of laughter. She had told him that she believed in him. That if anyone could save them all, it was him.... Raj gaze focused and he flipped the card to stare at the skull wearing a heavy golden crown. They would live. They would all live, he would make damn sure of that, well-fitted or not, king or not.
