Aeolian

Bend & Break

Bend & Break

Bend & Break

TBD

Primality

@Carlyle

Hi Carlyle,

I'll use this check-in to withdraw from the RP unfortunately. This is a lovely concept, and I hope you all continue to have fun with it!

Cheers!🐸

The Symphony: Modern Magic

@NoriWasHere My last character submission! :)

Sarai

"My kindness should not be mistaken for approval."

_______________________________________________ Sarai | She/Her | 20 | Elf (Seelie), Indonesian | 5'2" | 110 lbs _______________________________________________ Traditional _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Faith is not just belief—it is action, commitment, and sacrifice." ___________________________________ [+] Multilingual ⫻ Sarai is fluent in multiple languages, including Indonesian, Arabic, and English. Traditional Islamic Knowledge ⫻ Sarai has a strong understanding of Islamic teachings, rituals, and prayers. This knowledge shapes much of her moral compass and guides her spiritual decisions in life. Mental Discipline ⫻ Her strong religious upbringing taught Sarai the importance of controlling her mind and emotions. This mental discipline allows her to remain calm in the face of personal struggles and distractions, which is useful in both her magic and daily life. Memorization ⫻ Her habit of studying every detail means she rarely forgets things, from schedules to historical facts. Sarai's potent memory is a valuable asset, but sometimes a burden too. Strategic Thinking ⫻ Having come from a family embedded in politics, Sarai has inherited a sharp mind for strategy and problem-solving. She can quickly assess situations and devise plans of action, particularly when navigating social dynamics or figuring out how to help others.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "If you must know, it's called a tudong." Sarai is a petite young woman with warm, tan skin and dark brown, almond-shaped eyes that carry the weight of unspoken sorrows. Her features are delicate and composed, with a quiet elegance. In public, she is always wrapped in the modest grace of a traditional tudong or hijab (concealing her Elvish ears), the fabric draping her with a practiced precision that speaks of both devotion and discipline. Her attire is simple yet refined, a reflection of the values instilled in her from childhood. Though she moves with poise and certainty, there is a lingering softness in her expression, a distant look in her gaze, as if her mind is always halfway elsewhere. In private, when the world is not watching, Sarai allows herself small indulgences in the form of delicate adornments. Her hair, cut into a short bob with soft bangs framing her face, is often decorated with crystal jewelry—a tiara, a headband, or small, crystal hair clips, each one a treasured gift from her sisters before she left Indonesia. They are the only tangible remnants of the life she abandoned, quiet tokens of a love she cannot return to, yet refuses to let go of. Though she rarely speaks of the past, it lingers in the way she holds herself, in the faint melancholy that never quite leaves her eyes. Even in moments of joy, there is an underlying sadness to her presence, as though she is always carrying something heavy and unseen.

_{Psychology
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"There is an order to things, and I find comfort in that."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ Sarai wants to build a life for herself where she can exist freely, outside the suffocating expectations of her family. Though she has escaped the fate of an arranged marriage, she still grapples with the weight of what she left behind. She seeks stability and purpose in her new life, trying to reconcile her faith with the choices she has made. More than anything, she desires to prove—to herself, if not to others—that she can forge her own path while still holding on to the core of who she is.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Sarai believes in the balance of fate and free will—what is meant to happen will happen, but that does not absolve her of responsibility in shaping her own destiny. Her faith is an anchor, keeping her grounded even as she questions many things about the world and herself. She is deeply introspective, believing that patience, discipline, and devotion can guide her through any trial. However, she also acknowledges that life is full of hardship, and not everything can be avoided simply by doing what is expected.

SECRETS AND FEARS ⫻ Sarai does not want anyone to know about her political relations in Indonesia and so, she has curated a lie she tells everyone about her upbringing being much more mundane and uninteresting. She also fears drowning, again, due to the traumatizing experience she had when her magic first manifested, so she avoids swimming and open waters.

SEXUALITY ⫻ Heterosexual likely, but right now, she has no interest in anyone of any sort.

WHAT WAS THE FIRST DAY WITH MAGIC LIKE? ⫻ The night Sarai's magic manifested, a child drowned in Twin Pines. At least she'd spared that child the pain and suffering of a cruel and untimely demise, tucking their mind away into a happy memory as she took over their body and felt the pain of drowning in their place, the agony of not being able to breathe was an indescribable experience. In some ways, it haunts her even now. To "awaken" in her room, knowing this child still died, harboring their pain in every regard. She felt that child die as if it were her, only, after all was said and done, it wasn't.

It still keeps her up at night.

FLAWS ⫻ Sarai's desire to live a life of quiet rebellion against her family sometimes manifests as a tendency to shut people out, isolating herself in moments of conflict rather than seeking support. While her intellect and strategic thinking serve her well, Sarai can be overly cautious, often overthinking situations instead of acting impulsively when the moment calls for it. She can also be quick to judge others who appear to be living too freely or in contrast to her own values, masking a lingering sense of guilt and shame that she’s yet to fully confront.

_{Backstory
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"My family sees my absence as betrayal."

Sarai had always known duty, discipline, and the weight of expectation. Born into a powerful political family in Indonesia, she was raised with the understanding that she was not just a daughter, but a symbol of tradition, an extension of her father’s legacy. As one of six daughters, she had been shaped to embody perfection—devout, obedient, and unwavering in her role as the ideal woman. She was to be a wife, a mother, a quiet but dignified pillar of her future husband’s household. There was no room for questioning, no space for personal dreams.

When her parents arranged her engagement to a man of considerable status, she did not resist at first. It was what was expected. But beneath his polished exterior lay a cruel and violent nature. The signs were subtle at first—an offhanded comment that stung like a blade, a grip on her wrist that lingered too long, an unshakable sense of unease in his presence. When she voiced her concerns, they were dismissed. A wife must endure. A wife must be patient. A wife must obey. But Sarai was not a wife yet. And she would not become one.

On the night she fled, she severed more than just her engagement—she cut herself away from everything she had ever known. She sought refuge in the small town of Twin Pines, where her estranged aunt Bethari had lived in secret for years. Sarai’s parents had spoken of Bethari in hushed, disapproving tones, calling her selfish, reckless, unworthy of their name. Yet, when Sarai arrived at her doorstep, Bethari did not turn her away. She took her in without question, providing her with shelter, a new home, and the freedom to exist outside the rigid confines of her past.

But freedom came with its own burdens. Sarai had spent her life suppressing every desire, every emotion, every stray thought that did not align with the path set for her. In Twin Pines, she was unmoored, uncertain of who she was beyond her Islamic faith and the girl she had been trained to be. And then, one fateful night, her magic awakened.

A child drowned in Twin Pines that night.

A cruel accident, an untimely death. Sarai had not understood what was happening when her consciousness slipped from her body, when she saw herself through the eyes of an owl—white and grand, detached from flesh and bone. She had not known she was capable of such a thing. Soaring over Twin Pines, it was surreal, tranquil even, looking at the moon and the city lights below from so high above. That was until she saw the child gasping frantically in a local lake. She wasn't sure what to do, but what she did know, in the moment of desperation, was that she could not let that child suffer.

She had reached out without thinking, her astral form making contact with the child's failing body. And then she was there, inside them, as their mind was swept away into a place of warmth and light, an illusion of peace crafted from their happiest memory. She did not know if the child’s mind would have understood what was happening, but they had not fought her. They had simply gone, weightless and unburdened, leaving her behind to endure the horror of their final moments.

The agony of drowning was indescribable. The burning in her lungs, the panic clawing at her mind, the crushing weight of the water pressing in from all sides. She had felt it all. And then—nothing. When she returned to her own body, gasping and disoriented, the truth settled over her like a shroud. The child had died. She had spared them the pain, but not the fate. She had felt them die as if it had been her, only, after all was said and done, it wasn't.

Even now, the memory haunts her. The knowledge that she had held death in her hands and had been powerless to change its course. That night had shown her what she could do, but it had also revealed the limits of her gift. She could take pain, she could grant peace, but under the most unfortunate circumstances, she could not defy the inevitable. She carries that weight with her still, a quiet, unspoken grief woven into the fabric of her existence. She does not know if what she did was mercy or something else entirely. All she knows is that, for one fleeting moment, a child’s last memory had been a happy one. And perhaps, in a world filled with suffering, that was enough.

_{Magic
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"In their pain, I find my own—only I cannot fix it, only feel it."

MAGIC ⫻ Astral Sanctuary; This magical gift allows Sarai to project her consciousness as a mystical white owl and use this astral form to inhabit another’s body while their mind is sent to a dreamlike refuge called Sanctuary.

MAGIC DESCRIPTION ⫻ This strange magical power allows Sarai to separate her consciousness from her body in an astral form, manifesting it as a great white owl with luminous eyes. In this spectral state, Sarai's owl can soar through the skies unseen (though she can allow her astral form to be seen by others if she wishes), allowing her to see through her owl's eyes, but leaving her vacant physical body in a state of deep unconsciousness.

When her owl is near someone, she can communicate with them telepathically, creating a proximity link of the minds, if you will. If her owl makes contact with someone, Sarai's consciousness slips gently into that person's body, seamlessly taking their place while their own mind is ushered into Sanctuary—a sacred, ever-shifting dreamlike refuge shaped by their deepest sense of peace and happiness. Some find themselves in a happy memory or the warm embrace of a long-lost loved one, or even a place that never truly existed, woven from the fragments of longing, nostalgia, and hope. In Sanctuary, there is no pain, no fear—only solace. While occupying another’s body, Sarai assumes full control and inherits their skills, memories, talents, and even magical powers, though mastery is often imperfect. Unfortunately, she also assumes their pain and trauma, emotional and physical. Beyond mere possession, Sarai's consciousness can split in half if she wills it, with one half controlling the body and the other entering the displaced mind’s Sanctuary, allowing for direct communication within the refuge of their subconscious.

However, the illusion is fragile—should the host's body suffer fatal harm, the connection shatters, and the mind in Sanctuary is left stranded in oblivion. Once the power is released, the minds return to their rightful bodies, leaving the host with no recollection of what transpired in reality while Sarai was in control, they only "awaken" with the memory of a most wonderful, perfect "dream".

LIMITS ⫻ The limitations of Astral Sanctuary lie in its fragility and the toll it takes on Sarai's physical and emotional well-being. While in control of another's body, Sarai is vulnerable—her own body lies unconscious and unprotected. The connection is broken if the host body suffers fatal harm, leaving their consciousness trapped in the dreamlike Sanctuary forever, lost to oblivion. She cannot control multiple bodies at once; her connection to one person is singular. Lastly, her ability to communicate with the mind in Sanctuary is limited—she can only converse with the displaced consciousness, and cannot manipulate their actions or truly guide their thoughts while they are in that dreamlike refuge.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)

^{Other
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"I do not wish for an easy life, only one where I am free to choose my own path."

MISQ SECTION

The Symphony: Modern Magic

@Jumbus@NoriWasHere@Skai@AtrophyMonday April 14th, 13 Mourningdove Lane

---

The room hummed with the weight of something unspoken. Shadows flickered against aged wallpaper, the candlelight clawing at the edges of the gathering, illuminating strange faces and stranger intent. The air held the scent of dust and something spiced—like old books and mulled cider, like autumn folded into the bones of the house itself. This place, this night, was not ordinary. Happy could feel it in his chest, a twinge of nervous excitement threading through his ribs like a half-formed melody.

Emmy leaned in, voice low but slightly amused. "This is... an interesting group."

Happy smirked, leaning toward her as if sharing a great secret. “Definitely. My kinda weird.” His voice was playful, but his eyes flickered, studying the room. A mix of wariness and curiosity danced behind them.

He took everything in—the shifting postures, the hushed voices, the way some people seemed as uneasy as he felt while others carried themselves like they belonged to the night itself. He had no idea what they were all doing here, but the energy was electric, and for now, that was enough to keep him engaged.

Emmy turned to him again, a glint in her eye. “Apple or cherry?”

"Apple, definitely apple," Happy said without hesitation, flashing her a wink. He wasn't sure why she was asking, but he'd play along. It was likely about Pom's smashed pie after he'd given it a brief consideration. Besides, there was never a wrong time to talk about pie.

Across the room, Azure exhaled softly, boredom creeping into his limbs like an unwanted guest. His violet gaze, sharp and unreadable, slid across the gathering with an air of disinterest, his fingers tracing idle shapes in the air. The novelty of this rendezvous was beginning to dull, the initial amusement of the unknown fading into something less compelling.

Pom approached, presenting the sorry remains of a pie, the crust caved in, filling splattered.

Azure tilted his head, watching the ruined pastry as if it were a fallen star. A slow, theatrical sigh left his lips. "Ah. Tragic. A shame, truly." His voice was smooth, laced with something too light to be genuine, a performance of regret rather than the real thing. But in truth, it was unlikely he would have taken a bite even if it had been pristine. His tastes were particular, and even if they weren’t, he preferred to remain an enigma.

Then the Archivist arrived.

An old elf, wrapped in the weight of centuries, sneered down at the gathering with thinly veiled contempt. His presence slithered through the room, carrying the sharp edge of judgment, his words clipped, dismissive. He spoke as though addressing children—or something lesser, something unworthy of his time.

Happy stiffened. He had been raised to respect his elders, but that didn’t mean he had to like them. His easygoing nature faltered for just a second, irritation tightening his jaw. He didn’t like being looked down on, and he sure as hell didn’t like the way this guy was talking to everyone. But instead of snapping, he settled into something more measured, more thoughtful. "I think Rowan’s got a point," he said, voice steady but firm. "You wouldn’t have called us here if you didn’t need something. So what is it?"

Meanwhile, Azure drifted. Quite literally.

He floated above the gathering, suspended in the air like an idle blue-lipped specter, watching the unfolding confrontation with mild intrigue. The Archivist’s presence had stirred the others, their responses ranging from defiant to bemused to outright irritated. It was fascinating, in its way. He observed them all, silent as he took mental stock of their dispositions, their tempers, their tells. The way their emotions flared, the way they chose to wield their words—everything was a story worth noting.

Yet, beneath his composed exterior, he was vaguely unsatisfied. This was the moment where things could shift, where the night could take a sharp turn toward something truly interesting. And yet, it was still teetering on the edge of ordinary.

Bored and intrigued in equal measure, Azure waited.

The Symphony: Modern Magic

@FernStone@Rekkuza@SkaiMonday April 14th, 13 Mourningdove Lane

---

The foyer of 13 Mourningdove Lane was a place of hushed, antiquated grandeur, where time had settled thick as dust over the walls, smothering it in a dim, uneasy quiet. The sconces, wrought from tarnished brass, flickered with weak, dying flames, their light failing to reach the high, arched ceiling where cobwebs hung like ghostly veils. Tapestries, their once-vivid colors now faded to shades of muted sorrow, draped the walls, their woven figures frozen in scenes of battles lost to history. Between them, oil portraits loomed, their subjects long-dead but still watching, still waiting. The heavy scent of old paper and something fainter—something damp and earthen, as though the house itself had been exhumed from the past—curled at the edges of every breath.

A small group had already gathered, their voices murmuring low, swallowed by the cavernous silence of the house. The floor groaned under shifting weight, the warped wood betraying each restless movement. Happy stood just beyond the doorway, taking in the unfamiliar faces, but his gaze found familiarity in one. Emmy. For a moment, he simply looked at her, taking her in like one might take in an old photograph rediscovered in a forgotten drawer—something once known and half-remembered, something softened by time but still unmistakably the same. The light caught on the contours of her face, her sharp jawline, the slight quirk of her lips. She was smaller than he remembered, or maybe he had simply gotten taller.

Happy blinked, the corner of his mouth pulling up. “6'2" last time I checked." he joked, continuing in the same, playful cadence, "No one’s really called me that in ages,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head. “Only my parents. And my grandparents. But I'll make an exception for you though. Only you.” He said, letting that flirtatious air seep through.

But Happy noticed when Emmy grinned, but it faltered at the edges. A flicker of something passed over her face, dimming her expression as she spoke of vague difficulties. The shift in her composure didn’t go unnoticed. The humor in Happy’s face softened, replaced with quiet concern. Instinctively, he took a step forward, looking down at her.

His voice was gentle, careful not to pry but still offering space for honesty. “I get it, y’know. The whole… magic thing. It’s a lot.”

Emmy didn’t answer right away. Perhaps she wasn’t ready to.

The lights in the foyer flickered and dimmed as the door creaked open, another arrival stepping into the house. Almost unconsciously, Happy moved closer to Emmy, his body angling protectively in case the situation turned south. The place felt like it was waiting, holding its breath along with the rest of them. But at Emmy's murmured joke, Happy exhaled, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly. He turned to her with a small, sweet smile. “Guess I’ll just have to take some photos, put the place up for auction.” He rattled the camera slung over his back playfully. “Real fixer-upper, but with the right marketing? Could be a dream home.”

A girl nearby—Lena—snorted about being the Archivist and Happy laughed, easy and bright. Even in the undercurrent of unease, he let himself enjoy the moment, never one to let tension steal the light. But then—he noticed the air stirred. A flicker of blue flame bloomed before them, weightless, untethered. It danced in front of Happy for a moment, casting a strange glow on his face, its movement deliberate, sentient even. The tall one, Jackson, referred to it with a pet name and Happy thought that perhaps it was a living flame. A will-o'-wisp.

His breath hitched slightly as he stared at it, mesmerized. His fingers twitched toward it, drawn by something both primal and childlike, a curiosity that hummed beneath his skin. He wanted to touch it, to see if it would burn, if it was real. As the others began introducing themselves, the spell broke slightly. Happy listened, grinning as he waited for his turn. When it came, he spread his arms grandly.

“Happy Padmanabhan,” he said, voice warm and full of mirth. “The reincarnation of Rama himself.” He paused, then winced slightly. “That was a bad joke. But hey—” He held up a hand, fingers flexing, and from the air, light coalesced into a spectral bow, shimmering with something celestial. “I can make a bow out of starlight. I think it’s starlight, anyway. Still figuring that part out.” he said, allowing the bow to flicker out of existence as quickly as he had conjured it.

---

Above them, in the heavy gloom of the second-floor balcony, unseen eyes watched.

Azure Roux leaned against the rail, black mink fur swallowing him into the darkness, his presence indistinguishable from the shadows pooling at his feet. The upstairs was even less lit than below, the candlelight failing to reach the corners where time had settled thick. No one had noticed him. Not yet. He preferred it that way.

He observed them all with mild amusement, a silent collector taking stock of the odd assortment of guests. He recognized none of them—save for one.

Happy.

A peculiar name.

But for all his interest in the attendees, Azure’s true curiosity lay elsewhere. The Archivist. The unseen host of this strange gathering. Whoever they were, they had orchestrated this rendezvous, and that alone was enough to pique Azure’s intrigue.

Then—something shifted.

Down below, one of the guests—Matt—stiffened.

Azure’s violet eyes narrowed slightly. The man’s head turned, his posture tense, muscles coiled like a predator catching a scent. Azure tilted his head, intrigued. He had not expected anyone to notice him.

A low growl rumbled from Matt’s throat.

Azure let out a faint chuckle, stepping slightly forward into the faint light. “How bestial,” he murmured, voice smooth and amused. “You certainly know how to spoil the suspense.”

And then—

He stepped off the railing.

For a moment, it looked as though he would plummet, swallowed whole by the yawning space between the floors. But instead, he descended slowly, effortlessly, gravity bending to irrelevance. His coat fluttered slightly, a ripple in the air, as he hovered just above the ground, floating as though the very idea of touching the floor was beneath him.

He inclined his head in a slow, sweeping bow.

“Azure,” he greeted, voice a velvet hum. “A pleasure.”

His eyes flickered in the dim light, otherworldly and unreadable. Azure was a mystical beauty, that was undeniable. Those violet eyes of his lingered, deliberate—Belladonna, Emmy, Happy… and Matt. At the latter, his gaze sharpened with something peculiar before he drifted to the side, no longer at the center but still present, still watching.

The moment lingered just a second longer before a sharp voice shattered it.

“Will you fucking shut up for one minute?”

The words cut through the space, and Azure turned, his expression unruffled but his head tilting slightly in curiosity.

His lips curled, just ever so. “Ah. Was that meant for me?” His voice was strange, mysteric, as if he found the question itself amusing.

He was beginning to enjoy this. The pieces were shifting into place, each guest falling into position. And somewhere in the belly of this house, the Archivist waited.

This, Azure thought, would be interesting indeed.

The Symphony: Modern Magic

The Purple House

---

The Purple House stood like a stubborn memory against the passage of time, its once-grand Victorian silhouette softened by ivy and the slow creep of age. It had been slated for demolition, an old hotel too worn and weary for the modern world, but Happy Padmanabhan had helped change its fate. Through the lens of his camera, he had captured its quiet dignity—the way the stained-glass windows caught the late afternoon light, the intricate woodwork curling along the balconies, the ghosts of history lingering in its grand, sagging hallways. The images had sparked something in the town, a movement to preserve rather than erase. Now, the Purple House had a second life as a set of apartments, and Happy lived within its walls, a tenant of the history he had helped save.

Inside his small, but cozy apartment, the scent of spiced chai and something fried hung in the air, remnants of an evening well spent. The Padmanabhan siblings gathered here once a week—no matter how busy life got, no matter the excuses that could be made, this ritual remained unbroken. It was Happy’s turn to pick the activity, and he had chosen Pachisi, the age-old Indian board game that had filled their childhood with countless battles of chance and strategy. He had only one reason for picking it: he was going to beat Padma.

Well—he was going to try.

“This is rigged,” Happy declared, voice laden with mock accusation as he slapped his piece onto the board.

Padma, his older sister, arched a brow, all calm amusement as she flicked a glance at his miserable progress. “It’s not rigged, you’re just bad at it.”

Krystal and Sunil, the youngest of them, cackled in unison. Sunil, never missing an opportunity to rub salt in a wound, leaned back against the couch, arms crossed smugly. “He always says that when he’s losing.”

Jai, their older brother, barely lifted his head from where he lounged against the arm of the sofa. “Because he’s always losing.”

Happy scowled at them all, but it was more dramatic than genuine. “I don’t need this slander in my own home.”

“Oh, you do,” Padma said, rolling the dice between her fingers before letting them drop. “You definitely do.”

The room swelled with laughter, the easy kind that only existed between people who had grown up intertwined. The game had no real stakes, but to Happy, it was personal. Padma had always been better at Pachisi, always the one with an uncanny knack for strategy, and he had foolishly thought that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. They played for another hour before taking a break, the board still in place, pieces scattered mid-battle. Jai stretched, muttered something about resting his eyes, and within minutes, he was lightly snoring on the couch. Krystal and Sunil had retreated into their world, setting up a phone stand to record some social media dance clip, giggling over their choreography. Happy, however, found himself repeatedly glancing at his phone. The time. Again. And again.

Padma, ever perceptive, caught on. “Why do you keep checking the time?”

Happy hesitated before leaning in, lowering his voice. “I need to talk to you.”

Her brows knitted together, concern flickering over her face. But she didn’t press. Instead, she followed him as he stood and, with a careful glance toward their siblings, led her into the bathroom. It was the only place where conversations could be truly private in the apartment’s open layout.

Once inside, Happy shut the door, leaning against it before pulling out a letter from his pocket, holding it up like a secret he wasn’t sure he should be sharing. "I found this in my coat pocket a few days ago."

Padma snatched the parchment from his hand, unfolding the letter and scanning the words, her frown deepening. "The Archivist? Some… invitation for people with magic? At midnight?" Her head snapped up, eyes blazing with worry. "Happy, are you serious? Why didn’t you say something sooner?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, already bracing for the lecture. "Because I knew you’d react like this."

“Of course I'd react like this!" She caught herself, lowering her voice as not to alert the others. "This could be dangerous. We don’t know who this is, or what they want from you.”

“I know,” Happy admitted, taking the letter back from her and stuffing it into his pocket. “But this whole magic thing is new, and I need answers. It’s kinda weird that I can just—” He mimed pulling back a bowstring. “Summon a freaking starlight bow out of nowhere. And, like, it feels weaker at night? What’s up with that?”

Padma glared at him, “So your solution is to go meet a random stranger at midnight?”

“I mean, what if I’m, like, the descendant of Rama or something?” he joked, grinning.

Padma was not amused. “Happy, please...I know you like to make light of everything, but this isn’t funny.”

"A little funny."

"Not even a little."

She exhaled through her nose, the weight of the moment settling between them. "You’re not going alone."

"Padma—"

"No. This whole magic thing is weird as hell, and you don’t know what you’re walking into."

Happy softened. "And that’s exactly why I need to go. Besides, if something goes sideways, I have magic. You don’t. That’s why you can’t come."

She stared at him, her big sister instincts warring with logic, but eventually, she relented. "Fine. But you need to keep me updated."

"Deal. But you have to promise not to tell the others."

A pause, then a reluctant nod. "Fine."

As they stepped out of the bathroom, Jai cracked an eye open from the couch, eyeing them with suspicion. "What the hell were you two doing in there?"

"Nothing!" they both blurted at the same time.

Happy grabbed his camera bag. "Anyway, gotta go. The news station needs some last-minute shots for a developing story." He didn’t wait for further questioning, slipping out of the apartment and into the crisp night air. Outside, he adjusted the strap of his camera and was about to hop onto his electric bike when movement caught his eye.

A figure—shrouded in darkness—stood perched on the spire of the Purple House.

His breath hitched. "What the fuck?"

Before he could fully process it, the figure moved. Leapt. Inhumanly high, effortlessly bounding across rooftops before vanishing into the night. Heart hammering, Happy instinctively raised his camera and snapped a shot. When he checked the screen, the image was blurred and dark. Whatever—or whoever—it was, they remained indistinct, an enigma. He kept the photo all the same. Shaking off the unease, he climbed onto his bike and rode toward the address in the letter.

@SkaiMonday April 14th, 13 Mourningdove Lane

---

When Happy arrived at 13 Mourningdove Lane, He parked his bike off to the side, tilting his head as he took in the towering estate. “Totally not weird at all,” he muttered sarcastically, lifting his camera for a picture. A memory stirred—on his way here, he had seen a car leaving this direction, sleek and expensive. And now, in his camera’s frame, a silhouette entered the mansion.

A petite woman. Familiar. His fingers twitched. His breath caught.

He moved the camera away. “Emmy?”

The name slipped out unbidden, soft with disbelief. He saw her then, clearer now as the moonlight caught her face as she stepped into the house. He wouldn’t mistake her—his 8th grade middle school crush, the girl who had disappeared before the End of Year dance, before he had the chance to ask her. Without thinking, he slung his camera over his back and jogged forward, calling out, “Emmy!”

He barely registered the door opening and shutting behind him as he took her in, still as beautiful as he remembered—maybe even more so.

Happy grinned, boyish and effortlessly flirtatious. “Hi.”

Seeing her here dispelled any nerves he felt about coming to this strange gathering. Or rather, his nerves were replaced with a different kind. A beat of silence stretched between them before he continued. “So, it really is you. I guess you got the invitation too, huh?”

The Symphony: Modern Magic

The Purple House

---

The phone rang, sharp and insistent, breaking the hush of the town below. Azure let it ring twice before answering, cradling the device between two gloved fingers as if it were something delicate, something alive. On the other end, a woman’s voice, brittle with rage, wove curses into the night air. She spoke of wasted months, of how cruel it was to be cast aside so unceremoniously. How heartless of him, to simply not show up.

Azure listened with an expression of faint amusement, eyes half-lidded against the cold wind that curled around him like a cat. “You are lovely, darling,” he murmured, tipping his head just so, as though considering her understandable indignation. “But I realized something." he paused, letting the weight of his words seep into her like spilled ink, and stain her. "You are not my soulmate. I am not your Bridegroom. And there are far greater things at play tonight.”

A gasp, followed by something between a sob and a snarl. He silenced it with a soft hum. “I’ll wire you something for your trouble. Consider it a dinner with a ghost.” And then, with a final, perfunctory kindness, he ended the call with a whispered, “Goodnight, love.”

The phone slipped into his coat pocket, its presence forgotten the moment his fingers found the letter. A crisp envelope, edges softened from handling, wax seal broken with care. He traced the ink absently, violet eyes gleaming against the moon and city lights of Twin Pines. Below, the streets yawned wide and dark, but Azure was not there—no, he perched instead atop the finial of the Purple House, a forgotten relic of the city’s past, now a sanctuary for those who loathed the mundane. It suited him. He abhorred things without character, places without stories.

Balanced impossibly on the narrow spire, he sighed, though the sound was strange—something between wistfulness and boredom. Then, with a lazy grace, he pulled the hood of his black mink coat over his head, and the gravity around him softened, just as he willed it to.

“One step closer to the Otherworld,” he whispered, and leapt off into the night sky, letting it swallow him whole.

Monday April 14th, 13 Mourningdove Lane

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The mansion loomed, its silhouette jagged against the sky, gnarled with age and secrets. Azure touched down soundlessly upon the rooftop, black as a shadow, his body weightless as a whisper. He melted into the dark, a specter behind the great stone chimney, watching, waiting. Below, the gathering stirred—the letter’s promise unfolding in the flicker of blue lights and hushed voices.

He considered his options with idle fascination. Slip through the front door like a guest? Wait until all had gathered and slink in unseen? Or perhaps—

His gaze trailed the upper windows, their glass panes winking in the dim moonlight. A vantage point. A throne above the stage, where he could watch unseen, where he could remain untouchable. A slow smile unfurled beneath his hood. This was a game, after all. A dance of mystery and revelation, and he was always one step ahead. Or above. And somewhere in this gathering of strangeness, perhaps—just perhaps—his soulmate was waiting. Perhaps the letter, the meeting, this magic itself, had all been a sign. A beckoning from the Otherworld. But for something so precarious, he surmised he would need to be cautious before allowing himself to be revealed.

With that thought curled like smoke in his mind, Azure drifted toward the window, silent as a dream.

The Symphony: Modern Magic

Happy Padmanabhan

"Is Happy my real name? What, you think I made it up for the aesthetic?"

_______________________________________________ Khushwant "Happy" Padmanabhan | He/Him | 24 | Human, Indian-American | 5'10" | 165 lbs _______________________________________________ Easygoing _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "I may not have a fancy degree, but I can take a damn good photo. And also, like… play ‘Wonderwall’ really well." ___________________________________ [+] Photography ⫻ As a photographer for the town’s local news network, Happy has a keen eye for capturing beauty in everyday life. Whether it’s a stunning sunset over the beach or a candid moment between strangers, he finds a story in every shot. Guitar Playing ⫻ Happy is a skilled guitarist with a natural ear for music. He teaches kids how to play as a side job, preferring to make lessons fun and relaxed rather than rigid, believing music should be enjoyed, not forced. Athleticism ⫻ Happy is naturally athletic and enjoys surfing, volleyball, soccer, and basketball. He’s not the most competitive player, but he plays for the love of the game, often bringing people together through sports rather than trying to dominate. Empathy & Perception ⫻ Despite his himbo reputation, Happy is deeply intuitive and can easily pick up on people’s emotions. He has a way of making people feel comfortable and heard, even if they don’t realize they needed someone to listen. Quick Reflexes & Balance ⫻ His years of surfing and playing sports have given him excellent reflexes and balance. Whether catching a falling camera, dodging a rogue volleyball, or staying upright on his surfboard in rough waters, he moves with an effortless ease.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Everyone’s got something beautiful about them—you just gotta know where to look." You know, Happy kind of has an effortless, boy-next-door charm that makes him instantly approachable. His warm brown skin, kissed by the sun from long hours at the beach, is smooth except for the noticeable scars tracing his left leg and foot—a lasting souvenir from a surfing accident. His face is defined by a prominent nose, something he used to be self-conscious about but has since embraced as a unique part of him. Thick, expressive eyebrows frame his deep-set almond-shaped eyes, which are a rich, dark brown, almost black in certain lighting, framed by thick lashes that make them stand out. His full lips are often curved into an easy, knowing smile, the kind that puts people at ease, while his wavy black hair, thick and slightly tousled, falls just to his neck in an effortlessly cool way. Though he’s not obsessed with fashion, Happy has a distinct style—he gravitates toward silk shirts or anything soft and breathable, favoring comfort over name brands. His lean, toned frame, built from years of surfing, soccer, basketball and volleyball, fits well into relaxed, well-fitting clothes that move with him. He’s rarely seen without his glasses, round frames that sit comfortably on his nose since he can’t stand the feel of contacts. A thin gold chain rests against his collarbone, matching the small golden earrings that glint subtly in the light. Beneath his shirt, a dusting of hair decorates his chest, something he’s indifferent about but wouldn’t bother shaving. Altogether, Happy carries himself with an easy confidence—not the kind that demands attention, but the kind that makes people feel like they’ve known him forever.

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"Dude, life’s too short to stress about things you can’t control. Just relax and ride the wave."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ To be honest, Happy doesn’t have a grand, meticulously planned-out life goal—he just wants to live a fulfilling life doing what he loves. He wants to capture the world’s beauty through his photography, inspire joy in others, and maybe, someday, find a place (or a person) where he truly belongs. While he enjoys teaching guitar and working as a photographer for the local news network, his real dream is to travel and document the world through his lens. Perhaps become a famous documentarist.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻
Happy believes in going with the flow, trusting that things will work out in the end. He sees beauty in the little things—sunsets, laughter, the way light catches in someone's eyes—and believes that happiness is about appreciating those fleeting moments. He thinks people take life too seriously, and while he doesn’t ignore hardships, he prefers to sidestep negativity rather than dwell on it.

SECRETS AND FEARS ⫻ Despite his easygoing nature, Happy fears failure—not in the traditional sense, but in a deeper, existential way. He worries that one day he’ll look back and realize he never truly chose a path, that he drifted through life without ever making something of himself. He also avoids emotional vulnerability, fearing that if he stops running from his problems, they’ll finally catch up to him. Secretly, he sometimes wonders if people only like him for his good vibes and not for who he really is underneath.

Also, he has a kid, though his kid stays with the baby mama. He doesn't reveal this to people often cause who would be interested in him once they find out he has a 6 year-old son?

SEXUALITY ⫻ Happy's mostly been into women all his life. It's not something he's given much thought. But if you were to ask him, he'd probably identify as bisexual or pansexual. He's kissed a few boys in the past and wasn't mad at it, even if it wasn't his first choice. He's more about connection than anything else, drawn to people who make him feel alive and free. Happy flirts effortlessly, but genuine, deep emotional intimacy is something he’s still learning to navigate.

"Listen, I’m not saying I have commitment issues… but my longest relationship is with my camera."

WHAT WAS THE FIRST DAY WITH MAGIC LIKE? ⫻ Happy’s first day with his Starlight Knight magic was unexpected and chaotic, unfolding during a friendly volleyball match at the beach. As he leaped into the air to spike the ball, a surge of cosmic energy coursed through him, and in an instant, wings of shimmering starlight erupted from his back. At the same time, a bow of glowing starlight appeared in his hands, perfectly formed but unfamiliar. For a brief, breathtaking moment, he hovered in mid-air, the ball forgotten, as he stared at the ethereal wings that kept him afloat. The magic faded almost as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him plummeting back to the sand, stunned and breathless. The rest of his teammates were too caught up in their own game to notice, but Happy was left reeling, caught between awe and confusion about what had just happened.

FLAWS ⫻ He has a tendency to run from his problems rather than face them head-on. Happy would much rather avoid confrontation, often laughing things off or distracting himself instead of dealing with difficult emotions. While his easygoing nature makes him well-liked, it can also make him seem unreliable when things get tough. Despite being more perceptive than people give him credit for, he downplays his own intelligence, sometimes selling himself short or not pushing himself toward greater ambitions. Happy's optimism, while a strength, can also make him a little naïve, trusting people too easily or giving them the benefit of the doubt even when they don’t deserve it.

_{Backstory
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"Sometimes I wish I could just go back to simpler days, before everything got so... complicated."

Happy Padmanabhan was born in the small town of Twin Pines to second-generation Indian parents, a place where time seems to meander very slowly. His childhood was soft, laced with the hum of distant laughter and the warm light of a life without great tumult. The kind of childhood that was peaceful in its mediocrity, yet the subtle weight of being the middle child clung to him. Not ignored, per se, but often drifting between the shadows of his older siblings’ expectations and the demands of his younger siblings’ needs.

It was in this in-between space that Happy found his refuge—not in the confines of family duty, but in the open, welcoming arms of his hobbies and friends. The world of sports, photography, and music became his escape, his solace. With a camera in hand and a guitar at his fingertips, Happy could vanish into his own world, one where he could shape his own narrative.

During his senior year of high school at the ripe age of 18, life handed him a twist he wasn’t prepared for—a short-lived fling, a fleeting romance that ended with an unexpected consequence: fatherhood. He became the father of Ravi, a son born of a brief relationship that faded as quickly as it had begun. The baby mama and their son lived in a neighboring town, and though Happy’s heart ached with the pull of fatherhood, he remained on the periphery of their lives, an occasional visitor, trying to reconcile with the idea of what could have been. Still, he moved forward; a high-school dropout carving out a life for himself in the town that had shaped him.

As he stumbled into adulthood, Happy found an unexpected break when his passion for photography turned into a job. Through a freelance gig capturing images of Twin Pines' town history for a local preservation effort, Happy got a chance to save a historic building—the old hotel that had long been a centerpiece of the town but was facing demolition. His photographs helped garner enough attention to keep the building standing, and the news director, impressed by his eye for detail, offered him a job as a photographer for the local news channel.

But the pay was pitiful.

To make ends meet, Happy took up teaching guitar to local kids, his easygoing demeanor and natural teaching style making him a beloved instructor. Yet, still, his income just barely exceeded his bills—he lived simply in a cramped apartment in the old hotel he had helped preserve.

But life, ever unpredictable, had more in store. During a friendly volleyball match at the beach, Happy’s world shifted in an instant. As he jumped to spike the ball, something within him sparked—an uncontrollable surge of celestial power. Before he knew it, wings of starlight burst from his back, and a glowing bow appeared in his hands. Hovering mid-air, momentarily suspended by the cosmic energy, he released the ball with an odd kind of precision, the wings and bow vanishing just as quickly as they had come. The magic faded, but the weight of that moment lingered. Happy stood there, dumbstruck, unsure of what he had just experienced.

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"It's strange, you know? This starlight—it feels like it’s always been a part of me."

MAGIC ⫻ Starlight Knight; This magic grants Happy a radiant, angelic form, allowing him to fly with wings of starlight, wield a bow, sword, and shield made of this pure cosmic energy, and heal others with his touch.

MAGIC DESCRIPTION ⫻

They call it Starlight Knight—a gift of radiant divinity that wraps Happy in a celestial glow, lifting him beyond mortal bounds. When summoned, wings of pure, iridescent starlight unfurl from his back, their brilliance casting long, golden shadows as he takes to the sky. In his grasp, a bow forms—its string humming with power, loosing arrows of raw luminescence that streak through the air like falling stars, striking with unerring precision. When battle demands it, a sword and shield of the same sacred, cosmic energy manifest at his will, their edges gleaming with an ethereal sharpness that can cut through darkness itself. Yet, for all its might, Starlight Knight is not just a weapon—it is mercy. From his hands emanates a healing starry radiance, mending wounds, soothing pain, restoring what was broken. Starlight, in its truest form, both shields and strikes, destroys and redeems. And in Happy’s hands, it does both.

At The Start of the Story

For now, Happy can only manifest the Starlight Bow and his aim isn't always accurate, though being naturally athletic and playing sports like Basketball and Volleyball, he's got decent aim. He hasn't been able to manifest the Starlight Wings again since they appeared the first time during the volleyball match and he doesn't even know he will eventually be able to heal others and manifest a Starlight Sword and Shield. In due time...

LIMITS ⫻ Maintaining his angelic form drains Happy’s stamina rapidly, forcing him to pace himself in battle. His wings, while granting him flight, are not invincible—strong attacks can disrupt his airborne movement or even force him to land. The starlight-formed bow and sword require precision and focus, meaning reckless or panicked attacks weaken their effectiveness. Healing others is equally taxing, as it draws from his own celestial energy, leaving him physically exhausted if overused.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ The Starlight Knight is a power that is at it's strongest during the day, and weakest during the dark of night. This power draws additional strength from the ambient light available and thus, it will be important for Happy to remember to utilize the strengths during the day and account for its weakness at night.

^{Other
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"I’d rather be happy than perfect any day. See what I did there?"

MISQ SECTION