NAME.Ā Viola "Arachne" Dives AGE & BIRTH DATE.Ā Unknown & 4000+ GENDER & PRONOUNS.Ā Female & She/Her SPECIES.Ā Demon ( Manifest ) OCCUPATION.Ā Seamstress at Woven FACE CLAIM.Ā Claire Holt
biography
( tw: death and body horror ) A birthmark in the shape of a dragon was all the proof that Arachneās father needed to verify that she was his daughter. Many had tried to claim Pelorus as their father, both before the Queenās passing, and in the years that followed. None had the mark to prove it. Arachneās mother, Laodameia, was no one of significance; she had beautiful features and a quick mind but little else to the seamstress beyond that. She was a maker of fine clothes and a dyer of purples, one who wove through spools to create the sort of finery that had attracted the King of Thebes. Attraction enough that left the artist heavy with child, a child that grew to the age of four before sickness claimed her mother and left the young woman an orphan. Arachne had no right to claim him, but sheād been raised on stories of the man who lounged about his estate and did little but expect greatness. She was small, skinny, and weak from months without proper nutrition from a family who could no longer spin her craft, but that did not stop her from declaring herself the rightful heir of Thebes before Pelorus himself.
A birthmark in the shape of a dragon was all the proof that Pelorus needed to verify that Arachne was his daughter. Bastards werenāt entirely uncommon, but an Oracle had been given that the heirs of the spartoi would all bear the mark of either a dragon or a spear. Twin markers for which the race of brothers had been eternally known.
A weaver, like her mother, Arachne spun and when she was not spinning she was studying. Training at her fatherās side as the sharp, quick hands that sheād inherited from his blood grew to serve her well. Draconic features highlighted the halfbloodedās ancestry, slightly pointed ears and the angular features of someone not quite of this world. Her talent over the loom was without question, time and time again her father praised her works, encouraged her along as Arachne could do no harm in his eyes. She manipulated the silks, the threads, and the fabrics as a whole as a magic slipped between her workings. All across Thebes, to Athens, and beyond tales of the spinnerās grace circulated. Arachne boasted that her powers exceeded that of Athena herself, and for that she paid a price: a contest was dispatched, Arachne won, and Athena cursed the arrogant child of the spartoi King to the farthest reaches of the Inferno.
Above the Gate to the Inferno was the inscription to Abandon Hope, and as Arachne was pushed forward through the tunnel of those who had never committed to anything in life, she moved to stand before the three judges of the damned. Arachneās fate was already sealed, pride wasnāt the worst of her crimes but it was the most damning; to the fields of hellfrost the woman was cast and it was there that she was frozen beneath the ice. Little by little the cold ate away at who she was, who sheād been, and the person that sheād so long aspired to be. At thirty-five Arachne had died unmarried, her fatherās influence whoād never seen a reason why she should have to wed if she didnāt wish to. Thirty years had passed since the death of her mother, so Laodameiaās face had already begun to fade, and it was here in Luciferās pit that Arachne lost her motherās identity entirely. Her name, her skills, and the people that Arachne had long associated with her. Next came Arachneās childhood friends and the nymphs whoād helped raise her, the ones that draped themselves over every bit of furniture they could find whenever her father entered the room.
Pelorus was last, because Arachneās father had been so much of her world. In place of his praise came Luciferās cruel voice, incentivizing her towards condemnation as Arachne did what most of the souls of the damned did in order to survive. She allowed the power of the Abyss to pervert her veins, let her spindly features twist into something true to her name, many-legged and hideous, an arachnid of demonic proportions. A spinner of webs, lies, and deceptions: she waited, she bided her time, and when stronger demons fell into her traps Arachne gorged herself on their strength. Whatever had been of the Kingās daughter faded into the dark as a demon of Pride took her place, wilfully proud, vainglorious and arrogant: the patient spinner of the ninth circle.
The womanās name was Valentina, and her smile dazzled the entire room. She was Arachneās first excursion from the realm below; she invoked a spell that restored the demonās memories and brought them to the surface once more. If only so when Valentina asked her, Arachne could tell her her name. Pelorus and his brothers were long from this world; dead was what Arachneās research told her. Spartoi were figments of fairytales and myths, nothing more, Arachneās own story twisted to suit the purposes of the Classical age. Rome in the 1920s was on the cusp of change and the witch of the Narcissus coven pursued immortality and power that ultimately saw her life snuffed out entirely. With Valentinaās demise, Arachne was returned to the Inferno.
The boyās name was Vincenzo, heād needed a friend or⦠Maybe something more maternal, heād conjured Arachne for guidance, but when she would not give him her name, she took the one he offered her instead, Viola. Happy to be freed from her prison, he asked for an arrangement, and the familiar consented to the bargain. The witch wasnāt without talent; he was young, but all that aside, he desperately needed guidance. His mother was a kind woman, hardworking, and lovable, but boys didnāt summon demons because they were hoping to be loved. Even then Viola could see the darkness that festered inside of him, every drop of blood that he spilled along the path to his damnation were reflected in the demonās gaze. Vincenzo was scarcely seen without the black widow close at hand, the spider prepared to spring to his defence.
Fate divided them, thrown into the Inferno once more as the flames of Rome ignited, Lucifer saw the arachnid-demon firmly placed underfoot. Buried beneath sheets of ice that were not easily broken, even from the place where the archfiend had been sealed, Lucifer held dominion over the ninth realm and did not take kindly to those who sought escape. Viola had betrayed him for the second time, leading witches not to pride, but to their own goals instead: the arachnid had sought love in place of worship, a traitor through and through. It was here that Viola would remain as time lost meaning and gave way to centuries in place of the year that passed instead.
The elfās name was Cloud. While the Inferno dissolved, Viola fled into the Otherworld with the others before being consumed entirely. Through the aether the elve of the sanguine called out for help, for the sort of guidance that the demon could provide. Once more, the world had changed, and once more, Viola bent an understanding hand to the cheek of someone who desperately needed her.
Free from the Inferno once more, but for howĀ long? That was always the question, wasnāt it?
personality
+ poignant, loyal, patient -Ā self-serving, deceptive, argumentative
played by shane. est. he/him.









