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๐ข ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐
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๐ข ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐
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๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ข-๐๐๐ -- ๐๐๐๐ ๐ธ๐ท๐๐ โ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐ โ ๐ป๐% ๐๐๐๐๐ -- ๐ธ๐ป& ๐๐๐๐๐๐ -- ๐ธ๐ป% ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐๐
_______๏ผก ๏ผฐ ๏ผฐ ๏ผฅ ๏ผก ๏ผฒ ๏ผก ๏ผฎ ๏ผฃ ๏ผฅ_______________________________________________________________________________
She stands as an enigma: a paradox of delicate mystery clothed sheer and subtely humming quaintly in allure and wonderment. Fragile shoulders quiver, clasped fingers perched over skin pale hued and dusted in pearl shadows and nails marking crescents liken to crimson smiles embedded deep into her palms; painted matte black like coffins. Something dark and cumbersome coils thick against her limbs, budrening her posture, hunched inward under a weight unseen but profoundly felt in her prescense by glimpses and the grace of touch. Emma is afforded a lithe figure, slight and critically thin with graceful ministrations that border slumberous and fog-like, carefully performed if not trembling in their endeavors from that ambiance she oozes from crown to foot. She's found small and sometimes hidden in shadow, a woman suspended in the misconceptions of who and what she is despite all fairer bequeaths to her debut: being the daughter of Nyx has sometimes eclipsed her indentity entirely.
A gaze smattered in stardust aligns her face in moonlight, silver impressions foiled in her eyes caped by soot-black lashes peeled wide in her inquiries and panned low in her idle musings. Dusted coal backdrops the uniqueness of her stare as if the contraptions of the night sky are captured purely within and struggling to burst forth from mortal bindings. Emma's hair can be similarly described, though dull and void like, endless in sometime-tangled waves often hoisted at the nape of her neck in a twined craze with framing tresses on crested cheekbones and a high brow. Her thin neck heralds an ebony chain, thin links against cold skin that houses a curious charm of tarnished silver with a face twisted in the shadows. Her only piece of cherishment, with a silver ring -- similar and unpolished -- set beside. In her ears are pierced dainty studs from black to silver, counted to three in each with a curious pierce decorated on her nose.
Emma's fashion appeal borders alternative and monochromatic with subtle touches of dull colour, as if she wears a constant shadow that caps her wardrobe and drapes across her stride. Loose bindings and sweaters, in blouse form and sometimes adorned in dresses with her legs often clung to by elastic and cotton, her sleeves often pulled tightly past thin wrists and leather slung over her shoulders -- many sizes too big and worn, a gift she'll mutter, from someone she deeply loves. The beauty she contains is undermined by human frailty all too keen despite her otherworldly dressings from her patronage.
A gaze smattered in stardust aligns her face in moonlight, silver impressions foiled in her eyes caped by soot-black lashes peeled wide in her inquiries and panned low in her idle musings. Dusted coal backdrops the uniqueness of her stare as if the contraptions of the night sky are captured purely within and struggling to burst forth from mortal bindings. Emma's hair can be similarly described, though dull and void like, endless in sometime-tangled waves often hoisted at the nape of her neck in a twined craze with framing tresses on crested cheekbones and a high brow. Her thin neck heralds an ebony chain, thin links against cold skin that houses a curious charm of tarnished silver with a face twisted in the shadows. Her only piece of cherishment, with a silver ring -- similar and unpolished -- set beside. In her ears are pierced dainty studs from black to silver, counted to three in each with a curious pierce decorated on her nose.
Emma's fashion appeal borders alternative and monochromatic with subtle touches of dull colour, as if she wears a constant shadow that caps her wardrobe and drapes across her stride. Loose bindings and sweaters, in blouse form and sometimes adorned in dresses with her legs often clung to by elastic and cotton, her sleeves often pulled tightly past thin wrists and leather slung over her shoulders -- many sizes too big and worn, a gift she'll mutter, from someone she deeply loves. The beauty she contains is undermined by human frailty all too keen despite her otherworldly dressings from her patronage.
_______๏ผฐ ๏ผฅ ๏ผฒ ๏ผณ ๏ผฏ ๏ผฎ ๏ผก ๏ผฌ ๏ผฉ ๏ผด ๏ผน____________________________________________________________________________
She peers upon the fringe of a glance before being whisked away by darkness, vanishing entirely within and without as if never really there. She smiles soft and frail, pinched upon the edges of her simper and alighting her eyes intensely with something she struggles against in her waking world. Labels such as timid and shy are tossed aside in favour of simply being an unknown, Emma is a factor in the mortal world, but conceals herself behind a veil of whispered words and bell-tones catering to a delicate diposistion. The mystery that cloaks itself over her shoulders is comparable to a night sky incapable of being breeched or touched; a void, an endless exspanse that has not been discovered in centuries. She is meloncholic upon first impressions, content with that wistful adornment with a touch of pensive sadness that glitters within her eyes.
Though she dances on the border of friendship, Emma struggles eternally in her attempts to befriend other bi-mortal children and fixates many in arm-length graces and keeps them suspended upon the threads of her self-doubt and emotional sensitivity. She is fearful of the permanent and everlasting thoughts crowding within her mind and fears the confines of space and time more often than not, she desires the touch of night and the calmness of a twinking twilight to soothe the boundless power that coil, festers, and sometimes writhes against her skin in unforeseen pain. There is only one that brings her serenity and the love she bears for them borders obsessive and dependent, binding them helplessly.
Though she dances on the border of friendship, Emma struggles eternally in her attempts to befriend other bi-mortal children and fixates many in arm-length graces and keeps them suspended upon the threads of her self-doubt and emotional sensitivity. She is fearful of the permanent and everlasting thoughts crowding within her mind and fears the confines of space and time more often than not, she desires the touch of night and the calmness of a twinking twilight to soothe the boundless power that coil, festers, and sometimes writhes against her skin in unforeseen pain. There is only one that brings her serenity and the love she bears for them borders obsessive and dependent, binding them helplessly.
_______๏ผจ ๏ผฉ ๏ผณ ๏ผด ๏ผฏ ๏ผฒ ๏ผน_________________________________________________________________________________________
He was a man that defied all rules of a functioning society, a rebellious facet of the current generation that bespoke of law and family gain. Yet he scorned them in favour and trade for an existence of solitude, comforted only by the pluckings of his instruments that droned endlessly into the night, harmonized by the slow bass of his creations that purchased themselves in the most underground scenes and exclusive settings. Passwords were whispered in the alley ways of New Orleans lit only by a single bare bulb, and here a woman was found, sheathed in sheer silks of ebony with her face hauntingly veiled and her eyes twinkling in the moonlight; mysterious, mischeivous and haunting. She breathed her admission and sauntered her way between bodies slung low and hands raised to the night sky, lost in a trance that wound its way betwixt souls and hearts and secured to flesh in familraity. And there he stood, suspended in shadows, a lone rockstar in the haze of smoke and lust, long twists of black hanging loose against his shaded countenance lost to the sway of his own voice.
She was drawn to him and the sounds he spun from his soul, a man that was more than a man, but a would-be god from sheer reputation alone. In her fixation she breathed her calling, summoning with it a night that could have -- would have -- lasted for eternity if not for Apollo hoisting the sun up high that following morning; if only they could preserve that moment for eternity, a man and the divine in the dark of a smoke-hazed room. The effect would last forever in that single branch of time, intended, where a goddess as old as the beginning of this world wove her whispering grace around the soul of a mortal man to bind them together as the only lovers left alive in the twilight. Nyx revealed herself a long time admirer of his music, a man who preferred to live alone, but welcomed her strange presence into him home where the windows were bordered up high and the curtains thick in velvet, music records were piled high to the ceiling and the walls lined with instruments by age and use.
They lived together in song and smoke, he fell in love with the mystery she wove in her voice and the moon in her eyes that glimmered just for him. She fell in love with his mortal heart and fragile constitution, his defiance in the face of order -- order that she too was bound to by her given nature -- and in the high of midnight, he wrote music in her name that made her feel almost human. They would lie together in the tangles of her hair as dark as the night sky, speckled with glittering dust, looped through his fists and draped over them like an abyss of warmth till he said -- with love hazed words -- that their respective hands were bare, that she deserved a diamond of black set upon her delicate finger and the world at her feet. He swore in the heat of passion he'd bring life to its knees just for her and sing her songs of fated heart -- of their bond.
Nyx left him suddenly with images of shooting stars and weeping skies, on the longest day of the year, and whispered to his troubled heart to never forget.
He was forlorn, lost and broken, till a child wrapped in black was left upon his doorstep, nothing left to identify her, nothing but a silver charm tarnished and twisted and a ring beside with his name engraved inside. She wailed and in her eyes, he found twinkling stars and the night sky gleaming back at him, tears of silver on her cheeks, and some part of his heart withered, but another part of him soared and cried over the child left to him. He had lost the love of his life only to gain another; Nyx had given him Emma in exchange for the heart that she could not give. He raised her on stories of their love -- their loss -- cherished her, smiled -- painfully -- at his daughter who looked so much like her. It was hard to love her, but he did, in his own ways, even if he sometimes held her close and yet so very far away.
And then he died.
On the shortest day and longest night of the year -- when she turned sixteen -- Emma gazed up into the heavens where a woman descended, robed in the blackest of shadows, darkness suspended in black diamonds across her veiled face and silvers stars in her hair that fell from the sky to the earth in a blanket of black. She wept and it was beautiful, haunting and heartfelt and Emma too cried, they shared silver tears over the man they both loved and Emma crushed worn leather to her heart and wailed. In the wake of death and sorrow, Emma's powers came to violently, it was painful destruction of the waking world and quakes in the dreams of all those that slept. Nyx swept her into her shadowed veils, shielded her from herself and whispered of control and a place that would teach her the means and methods to stop herself. A place that could be her sanctuary from the strife she was destined to --
and so Emma came to Olympus Academy with the words of her father haunting her mind and the image of her mother behind her eyes whenever she dreamed.
"You've got stars in your eyes and the world in your hands."
She was drawn to him and the sounds he spun from his soul, a man that was more than a man, but a would-be god from sheer reputation alone. In her fixation she breathed her calling, summoning with it a night that could have -- would have -- lasted for eternity if not for Apollo hoisting the sun up high that following morning; if only they could preserve that moment for eternity, a man and the divine in the dark of a smoke-hazed room. The effect would last forever in that single branch of time, intended, where a goddess as old as the beginning of this world wove her whispering grace around the soul of a mortal man to bind them together as the only lovers left alive in the twilight. Nyx revealed herself a long time admirer of his music, a man who preferred to live alone, but welcomed her strange presence into him home where the windows were bordered up high and the curtains thick in velvet, music records were piled high to the ceiling and the walls lined with instruments by age and use.
They lived together in song and smoke, he fell in love with the mystery she wove in her voice and the moon in her eyes that glimmered just for him. She fell in love with his mortal heart and fragile constitution, his defiance in the face of order -- order that she too was bound to by her given nature -- and in the high of midnight, he wrote music in her name that made her feel almost human. They would lie together in the tangles of her hair as dark as the night sky, speckled with glittering dust, looped through his fists and draped over them like an abyss of warmth till he said -- with love hazed words -- that their respective hands were bare, that she deserved a diamond of black set upon her delicate finger and the world at her feet. He swore in the heat of passion he'd bring life to its knees just for her and sing her songs of fated heart -- of their bond.
Nyx left him suddenly with images of shooting stars and weeping skies, on the longest day of the year, and whispered to his troubled heart to never forget.
He was forlorn, lost and broken, till a child wrapped in black was left upon his doorstep, nothing left to identify her, nothing but a silver charm tarnished and twisted and a ring beside with his name engraved inside. She wailed and in her eyes, he found twinkling stars and the night sky gleaming back at him, tears of silver on her cheeks, and some part of his heart withered, but another part of him soared and cried over the child left to him. He had lost the love of his life only to gain another; Nyx had given him Emma in exchange for the heart that she could not give. He raised her on stories of their love -- their loss -- cherished her, smiled -- painfully -- at his daughter who looked so much like her. It was hard to love her, but he did, in his own ways, even if he sometimes held her close and yet so very far away.
And then he died.
On the shortest day and longest night of the year -- when she turned sixteen -- Emma gazed up into the heavens where a woman descended, robed in the blackest of shadows, darkness suspended in black diamonds across her veiled face and silvers stars in her hair that fell from the sky to the earth in a blanket of black. She wept and it was beautiful, haunting and heartfelt and Emma too cried, they shared silver tears over the man they both loved and Emma crushed worn leather to her heart and wailed. In the wake of death and sorrow, Emma's powers came to violently, it was painful destruction of the waking world and quakes in the dreams of all those that slept. Nyx swept her into her shadowed veils, shielded her from herself and whispered of control and a place that would teach her the means and methods to stop herself. A place that could be her sanctuary from the strife she was destined to --
and so Emma came to Olympus Academy with the words of her father haunting her mind and the image of her mother behind her eyes whenever she dreamed.
"You've got stars in your eyes and the world in your hands."
"๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ขโ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ; ๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ข ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐." && ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ข ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ -- ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐
_______๏ผง ๏ผฏ ๏ผค ๏ผฌ ๏ผน ๏ผฐ ๏ผก ๏ผฒ ๏ผฅ ๏ผฎ ๏ผด_____________________________________________________________________________
N Y X -- Primordial Goddess of the Night.
_______๏ผฒ ๏ผฅ ๏ผฌ ๏ผก ๏ผด ๏ผฉ ๏ผฏ ๏ผฎ ๏ผณ ๏ผจ ๏ผฉ ๏ผฐ____________________________________________________________________________
She fears her and yet admires her, she finds her very mention intimidating as the night sky that yawns before them. Yet there is comfort and she knows that Nyx cared for her father in her own way and leaving him as she did was meant for his sake just as it was for her own. Nyx whispers to her in her dreams, muttering words of peace to bring her solace, caressing her cheeks in the night and brushing fingers of black through her hair. She tells her that one day she'll show her Tartarus, where she lives throughout the year, of where night is eternal and of a place where she can live without fear of her own self. She wakes in fallen stars and veils of shadows hanging from her stained cheeks, the night refusing to leave her behind even in her mortal world. Emma loves her, as much as a woman can love something never seen -- not since her father died -- but always heard, and felt within.
_______๏ผค ๏ผฅ ๏ผญ ๏ผฉ ๏ผง ๏ผฏ ๏ผค ๏ผก ๏ผข ๏ผฉ ๏ผฌ ๏ผฉ ๏ผด ๏ผฉ ๏ผฅ ๏ผณ_______________________________________________________________
Emma's abilities are vast and profound and she easily loses control and sight of reasoning when suspended in their wake. If not for the sake of the one person she loves and obsesses over above all others, she would surely lose herself to the very night she can command. It is only by the whispers of her mother and the touch of her brother that brings her to a plane of peace and santurary, but Nyx is not always around, some nights she goes without sleep and dreams and wonders aimlessly, in these moments she needs him and will search endlessly on school grounds till she finds him.
&& A V E I L O F S H A D O W [ S ] -- Like a sheer blanket of night, Emma can pluck the very edges of cast shadows and lift them upon her person, wrapping herself in numerous veils of darkness until she disappears entirely from mortal sight. At most opportunities, she uses her own cast shadow for this purpose, which is darker than most and a rich black. As humans can only perceive that which bends light, Emma can negate this entirely and suspend herself into a literal solitude and ghost across the academy grounds literally unseen. Such can be amplified by the touch of her brother, where Emma can drape shadows not only overself, but unto others and within the gloom of night, Emma can tear the darkness apart, step into the void and be at peace should she lose herself.
&& A T O U C H O F E M P A T H Y -- Emma bears a rather sensitive constitution to the emotions piling inside her heart and her head and those of her peers. Such emotes are felt within literal, tangible waves that slink across on weaves of the feelings that they ride upon, reaching deeply past her cast shadow that writhes, quivers and reacts entirely to her own heart pounding away inside. She has become afraid of her own feelings and the ones she shares unwillingly with others, forsaking close bonds so as not to feel when she can't control herself. With her brother, she clasps hands with him, nails biting deep and will force those emotions upon him. Emotes of pain, anguish, deceit, and strife are much more profound.
&& A D R E A M S C A P E L I E -- Within the suspension of sleep, Emma's eyes glitter bright, shining within the darkness of night whilst she pries into the dreams of others, sitting beside them with her gaze unmoving and unyielding. Her will forces its way into the dreamscape of her intended, where she can comb through experiences and memories and wish unto them the sweetest of imaginings or the most hellacious of nightmares from her own subconscious. Similarly, Emma can envoke sleep with a kiss, with her eyes peeled wide, holding gazes with another where she shows them an endless night sky that spins and dives, hypnotic and haunting till slumber takes them. In this facet, Emma chooses when they shall awake, unless sheer willpower brings them to the waking world.
&& A N E T E R N A L N I G H T -- She is unstable within and Emma must be constantly told to harness control, for at the peak of midnight or at the stroke of three, she can tear apart the night sky and summon an eternal abyss if she becomes unbound and lost within herself. Darkness rends itself apart, a deep fissure into the void that swallows everything whole, even the sun, an eternal night henceforth. It is the manifestation of every facet to a child of Nyx and the power she too commands, the fate of strife -- doom and destruction -- she is meant for.
&& A T O U C H O F E M P A T H Y -- Emma bears a rather sensitive constitution to the emotions piling inside her heart and her head and those of her peers. Such emotes are felt within literal, tangible waves that slink across on weaves of the feelings that they ride upon, reaching deeply past her cast shadow that writhes, quivers and reacts entirely to her own heart pounding away inside. She has become afraid of her own feelings and the ones she shares unwillingly with others, forsaking close bonds so as not to feel when she can't control herself. With her brother, she clasps hands with him, nails biting deep and will force those emotions upon him. Emotes of pain, anguish, deceit, and strife are much more profound.
&& A D R E A M S C A P E L I E -- Within the suspension of sleep, Emma's eyes glitter bright, shining within the darkness of night whilst she pries into the dreams of others, sitting beside them with her gaze unmoving and unyielding. Her will forces its way into the dreamscape of her intended, where she can comb through experiences and memories and wish unto them the sweetest of imaginings or the most hellacious of nightmares from her own subconscious. Similarly, Emma can envoke sleep with a kiss, with her eyes peeled wide, holding gazes with another where she shows them an endless night sky that spins and dives, hypnotic and haunting till slumber takes them. In this facet, Emma chooses when they shall awake, unless sheer willpower brings them to the waking world.
&& A N E T E R N A L N I G H T -- She is unstable within and Emma must be constantly told to harness control, for at the peak of midnight or at the stroke of three, she can tear apart the night sky and summon an eternal abyss if she becomes unbound and lost within herself. Darkness rends itself apart, a deep fissure into the void that swallows everything whole, even the sun, an eternal night henceforth. It is the manifestation of every facet to a child of Nyx and the power she too commands, the fate of strife -- doom and destruction -- she is meant for.
[ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ โ #๐ฟ๐๐ฟ๐บ๐พ๐ ]
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๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ข ๐ ๐ข ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐
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๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ข ๐ ๐ข ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐
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๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ข-๐๐๐๐๐ -- ๐๐๐ข ๐ท๐๐ โ ๐๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐ โ ๐ป๐% ๐๐๐๐๐ -- ๐ป๐% ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐๐
_______๏ผก ๏ผฐ ๏ผฐ ๏ผฅ ๏ผก ๏ผฒ ๏ผก ๏ผฎ ๏ผฃ ๏ผฅ_______________________________________________________________________________
He's got gold in his eyes and slick upon his fingers, tell-tale heavy embraces of a King smitten in ichor with marbled blue snapped through his gaze like a splintered nebula. They shine with an ethereal luminence under a handsome brow, a gateway to a soul that tumbles endlessly between mortal delicacey and divine manipulation that he is helpless against. He's fed persistent cardio and wicked strength, corded with sinew, regaled entirely within a golden sheen, lusturous and sheer even in the dankness of gloom. Artistic and royal inclincations are bidden unto him by swagger and touch that have hidden a sort of brutality only beqeathed to those capable and willing to use such barbarism against anyone who dares to challenge them. He is afforded such strength by his mother who has made him within her image of a man who could be -- would be -- King. Avem is a woeful sort of man but not without acknowledging his own sense of tragedy and endless complexes.
He possesses a degree of magnetism that all bi-mortal children are upheld to, his cultivated and preened, but again underlined purposely with his mortal self, as one would say: perfectly imperfect with quaint embellishments of something otherworldly. Thick waves of gold and brown twist around his lobes and shoulders bearing a shimmering quality of care and colour him within an ambiance of vanity and arrogance, these being dressings upon a cruel reputation. Avem's sense of self and dress are careful executions for he is not a flashy dresser nor is he subdued in fashion and the most striking features he wears are the adornments -- usually golden -- that he will weave among his locks and the ones donned to his fingers and those that dangle from spindly wrists jutted with prominent veins. A loop of gold is suspended from his septum with his lobes being largely stretched, an aesthetic that Avem clearly appreciates.
A shadow of facial hair lines his angular jaw and the crown of his cheekbones that remains closely trimmed and compliments the certain suppleness to his countenance, his pout adoring, lids heavy and the cape of his lashes thick. His smile is one that curls softly, delicately, pulling back over gleaming teeth with manicured nails swiping against his simper in the performance of being a slight tease to his intended. Avem is beautiful and would be a prince of the waking world was he not donned in a crown of golden thorns and lies.
He possesses a degree of magnetism that all bi-mortal children are upheld to, his cultivated and preened, but again underlined purposely with his mortal self, as one would say: perfectly imperfect with quaint embellishments of something otherworldly. Thick waves of gold and brown twist around his lobes and shoulders bearing a shimmering quality of care and colour him within an ambiance of vanity and arrogance, these being dressings upon a cruel reputation. Avem's sense of self and dress are careful executions for he is not a flashy dresser nor is he subdued in fashion and the most striking features he wears are the adornments -- usually golden -- that he will weave among his locks and the ones donned to his fingers and those that dangle from spindly wrists jutted with prominent veins. A loop of gold is suspended from his septum with his lobes being largely stretched, an aesthetic that Avem clearly appreciates.
A shadow of facial hair lines his angular jaw and the crown of his cheekbones that remains closely trimmed and compliments the certain suppleness to his countenance, his pout adoring, lids heavy and the cape of his lashes thick. His smile is one that curls softly, delicately, pulling back over gleaming teeth with manicured nails swiping against his simper in the performance of being a slight tease to his intended. Avem is beautiful and would be a prince of the waking world was he not donned in a crown of golden thorns and lies.
_______๏ผฐ ๏ผฅ ๏ผฒ ๏ผณ ๏ผฏ ๏ผฎ ๏ผก ๏ผฌ ๏ผฉ ๏ผด ๏ผน____________________________________________________________________________
He'd be told to be an arrogant bastard, a man that is vain and cruel and utilizes his appearance as a weapon and a means to a twisted end. His words would be dripping golden in sin, his lips a bedlam of deceit that writhes with temptation. Avem would be a prince befitting to the wiles of many Gods for their many known sordid affairs through the generations. He'd be the man that'd crush foes beneath his boot in the name and sake of forsaken bonds and terrifying jealousy and warped in wicked vengeance. He'd be the best heartache and a beloved farewell.
Avem though is a tool, a means, and with the whispered, honeyed words of his mother pouring into his ears, he performs whichever task bequeathed to him by her sometimes vindictive nature. And though the Queen of Olympus is more than her spurned self, it has not lessened her habits of projecting her jealousy onto her oldest child. In result, Avem has developed various complexities through his life, and he's well aware of his station in life in servitude to his mother; suspended on her whims; given to her on frail threads of love and lust; yet hoisted far away like a golden strung pawn. Though he is a puppet in most scenarios, Avem is all too pleased to rise to the occasion, for he adores and loves his mother above all others -- sometimes more than he could love himself. Though, perhaps, there is a layer of hidden self-loathing coupled with a crippling doubt to that one day he might fail her and himself.
He is her eyes, a peacock among subjects with a proud display of feathers to herald his nature and festooned with a myriad of all-knowing orbs that peer intensely into all that happens upon campus. There are chasms of emotional disturbances that set him apart from most of his peers, rifts that are compounded by beliefs of obligated misery and the fickle, misconstrued beliefs he carries in light of marriage and scared bonds.
Avem though is a tool, a means, and with the whispered, honeyed words of his mother pouring into his ears, he performs whichever task bequeathed to him by her sometimes vindictive nature. And though the Queen of Olympus is more than her spurned self, it has not lessened her habits of projecting her jealousy onto her oldest child. In result, Avem has developed various complexities through his life, and he's well aware of his station in life in servitude to his mother; suspended on her whims; given to her on frail threads of love and lust; yet hoisted far away like a golden strung pawn. Though he is a puppet in most scenarios, Avem is all too pleased to rise to the occasion, for he adores and loves his mother above all others -- sometimes more than he could love himself. Though, perhaps, there is a layer of hidden self-loathing coupled with a crippling doubt to that one day he might fail her and himself.
He is her eyes, a peacock among subjects with a proud display of feathers to herald his nature and festooned with a myriad of all-knowing orbs that peer intensely into all that happens upon campus. There are chasms of emotional disturbances that set him apart from most of his peers, rifts that are compounded by beliefs of obligated misery and the fickle, misconstrued beliefs he carries in light of marriage and scared bonds.
_______๏ผจ ๏ผฉ ๏ผณ ๏ผด ๏ผฏ ๏ผฒ ๏ผน_________________________________________________________________________________________
Upon a month of Spring, the first day of the last month with the realm still doused in showers and flowers only just beginning their bloom, Hera plucked a Lily within full blossom. A symbolism for purity and beauty and fitting for the birth of her beloved child, tucked against her breast in robes of white and royal blue, already christened with golden locks -- short and soft and downy -- and eyes of marbled sapphire and gold. It only takes milliseconds but she loves the babe in her arms with every breath he takes, her tears are small weeps of happiness and fullfillment for she did not need him to give birth to the perfect bundle snug against her. Beside her stands a mortal man and he too feels that warmth spill through his bones and soul, a love he has never known secured when he sees the Goddess behind the woman he has come to know in small snippets of rare meetings. They had always been slight and quick, brief glimpses of love and lust that bonded them together for a little over a year, Hera came to him usually in the dark of night or upon the fringes of dawn where they couldn't be found or discovered.
He had willfully taken her jealousy and loathing, the anger, the pettiness that compounded their own connection into something primal and physical. She does not love him, and he does not love her -- so they say and whisper in the aftermath of their coupling -- and though they had created a beautiful child together, it is the only thing that binds them outside of their own dalliances. For she just wanted to be loved in the way that she has loved, to be given all whilst she does the same, it's a sacred thing she desires and here in her arms is that forlorn chance. In a whisper, she tells him that she has to leave, in fear that he will find her son. There is no fear of him, but only what he too would reap upon her child in revenge for the pain she has inflicted upon his own heirs and their mothers, for whilst she is the harbinger of matrimony and a protector of women and their love, she is unable to quell that lingering spite from her heart. His father doesn't object, after all when he had first found this woman -- who he knows now as a Goddess -- it had been upon the curb, her figure drenched from the shine of her hair to her rose coloured dress plastered and ruined and had taken her hand in his.
She was a forsaken being in his eyes and he wanted to mend whatever it was that ailed her. But as a man of mortal means and ends, Hera asked nothing of him except a child, a son that she would take away with her, a child he was likely to never see again. They parted on a bitter touch of lips and for a moment he entertained the notion of asking her to say, but something had told him that she would have denied him all the more and only asked that he be given his name.
And so Hera spirited her son away.
In those initial years of infancy, Avem was raised upon the Olympus Academy, hidden in secret from Zeus and loved by a woman who smiled at him endearingly, dressed him in finery and brushed his hair to soothe his woes and tuck him into a bed of silken comforts and luxuries. Perhaps he was spoiled in these endeavors and gifts, but from this early age, Avem had placed Hera upon a pedestal that deserved his utter devotion and admiration. The beautiful queen and her loyal prince; the Academy their blessed court.
However something shifted, changed, something took pearl smiles and diamond eyes and turned them hard and sometimes cold and they would cut. Hera looked upon her son with love, but she found it difficult to admire and overlook the mortal fragility that flawed him, something she did not know how to love. And if she were honest -- he was becoming a man. Perhaps she had errored in her desires for a son and thought upon the notions of wanting a daughter, someone to uphold her divine image, to be that imperfect-perfect product of her divinity and power. For whilst Avem was blossoming into the perfect bi-mortal child of her impression, there were brief moments that would fluctuate with his own might, his strength, his beauty that was both blessing and damning. Hera reflected on the children Zeus had sired with other women, and one that she abhorred above all others, and quietly uttered to Avem the secrets of her heart and hate; her jealousy and spite for those that almost mocked her. She had loved once.
In small doses, she molded Avem within her standard and image, to be a man that would be a protector, a man that she wanted to one day rival against her own husband. Though he was imperfect in the most beloved way, he was the perfect tool to her means, her eyes upon the mortal and waking world that she reigned over.
He had willfully taken her jealousy and loathing, the anger, the pettiness that compounded their own connection into something primal and physical. She does not love him, and he does not love her -- so they say and whisper in the aftermath of their coupling -- and though they had created a beautiful child together, it is the only thing that binds them outside of their own dalliances. For she just wanted to be loved in the way that she has loved, to be given all whilst she does the same, it's a sacred thing she desires and here in her arms is that forlorn chance. In a whisper, she tells him that she has to leave, in fear that he will find her son. There is no fear of him, but only what he too would reap upon her child in revenge for the pain she has inflicted upon his own heirs and their mothers, for whilst she is the harbinger of matrimony and a protector of women and their love, she is unable to quell that lingering spite from her heart. His father doesn't object, after all when he had first found this woman -- who he knows now as a Goddess -- it had been upon the curb, her figure drenched from the shine of her hair to her rose coloured dress plastered and ruined and had taken her hand in his.
She was a forsaken being in his eyes and he wanted to mend whatever it was that ailed her. But as a man of mortal means and ends, Hera asked nothing of him except a child, a son that she would take away with her, a child he was likely to never see again. They parted on a bitter touch of lips and for a moment he entertained the notion of asking her to say, but something had told him that she would have denied him all the more and only asked that he be given his name.
And so Hera spirited her son away.
In those initial years of infancy, Avem was raised upon the Olympus Academy, hidden in secret from Zeus and loved by a woman who smiled at him endearingly, dressed him in finery and brushed his hair to soothe his woes and tuck him into a bed of silken comforts and luxuries. Perhaps he was spoiled in these endeavors and gifts, but from this early age, Avem had placed Hera upon a pedestal that deserved his utter devotion and admiration. The beautiful queen and her loyal prince; the Academy their blessed court.
However something shifted, changed, something took pearl smiles and diamond eyes and turned them hard and sometimes cold and they would cut. Hera looked upon her son with love, but she found it difficult to admire and overlook the mortal fragility that flawed him, something she did not know how to love. And if she were honest -- he was becoming a man. Perhaps she had errored in her desires for a son and thought upon the notions of wanting a daughter, someone to uphold her divine image, to be that imperfect-perfect product of her divinity and power. For whilst Avem was blossoming into the perfect bi-mortal child of her impression, there were brief moments that would fluctuate with his own might, his strength, his beauty that was both blessing and damning. Hera reflected on the children Zeus had sired with other women, and one that she abhorred above all others, and quietly uttered to Avem the secrets of her heart and hate; her jealousy and spite for those that almost mocked her. She had loved once.
In small doses, she molded Avem within her standard and image, to be a man that would be a protector, a man that she wanted to one day rival against her own husband. Though he was imperfect in the most beloved way, he was the perfect tool to her means, her eyes upon the mortal and waking world that she reigned over.
"๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ข ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐." && ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ -- ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐.
_______๏ผง ๏ผฏ ๏ผค ๏ผฌ ๏ผน ๏ผฐ ๏ผก ๏ผฒ ๏ผฅ ๏ผฎ ๏ผด_____________________________________________________________________________
H E R A -- Goddess of marriage and Queen of Olympus.
_______๏ผฒ ๏ผฅ ๏ผฌ ๏ผก ๏ผด ๏ผฉ ๏ผฏ ๏ผฎ ๏ผณ ๏ผจ ๏ผฉ ๏ผฐ____________________________________________________________________________
Complex and complicated in many ways, for Avem adores his mother and loves her without a shadow of a doubt. Hera too adores her son, but something corrupts her maternal devotion, and the memory of that child donned in white and blue fades more so in the years that he continues to grow. Anything she asks, he performs without hesitation, and the severe loyalty he posesses for her only furthers the means of the tool that he has slowly become over the years. Hera's constant use of Avem has undoubedtly troubled his life and state of mind for years, and whilst he his aware of it, Avem doesn't seem cocnerned to change such in the least.
_______๏ผค ๏ผฅ ๏ผญ ๏ผฉ ๏ผง ๏ผฏ ๏ผค ๏ผก ๏ผข ๏ผฉ ๏ผฌ ๏ผฉ ๏ผด ๏ผฉ ๏ผฅ ๏ผณ_______________________________________________________________
Avem's powers have been cultivated from a young age considering he has lived upon Academy grounds his whole life. Naturally so the man possesses acute strength from his half-breed existence and the blessing of his mother. Though Avem holds misconstrued visions of matrimony and love, it does not take away his influence over their conception.
&& T H R E A D S O F F A T E -- Avem's ethereal eyes peer yonder the mortal realm that is a thin film over the threads of fate that binds individuals together. These threads hued and sometimes torn or tangled speak to him about those fated to hate, to love, to adore or admire or lust for. Avem plucks cords of red -- the most fated and sacred -- and can twist and pull them together, sometimes coiling these within his fists to sever or bind them onto another. If he wished it, he could influence these threads for his own benefit or the entertainment of his mother. In some circumstances, Avem can use these threads to follow after an individual or locate them, for once he touches a thread, he can always find it within a mere glimpse.
&& A T H O U S A N D E Y E S -- Much like the fanned tail of his mother's beloved fowl, and the symbolism of eyes present through her mythos, Avem's gaze is endless and all knowing to an extent and compounded almost infinitely. With sharp and critical glimpses, his gaze can glimpse beyond barriers and in relation to his power to see threads, he can see past them and into the hearts of others. There he can witness their emotions in a literal sense and the events associated in memorium and invade their minds. Over leagues will his gaze search and pry unless held within constant check to keep his sanity.
&& A C U R S E O F M E -- Whilst Hera is known for blessing women and their children and lives with the happiness of the purest kind, Avem is capable of cursing women and men in extension with the exact opposite. By the ploy of his lips and tongue, Avem's wicked grace of his mouth can christen others with a curse to manipulate their potential search in heart and soul and effectively sever the ties of fate and stain them black in the death of potential matrimony.
&& A T H O U S A N D E Y E S -- Much like the fanned tail of his mother's beloved fowl, and the symbolism of eyes present through her mythos, Avem's gaze is endless and all knowing to an extent and compounded almost infinitely. With sharp and critical glimpses, his gaze can glimpse beyond barriers and in relation to his power to see threads, he can see past them and into the hearts of others. There he can witness their emotions in a literal sense and the events associated in memorium and invade their minds. Over leagues will his gaze search and pry unless held within constant check to keep his sanity.
&& A C U R S E O F M E -- Whilst Hera is known for blessing women and their children and lives with the happiness of the purest kind, Avem is capable of cursing women and men in extension with the exact opposite. By the ploy of his lips and tongue, Avem's wicked grace of his mouth can christen others with a curse to manipulate their potential search in heart and soul and effectively sever the ties of fate and stain them black in the death of potential matrimony.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โ #๐๐ถ๐๐พ๐๐ถ
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