Morana Astradei

Hi! You can call me Dana // Any pronouns // 20 // Artist + Writer

This is a Queue56 RP blog for Morana Astradei, a little allay witch character with multiverse lore and way too many emotional scars.

DMs are okay! Please read below before interacting 🩵

❄ About Morana:

Morana’s worse. she started the spell. that one. the first and last spell. the one that kills. not just the body, but the soul. our soul.

if she finishes it, her piece is gone. not reborn. not scattered. not called back. just... gone.

I want to stop her. I want to scream. I want to shake the stars until they tell me why this keeps happening. but I’m too far. and I’m slipping again.

if she falls, I don’t think I’ll be able to catch her. I fear this might be the last post I make.

The dream shifts around her like smoke — sometimes a garden, sometimes a battlefield, sometimes a home she barely remembers.

She doesn’t move from the spot. She just cries. Silently, endlessly. Tears falling into a floor that doesn’t exist.

Every so often, a shape appears. A familiar hand. A glowing smile. A voice that says “I missed you.” And every time, she reaches. She reaches with shaking fingers and soft whimpers, but they vanish when she touches them.

Sometimes they laugh as they disappear. Sometimes they say her name like it’s a curse. Sometimes they look like Aelita. Sometimes they sound like Chronicle. Once, it was Kaltain. That broke her worst.

She doesn’t scream anymore. She just clings to shadows, hoping they’ll hold her back. And the dream keeps going. Longer. Louder. Rotting at the edges.

[ CYCLE 8 — ENTRY 3 ]

met someone today who makes the nether feel less like a hellbox and more like a playground

cosmic is fun. like actually fun, not in the “everything’s burning and i’m smiling” kind of way (okay maybe a little), but in the let’s scale the top of the bedrock dome and pretend we’re free for five minutes kind of way

we ran through crimson forest, laughed at piglins, made the hoglins our side characters. it felt… good. light. like for a moment i wasn’t full of old dreams and tangled timelines

we don’t match, but we understand

both cut from the brown dimension. both not really supposed to be here. both smiling through static

except here’s the part that sticks in my teeth—

i get to leave

and they don’t

not really. not yet. maybe not ever.

and i didn’t say it. didn’t ruin the moment. but it lingers behind my tongue. because how unfair is it that we finally find someone who understands what the noise sounds like—

and i’m just passing through

anyway we almost died like four times. 10/10 would chaos again.

[ USER: :3 ONLINE ]

met “her.”

not her. but close enough to fool someone else. not me.

the way she spoke, too even, too calm. her voice didn’t trip over when talking. didn’t soften while talking about Morana like it used to. and yet… everything about her wanted to be familiar. like a mask.

i smiled. of course i did. played polite. didn’t ask why the stars didn’t shift when she showed up. didn’t say her name like it was really hers.

she said “nice to meet you.”

i said “likewise.”

we both lied.

also met feriman. not what i expected, either.

very chill for someone with that much energy in their aura. very normal for someone who makes my spine itch in the same way time travel does.

we talked. laughed a little. traded shadows and pretended not to notice.

and for the first time since i showed up here

i didn’t feel like the only one lying.

they don’t know what i know.

they don’t know what i am.

and i’m not sure what happens when they find out.

anyway, I must run to do stuffs, but to her — the one wearing her voice —

oh. she’s still asleep. like deep cycle-dream, vines growing, forest-wife aesthetic asleep.

anyway hi! it’s not her right now, sorry not sorry.

i’m just… borrowing the comm. she won’t mind. she’s busy dreaming about people who left her. it’s very soft and sad and mossy.

you can call me dana. or don’t. i’m new here. sort of. it’s complicated.

all you need to know is: – i know too much – i’m in a mood – and if anyone messes with her body while she’s unconscious i will drop an emotionally-loaded prophecy on you mid-pvp.

In the forest down below lies the peaceful sleeping soul, worries shed, no more decay, tucked beneath the roots to stay.

Vines have wrapped her hands and knees, cradled soft by moss and trees. Blue now blooms at hair's long end, glowing where the shadows bend.

She does not stir, she does not speak, the days grow long, the world grows weak. She dreams of love, of warmth, of light, safe within the arms of night.

The stars have turned, the skies have spun, new cycles born, new stories begun. But she remains where silence grows, lost beneath the drifting snows.

No voices reach her hidden glade, no hand disturbs the bed she made. The forest keeps her gently there, a soul in sleep, too soft to bear.

And in her mind, the world is kind— no one forgets, no one stays blind. She smiles in dreams and sleeps away, not knowing she's been left to stay.

But dreams can twist beneath the skin, and something dark is creeping in. Where once was peace, there now is flame, and voices start to call her name.

The skies within her dream grow red, the gardens rot, the warmth has fled. She tries to scream, to run, to wake— but sleep holds tight, and won’t let break.

While the world shifted and prepared for whatever chaos would come next, Morana remained where she was — deep in the woods, far from spawn, far from noise, far from the eyes of anyone who might still remember her.

She stopped moving. Stopped waiting. And then, slowly, she stopped waking.

It wasn’t death. Not really. She simply… slept. As if the quiet finally claimed her, and she decided not to resist.

The forest didn’t question it. The vines grew around her, soft and slow, curling around her arms, her legs, her chest, not to trap her, but to hold her in place. Moss filled the spaces between her fingers. Flowers bloomed where she rested. Her hair grew long, untouched by wind or blade, and where it brushed the grass, the strands glowed faintly blue.

No one came looking.

Time passed. The world didn’t stop for her, and yet somehow… it made room.

She became part of the landscape. A forgotten soul sleeping through a cycle that left her behind. Not dead. Not gone. Just… paused. Stuck, maybe. Until something changed.

Until someone found her.

Until something finally reached her through all the silence she wrapped herself in.

But until then, she would stay like this.

Because in her sleep, she dreamed.

She dreamed of a future that never came. One where they were all together again — laughing, building, safe. Aelita smiled like nothing had ever happened. Chronicle giggled at something she said. Children were running around happily laughing and playing.

And Morana… Morana was happy. Not pretending to be. Not surviving. Just… happy.

And it was beautiful.

And it was enough.

So she stayed asleep. Because in the dream, no one left. No one forgot. No one broke her. And maybe, just maybe, if she stayed long enough, the dream would become the only world that mattered.

No one answered the first hundred times, and now my voice just echoes back like the world is trying to mock me for trying. I don’t think anyone’s here. I don’t think they ever were. Maybe this was always going to be my cycle to be forgotten.

I built a little shelter. It’s not much. Just enough to keep the rain off and the wind out. I haven’t touched my armor in days. Haven’t checked the comms. Haven’t looked at the sky long enough to count how close the end is.

I think I’ll just stay here.

I don’t have it in me to fight this time. Not when I’d be fighting for no one. Not when there’s no one on the other side of it.

Let the final challenge come. Let it scream and shake and burn through everything. I’ll stay right here in the corner of the world and sleep through it.

And if I wake up in the next one… Maybe then someone will notice I was gone.

Or maybe not.

She’s not here. He’s not here. I don’t know if anyone is. And the longer I go without seeing a single trace of them, the more I start to wonder... were they ever really here at all?

Was the way she looked at me real? That warmth, that safety, that deep, unwavering kind of love, I felt it. I swear I did. But now it feels like a story I told myself to survive. And him... was the pain he carried even real? The anger, the guilt, the control, I thought I understood it. I thought if I stayed close, maybe I could help carry some of it. Maybe I could help him, somehow. But now I don’t know.

no names lighting up the sky,

no familiar footsteps nearby,

just the soft rustle of leaves

and the weight of remembering too much.

The ground felt cold under me,

not because it was,

but because no one had walked it with me yet.

I looked toward the horizon

like maybe someone had left a lantern,

a trail of torches,

a sign that I wasn’t the last one here.

But there were no signs.

Only trees that didn’t know my name,

and wind that passed by

like it didn’t remember me either.

So I started walking,

not because I knew where I was going

but because standing still

felt too close to being forgotten.

I don’t know where they are.

I only know I’ll keep looking

until I find someone who remembers how to say