A lone tome sat heavy beside forgotten teacups, its leather cover having long swallowed an unsettling symbol. Still, it called to its kin tucked beneath a cloak.
Nameless Grimoires were rare. After all, the shadows preferred their solitude. To read them was madness enough, but to find one bearing a few empty pages was a strange honor. And an invitation. Only those forged by the Void’s most primordial horrors were ever blessed with the distinction.
Nameless.
Only truly remembered by that which consumed them.
In her grandmother's drawing room, a memory coiled around Eluvianna’s mind, choking Brightspire Manor from her consciousness. And as it slept, recklessness stalked. Its maw narrowing...narrowing...narrowing into a tunnel that swallowed every last scrap of light. The spiral fixed to a single moment. It would not release her.
A place: an archive. Just beyond the veil. It was endless and alive. A locus entombed in illusion beneath the frozen drifts of Storm Peaks.
Here, mortal passage was granted by pact alone. This was where the grimoire beneath her cloak had first called to her mind. She had not bent to its expectations, yet earned its curiosity all the same.
Though far from rare, it was not often the tome’s intentions were reflected by a mortal. Naturally, those who sought power to destroy met their end by the very same. But those who desired to leash the darkness, they had a taste for chaos.
Curiosity pooled its ichor within the bindings. What was the true prize in the eyes of these creatures seeking dominion? Answer or no, it would always give chase. After all, it too hungered.
Only time would name the victor.
But here, on the precipice of promise or bargain, a similar darkness, a chorus of countless entities folded upon itself. Hums suspended in the mind, in the presence of a guardian they once knew. One whose benevolence was no longer certain, if ever it truly was.
Suddenly, the drawing room snapped to the bounds of reality, air howling into Eluvianna's lungs nearly sending her over the teacups.
The Magistrix did not seem to acknowledge the anomaly.
“My darling.”
Andaura commanded an elegant armchair, holding court in what was once her father’s seat. She had earned her place. Her title. As did every Brightspire before her. As would every heir of its line to come.
Even a ren'dorei.
The words tipped over the precipice: “Eyes do not spare you, do they?”
Eluvianna rose to pace the fine carpet, gaze fixed on its artifice, having long arrived where the Magistrix’s words now beckoned. Even so, with Andaura, the blade always balanced so easily between its edges. Not a breath wasted.
Oh, but the little shadow had learned the cut of this blade long ago. Forged it anew in something terrifying. And now it carved her words:
“I have steeped something strange of my own, or didn't you know?”
Her attention lifted.
“Eyes have not spared me for some time. Even yours.”
“Reluctance rarely yields to words,” she continued. “Yet I find that both curiosity and invitation tend to betray the unspoken.”
Eluvianna’s lips twisted with the same contempt that now discarded Andaura’s missive upon the table between them.
The contempt began to tangle with her words.
“They already answer to me.”
The words were allowed to settle. Tolerated. A child’s tantrum masquerading as a lady’s confidence. For all of Andaura’s reputation, the Silvermoon Magistrate would never allow even a crumb of such hubris from a child of Shadow.
It was best the girl exhaust herself with this foolishness before the journey. Before her very presence tempted even the eager blades of the city’s Spellbreakers.
Arcane or Shadow, a ren'dorei would still bleed.
Finally, the Magistrix's hand slithered over the darkness bound in leather.
“Now then, do you recall what you wrote?”
But the question, the implication, would not meet a reply.
Eluvianna found herself gripped by a rare sentiment. Regret, twisted with the inevitable.
Spires.
Bargains.
Eyes.
Yet it was the horror of time that greeted her first. Whispering with her own voice, from the tome beneath Andaura's very fingers.
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From Uncommon Questions for OCs and Their Creators
OC Questions
What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?
Elu purses her lips together for a moment and tilts her head up for a moment before she looks over at you. "Rarely do I sit still with nothing to do. Maybe minutes I can sit still, ten or so, maybe fifteen." She laughs. "I am not one to be completely idle. I am usually, even when sitting still reading, or writing, creating music, playing the piano. Idle hands, as they say. Honestly, I stay rather active. Too much thoughts get in one's head when you do nothing."
How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?
"I rarely envy others or things such as wealth or objects. About the only thing I have truly ever envied was a person getting more time and attention than I was and it showed up as me not being too happy and kind of showing an ugly side to me I didn't like. Some might would have considered it jealousy, but honestly, I just envied what she was getting from the man I loved. I know, though I went about it very negatively, which didn't exactly get me what I wanted." She shrugs her shoulders and sighs as her eyes drift for a moment.
Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?
She laughs and shakes her head. "Not really. I usually just go with the flow. Though I have laughed many of the times at myself for the fact I tend to literally walk into the wrong rooms and into people. You would think by now I would pay more attention to where I am going, but it can make a good conversation starter. Once, of course, I have apologized and embarrassed myself to no end."
Creator Questions
What trait of theirs bothers you the most?
Hmm... as her writer I would say her temper. When she is upset, she cannot see her own failings. Even when it is made clear, she is the one in the wrong; she has a hard time backing down. This has led to a lot of arguments that should not have gone as far as they did or last as long. She also can let her temper get the best of her and blind her from seeing reason. Sometimes she isn't in the wrong but she is so over the top with her emotions and getting her point across that it doesn't matter because she alienates the person she is trying to make her point to.
What you will find in Elu Delouche/The Crimson Rose's bag and/or backpack.
Sealing wax and a stamp of a rose
A hunting knife
A pair of black leather gloves
Several maps
Coin pouch with a desirable amount of coins
A change of clothes (just in case)
A flask of red wine
A crimson rose (her calling card)
Most of her weapons are usually on her person, such as a dagger, throwing knives, etc. She likes to travel light enough to quickly escape or fight, if necessary. Her bag will most always be something she wears on her back when, of course, she wears one.
May I have a peek? @musesofawolf @aldhir-tia and anyone else who hasn't done it and would like to!
