Name: Clara Amelia Elisabeth Bellarose; goes by Amelia Bell
Age & Place of Birth: 22, (August 9th, 1475 A.D. – Touraine, France)
Race: Half French from her father, half Spanish from her mother.
Title: Third and youngest daughter of the King Geoffri and Queen Lucía. Intelligence for the army.
Appearance:
The top half of her long, brown hair is usually worn up out of her face for convenience, while the bottom half flows out freely down her back, small braids weaving through sporadically. She had light blue eyes given to her by her father, and a full, pouty mouth from her mother’s Spanish heritage. She is slightly taller than average height for a woman, and she has a slender, lean build not only from genetics, but from her position in the kingdom’s military.
Gear: For day to day affairs, she usually sports brown breeches, a billowy, white top, and a tan leather jerkin that is usually unbuttoned at the top to make room for her bousom – something it’s creators did not account for when the garment was made. She was often teased by her peers for dressing like a man, but she was all about practicality. She had a sword, beloved to her, sheathed in an elaborate scabbard, and a knife strapped to her thigh, hidden beneath her trousers.
If she was out on a mission to gather intelligence, she would wear her hair tied back in linen, and an old, stained dress that she kept only for such occasions.
History: From an early age, Clara was considered to be the black sheep of the family by her mother and two older sisters, Johanne and Melisende. While the rest of the royal family were prim, proper, and graceful, Clara was clumsy, energetic, and had a compassionate spirit for people of all classes. While the two older girls were in etiquette classes, she would be found out in the stables with the pigs and horses. While her sisters were sitting completely still at the dinner table, Clara would be waving her arms around, passionately telling a simple story from her day, snorting with laughter. She would often receive punishment for her actions from her mother in the form of whipping on her back or being locked up in her small room for two days at a time, only being visited by servants for food and water.
Her father, however, had a soft spot for Clara, often joining her in her pointless rants and doubling over in laughter with her, something Lucía often scolded him for. They had endless arguments about how she was growing up, how she wasn’t fit to be introduced to the public on her 15th birthday as her sisters had, but Geoffri would always shoo her away. He enjoyed Clara’s free spirit; her wildness, he thought, was endearing, like a touch of humanity in the cold, soulless castle.
At the age of fourteen, a visitor was welcomed into the castle by Lucía herself – a very rare occurrence – and Clara couldn’t help but shake the feeling that something seemed very strange about the man. He introduced himself as Gabriel, a Monk that was traveling on some sort of business (she couldn’t remember what he had explained) and he stayed in the guests’ quarters for what seemed like weeks. To this day, she could still remember his eyes; the way he looked at her sent a chill down her spine each time. It was as if he was not a human, but an entity, but with a fourteen year old’s vocabulary, Clara could only explain to the King that she did not like the man, that he may have been magical.
“Clara Amelia,” her father shook her head as she sat on his knee, “it is not in your nature to say such things. Your mother has welcomed him in to our home, so we must trust him. Okay?”
Clara nodded solemnly. “Okay, Papá.”
He stroked her hair away from her eyes. “Now rid yourself of such silly thoughts, mon amour, yes? There is no such thing as magic.”
“Yes, Papá.”
On a warm summer night, Clara had awoken from a nightmare that caused a pool of sweat to form on the sheet of her small bed. After fighting to fall back asleep, she had surrendered, and she slowly walked the dark halls of the castle when she heard a noise coming from the room Gabriel had been residing in. Candlelight flickered and poured out of the small gab between the door and the wooden floor, and sounds of heavy breathing and, in the naive mind of young Clara, pain were heard on the other side.
“Mamá?” Clara whispered and received no reply. “Mamá?” Nothing. Only panting.
She carefully turned the knob on the door and opened in only a few centimeters to see her mother in bed with Gabriel. In a panic, Clara slammed the door shut and began to dash aimlessly down the hallway, only to be grabbed by the hair and pulled down to the floor with a quick thud. It had been her mother, wrapped in a sheet with fire in her eyes.
“You worthless swine,” her mother nearly growled in Spanish as she peered down at Clara. “You shall never speak of this to your papa, lo entiendes?”
She struggled with the grip her mother still had on her hair. “Let go of me, mama!” she shrieked. “I will tell Papá what you did. I hate you! I hate you!” Tears began to flood her vision as she struck the first that held her hair so tightly.
As soon as Clara finished speaking, Gabriel appeared bare-chested behind her mother, and he whispered something inaudible to her in Lucía’s ear, causing her to nod and consequentially dragging Clara by the hair back into Gabriel’s room with her. As he watched from the corner, her mother ripped open the back of her nightgown and began to whip her mercilessly until she felt she had gotten the point across. “Go back to your room now, Clara, and stay there.” Another order in Spanish. As she looked back to her mother, she noticed an abyss-like blackness her eyes identical to Gabriel’s. It was in that moment that she knew that something else happened that night that she couldn’t understand.
The next day, Lucía told Geoffri that Clara had attempted to sneak into Gabriel’s room to seduce him, and although he did not believe her at first, the Queen would not let it go until he agreed that something had to be done. It had been decided that, since she was not yet introduced to the kingdom, that they would announce the death of their youngest daughter with a memorial held in her honor. Lucía had fought to banish her from the region infinitely, but Geoffri decided to place her in the army, unusual for a woman, of course, but he secretly knew Clara would find purpose if she was given a job of such importance.
For eight years, Clara, now going by Amelia Bell, had been working in a sector that operated as intelligence for the kingdom. None of her comrades were aware of her possession or royal blood, and instead, fabricated a story of being a peasant taken into the kingdom when she was a child. Her and her partner, Antoine, would often visit other regions, disguised at travelers or peasants, to investigate any threats that had been made against the King. They often interrogated prisoners taken by the knights as well, but she had yet to work up the coverage to stay in the room as torturing took place. Whenever she tried, she’d often find herself pleading for Antoine and the other knights to desist, which to the prisoner, would make them look weak or merciful – nothing like what the new agenda of the royal family wanted.
Amelia had not seen her family since her death had been announced, but based on the decisions that had been made, she had assumed her mother had been making more decisions than her father. She had also heard that Geoffri was growing ill, not even able to get out of bed some days. She had tried her best to choke down her suspicions, but with each snippet of news she received, the anger inside of her would bubble a bit more. She had to see her father to ask him what was happening to him and the kingdom, so she had decided to devise a plan to sneak into the castle in the middle of the night when she knew her mother would be occupied.
Age & Place of Birth: 22, (August 9th, 1475 A.D. – Touraine, France)
Race: Half French from her father, half Spanish from her mother.
Title: Third and youngest daughter of the King Geoffri and Queen Lucía. Intelligence for the army.
Appearance:
The top half of her long, brown hair is usually worn up out of her face for convenience, while the bottom half flows out freely down her back, small braids weaving through sporadically. She had light blue eyes given to her by her father, and a full, pouty mouth from her mother’s Spanish heritage. She is slightly taller than average height for a woman, and she has a slender, lean build not only from genetics, but from her position in the kingdom’s military.
Gear: For day to day affairs, she usually sports brown breeches, a billowy, white top, and a tan leather jerkin that is usually unbuttoned at the top to make room for her bousom – something it’s creators did not account for when the garment was made. She was often teased by her peers for dressing like a man, but she was all about practicality. She had a sword, beloved to her, sheathed in an elaborate scabbard, and a knife strapped to her thigh, hidden beneath her trousers.
If she was out on a mission to gather intelligence, she would wear her hair tied back in linen, and an old, stained dress that she kept only for such occasions.
History: From an early age, Clara was considered to be the black sheep of the family by her mother and two older sisters, Johanne and Melisende. While the rest of the royal family were prim, proper, and graceful, Clara was clumsy, energetic, and had a compassionate spirit for people of all classes. While the two older girls were in etiquette classes, she would be found out in the stables with the pigs and horses. While her sisters were sitting completely still at the dinner table, Clara would be waving her arms around, passionately telling a simple story from her day, snorting with laughter. She would often receive punishment for her actions from her mother in the form of whipping on her back or being locked up in her small room for two days at a time, only being visited by servants for food and water.
Her father, however, had a soft spot for Clara, often joining her in her pointless rants and doubling over in laughter with her, something Lucía often scolded him for. They had endless arguments about how she was growing up, how she wasn’t fit to be introduced to the public on her 15th birthday as her sisters had, but Geoffri would always shoo her away. He enjoyed Clara’s free spirit; her wildness, he thought, was endearing, like a touch of humanity in the cold, soulless castle.
At the age of fourteen, a visitor was welcomed into the castle by Lucía herself – a very rare occurrence – and Clara couldn’t help but shake the feeling that something seemed very strange about the man. He introduced himself as Gabriel, a Monk that was traveling on some sort of business (she couldn’t remember what he had explained) and he stayed in the guests’ quarters for what seemed like weeks. To this day, she could still remember his eyes; the way he looked at her sent a chill down her spine each time. It was as if he was not a human, but an entity, but with a fourteen year old’s vocabulary, Clara could only explain to the King that she did not like the man, that he may have been magical.
“Clara Amelia,” her father shook her head as she sat on his knee, “it is not in your nature to say such things. Your mother has welcomed him in to our home, so we must trust him. Okay?”
Clara nodded solemnly. “Okay, Papá.”
He stroked her hair away from her eyes. “Now rid yourself of such silly thoughts, mon amour, yes? There is no such thing as magic.”
“Yes, Papá.”
On a warm summer night, Clara had awoken from a nightmare that caused a pool of sweat to form on the sheet of her small bed. After fighting to fall back asleep, she had surrendered, and she slowly walked the dark halls of the castle when she heard a noise coming from the room Gabriel had been residing in. Candlelight flickered and poured out of the small gab between the door and the wooden floor, and sounds of heavy breathing and, in the naive mind of young Clara, pain were heard on the other side.
“Mamá?” Clara whispered and received no reply. “Mamá?” Nothing. Only panting.
She carefully turned the knob on the door and opened in only a few centimeters to see her mother in bed with Gabriel. In a panic, Clara slammed the door shut and began to dash aimlessly down the hallway, only to be grabbed by the hair and pulled down to the floor with a quick thud. It had been her mother, wrapped in a sheet with fire in her eyes.
“You worthless swine,” her mother nearly growled in Spanish as she peered down at Clara. “You shall never speak of this to your papa, lo entiendes?”
She struggled with the grip her mother still had on her hair. “Let go of me, mama!” she shrieked. “I will tell Papá what you did. I hate you! I hate you!” Tears began to flood her vision as she struck the first that held her hair so tightly.
As soon as Clara finished speaking, Gabriel appeared bare-chested behind her mother, and he whispered something inaudible to her in Lucía’s ear, causing her to nod and consequentially dragging Clara by the hair back into Gabriel’s room with her. As he watched from the corner, her mother ripped open the back of her nightgown and began to whip her mercilessly until she felt she had gotten the point across. “Go back to your room now, Clara, and stay there.” Another order in Spanish. As she looked back to her mother, she noticed an abyss-like blackness her eyes identical to Gabriel’s. It was in that moment that she knew that something else happened that night that she couldn’t understand.
The next day, Lucía told Geoffri that Clara had attempted to sneak into Gabriel’s room to seduce him, and although he did not believe her at first, the Queen would not let it go until he agreed that something had to be done. It had been decided that, since she was not yet introduced to the kingdom, that they would announce the death of their youngest daughter with a memorial held in her honor. Lucía had fought to banish her from the region infinitely, but Geoffri decided to place her in the army, unusual for a woman, of course, but he secretly knew Clara would find purpose if she was given a job of such importance.
For eight years, Clara, now going by Amelia Bell, had been working in a sector that operated as intelligence for the kingdom. None of her comrades were aware of her possession or royal blood, and instead, fabricated a story of being a peasant taken into the kingdom when she was a child. Her and her partner, Antoine, would often visit other regions, disguised at travelers or peasants, to investigate any threats that had been made against the King. They often interrogated prisoners taken by the knights as well, but she had yet to work up the coverage to stay in the room as torturing took place. Whenever she tried, she’d often find herself pleading for Antoine and the other knights to desist, which to the prisoner, would make them look weak or merciful – nothing like what the new agenda of the royal family wanted.
Amelia had not seen her family since her death had been announced, but based on the decisions that had been made, she had assumed her mother had been making more decisions than her father. She had also heard that Geoffri was growing ill, not even able to get out of bed some days. She had tried her best to choke down her suspicions, but with each snippet of news she received, the anger inside of her would bubble a bit more. She had to see her father to ask him what was happening to him and the kingdom, so she had decided to devise a plan to sneak into the castle in the middle of the night when she knew her mother would be occupied.
