#closeddemigod

the golden~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Spartoi OCCUPATION. UTP

They told you that you were nothing, that the magic you were born with was a fluke. Abandoned on the steps of a coven doomed to fall, you were raised at the mercy of a man who someday turned himself into a monster. You could see the fractures that formed at even a young age, though at the time you had nothing to compare it to. Blood spilled in hallowed halls, treasonous words whispered in the dark, you knew it was wrong but this coven was your family - the only family you’d ever have. You stayed because it was your duty to stay, and you did what you had to do in order for you and your siblings to survive. When your regent died by his own selfish ambition your family’s reputation was left in tatters, decades have passed since then and with your bare hands you rebuilt the very thing that was left in shambles. But better this time. You saw those with nowhere to go, the lost, the scared, and the afraid and you loved them each just the same. Fate found you and gave you the chance to start over, to bequeath your legacy of righteousness onto the next and shine forward into the next stage of glory. Golden scales and gilded wings, the darkness of your bloodline would end with you.

the bottle~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Demigod ( Hollowborn ) ABILITIES. Amalgamation + 1 Secondary Ability OCCUPATION. UTP

They knew what you were, so they protected you. The precious child of a noble fey, despite the other half of your parentage they treated you with a reverence that the rest of your kind had never really known. Demigod they called you, hollowborn. You danced among them, you sang (however poorly by their standards), and you laughed as they did. Back then it seemed like cruelty could only be a foreign concept but all things faded with time and time, as it turned out, was unforgiving. Grief brought you to holding things in, to bottling them up because you were too afraid to let go, you thought that if you held it all in then you’d never have to say goodbye again. If they loved you before, they came to hate you now, this gift of yours was a mark of your infernal parentage. They no longer sang in your presence, they no longer danced alongside you. You were an exile and were never allowed to return. It wasn’t enough to hold it all together and a bottle could only be filled so much before it burst, so you let it out, let it run rampant until you awoke to the devastation of fields of broken glass.