#sorelle

Ieri sera bellissima festa per me e Sorella1, per poi andare tutte a dormire a casa di Sorella2. In questa festa abbiamo unito anche diversi amici nostri che non si conoscevano, eppure la serata è andata molto bene: il cibo era praticamente illimitato, la torta buonissima, e ci hanno offerto una bottiglia di spumante in più, perché una ragazza dello staff conosceva mia sorella.

Negli anni sono passata dal non voler festeggiare affatto, al cercare di rendere queste giornate indimenticabili, perché non c'è alcun motivo per cui non dovrebbe essere così. In passato sì, mi hanno fatta sentire come se non valesse la pena festeggiare, ma quei tempi sono finiti, e sinceramente voglio proprio che il distacco con quella bugia sia sempre più grande.

Per me era una festa, io sono la più piccola di quattro sorelle ed ero un po' la più coccolata,

stendevamo la coperta sull'erba, ci portavamo del pane e formaggio...si raccoglievano le erbe da portare a casa e mangiavamo i panini guardando il cielo azzurro di primavera.

Intorno a noi le margherite ci sorridevano come fossero amiche complici di un segreto che solo noi sorelle potevamo capire.

In quei momenti il tempo sembrava fermarsi... non esistevano doveri, né il domani, ma solo il sapore del pane fresco e l’odore pungente e buono della terra che si risvegliava.

Ancora oggi quando cammino in un prato e il vento mi porta lo stesso profumo selvatico, chiudo gli occhi e per un istante torno lì.

Sento di nuovo il calore della coperta, il solletico dell'erba sulle gambe, perché la primavera in fondo, non è solo una stagione, ma il profumo di quella libertà condivisa che porto ancora stretta nel cuore...

Marisa❤️

Da bambina ho imparato presto a inventare giochi per conto mio, a creare mondi immaginari dove non serviva nessun altro per divertirmi. Ho dovuto affrontare il silenzio della casa quando i miei genitori erano impegnati, il peso di non avere qualcuno con cui spartire le colpe, le risate, le avventure. Ho dovuto sviluppare un’indipendenza che gli altri, circondati da fratelli e sorelle, non conoscono.

E poi c’è la responsabilità. Crescendo, si diventa consapevoli che un giorno tutto graverà su di te. Non ci saranno spartizioni di doveri, nessun altro che potrà prendersi un pezzo del carico quando i genitori invecchieranno. Sei tu, sola, a dover essere forte. Sei tu quella che non può permettersi di sbagliare.

Eppure, nonostante tutto, continui a sentirti dire che sei fortunata, che hai avuto tutto per te, che non sai cosa significhi condividere. Ma nessuno si chiede cosa significhi non avere qualcuno con cui dividersi il peso delle cose, con cui crescere fianco a fianco, con cui affrontare il futuro. Nessuno vede il lato meno romantico della solitudine.

Sorelle and Vyllefice’s dynamic reflects my own connection with my mother, and I am consistently drawn to their stories for this reason. finding in it a sense of release and understanding. A necessary catharsis if you will.

Anyways, hope you enjoy!

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Sorelle – Child of Shadows and Glass

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A small wisp of a being, Sorelle stands at 4'2", inhabiting a small porcelain doll-like body. Her surface is pale and smooth, and every joint delicate as fine china. Her hair is orange and sleek and seemed almost unnaturally perfect, adorned with ribbons and jewels that mirrored the intricate frills of her white dress. This body is not truly her—merely a vessel, animated by Vyllefice's hand so that Sorelle might interact with the tangible world and experience a semblance of physical identity. Sorelle herself is nearly weightless, no more substantial than a sigh. Beneath the flawless surface, ghostlike tendrils of smoke pour out along her edges—the soft spill of a being that never fully settles into one shape. Her movements are graceful, yet slightly dissonant—sometimes jerky, sometimes floating—as though the laws of human physics are mere suggestions she can ignore.

Sorelle is not born of flesh, nor of time. She is but a splinter of a vast, atemporal consciousness. A lost incorporeal sprite of cosmic energy, adrift in a liminal expanse between realms. A place where reality is both fluid and vacant, where time itself is a mystery. In this seemingly endless abyss, she drifted alone, an oblivious fragment without concept. Other strange, unknowable entities roamed here. Some were benign, others predatory, probing the edges of her awareness. And though she seemed to sense their presence, it touched her only as a ripple—like a jellyfish brushing against a current—felt but never fully understood, dangerous yet never tormenting. Her existence was simply… void.

Her journey changed when she was drawn into a mirror many decades ago. This was an aetheric trap Vyllefice had put in place, originally intended for another creature. The mirror seemed to exhale an unknowable energy, a vibration that tugged the mind—and for Sorelle, her entire being. It acted as a wormhole between her intangible realm and the world we know, manifesting her into a cognitive space. Suddenly she could comprehend her existence. And although she couldn't experience the physical world, she began to grasp what it meant to be, to perceive. This curiosity began to fester. Suddenly, for the first time, she felt the frustrating twinges of desolation.

It was only after Vyllefice rescued her from the mirror that she discovered autonomy and freedom. When Vyllefice realized her trap had ensnared a childlike innocence rather than the creature she had originally intended, she was met with deep guilt. And because of the entity’s vulnerable and clueless nature, Vyllefice chose to bring it home, hoping to make up for her error in some way. From that point forward, Vyllefice was able to share slivers of life with Sorelle—giving her a body and a name. Over time, they developed a familial bond. Sorelle’s loyalty to Vyllefice became absolute; her clinginess a tender plea for guidance and connection in a world she was still learning to navigate.

Once made tangible through her new porcelain abode, her anthropomorphic journey began. Magic hushed along her senses, allowing her to feel the warmth of sunlight, the textures of ribbons and lace, the flight of birds, the taste of food, the joy of laughter—all these sensations coalescing, shaping her emerging sense of self. In one of these moments, she chose to identify as a girl, delighting in the femininity of dresses and perfume, and in the bashful fascination with being seen and sought. A longing drawn from one of the many the stories she had read.

From the moment Sorelle arrived at Velmora Keep, the library became her haven of curiosity. She was enchanted by books, voraciously devouring knowledge of every kind. Her cosmic nature allowed her to read languages at a glance and speak with uncanny fluency. Abilities, like many others, she had never known she possessed. And although Sorelle remained mostly confined to the castle—Vyllefice’s precaution to keep her safe from those who might seek to exploit her—this limitation went mostly unnoticed amid the wonders surrounding her... For a time.

Eventually the edges of what she could never truly experience pressed in, leaving what started as quiet yearning.  

Despite all the colour and awe in her world, there always remained a subtle but insistent absence. She became far too aware of her own limitations. Despite her best efforts to act human, beneath it forever dwelled the uncanny. She'd catch herself subconsciously whispering knowledge no human should possess, perform gestures so alien, and react in ways that hinted at cosmic origin. She may giggle, mimic human play, or chase fleeting shadows with childlike mischief, yet there is always an undercurrent of the impossible. Being in her presence for too long inspired strangeness, making her an uneasy presence to approach despite her sweet nature.

For Sorelle, tragedy was inevitable—a quiet but pervasive torment eventually became all consuming. Here she was, a tiny soul reaching for humanity, trapped in a body she could never fully inhabit, seeking validation in forms she could never truly receive. The burn of muscles in motion, the tremor of flesh in contact, the shiver of grief let loose, the unforgiving weight and frailty of a living body—all were denied to her. She could glimpse these things, sip away at their concepts, but never experience them in their raw, messy reality. For her own reality was all too encompassing.

Vyllefice tried to guide her toward self-acceptance, aware of the detrimental dangers of comparison and wary that Sorelle would always feel the limits of her own humanity. But these glimpses into the human experience began to taunt her more than Vyllefice could control. It all remained tantalizing and impossible.

(via ASURA)