[center][hider=Evelyn Calistar]
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[color=#ecb5b6][sup]__________________________________________[/sup][/color] 
[sub][COLOR=#beafd9]31     [color=#ecb5b6][b]|[/b][/color]     Simulacrum     [color=#beafd9][b]|[/b][/color]     Wife
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Kingdom: Aurelia 
[color=#beafd9][sup]__________________________________________[/sup][/color]
[color=#cbd9af]Magic Specialty: [s]Blood[/s], Earth, Healing, Enchantment(?)[/color]
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	[COLOR=SILVER]✧ [B]Height –[/B][COLOR=#beafd9] 5’4”[/COLOR]
	✧ [b]Build –[/b][COLOR=#beafd9] Hourglass[/COLOR]
	✧ [b]Eye Color –[/b][COLOR=#ecb5b6] Grey[/COLOR]
	✧ [b]Hair Color –[/b][COLOR=#ecb5b6] Grey/White[/COLOR]
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[/cell][cell][color=#ecb5b6][b][sub]B I O G R A P H Y[/sub][/b][/COLOR] 
[sub]


How many in this world can be said to have a second chance at life? How few are those who have received the blessing of being in the right time, the right place, to be so loved, and so cherished that those around them might refuse to see them go so soon? Not many are so lucky…

[COLOR=#cbd9af][b]Ꭰ Ꮵ Ꮈ Ꮝ Ꭹ  Ꭹ Ꮆ Ꭿ  Ꭸ Ꮢ Ꭲ[/b][/color]

[sub]It is said that the Anigilohi clan bears ancestral ties to a clan whose very name is all that survives in the memory Anigadusi’i—The Hill Folk. It is said, then, that the Anikutani were a clan who exercised hegemonic control over the clerical and spiritual positions of the Anigadusi’i, and were corrupt, and were corrupted by it. In those long ago days, the Anigadusi’i threw the guilty Anikutani down from their highland home and cursed their memories forevermore. Though the Anigadusi’i have long since cast these painful days into the fire, and pulled from that fire the Anigilohi, Anikutani blood still runs through the veins of the Anigilohi—the clan who adopts those with no clan left. How it does has been intentionally forgotten by the Anigadusi’i, but it runs all the same.

And every so often, someone else, someone from another people of Aurelia who did not see fit to cast those memories and the people who made them into the fire, pulls at these ashes and tries to make something out of them. 

Such is the case with the tragedy of Ajilvsgi “Evanthia”, the daughter of Wadulisi “Meliton” and Siyana Namalya. Although it can never be said that her life was smooth or certain, for her father’s kin expected him to go off and join her mother’s kin, and her mother’s kin just the opposite, as was their way, and for how Ajilvsgi showed potential for the rare art of enchantment from a young age—potential which her parents sought to encourage, and which she sought to pursue—only for her to be turned down at every step of the way when searching for a master from whom she could learn, Ajilvsgi had once been faced with a very different life than what would befall her.

It happened that her mother could find little grounding in Aurelia, for she was of Lunarian blood, and that Ajilvsgi was adopted into her father’s clan, the Anigilohi. The Ajilvsgi of those days was growing into a confident, happy, optimistic young woman—one slowly finding her place in the world and coming to appreciate it.

That was, until the dream of enchantment resurfaced in the form of Lord Calistar. He had, when she and her parents had originally sought an apprenticeship for her with him, turned her down. And yet, five years later, he came asking for her to come to his house and study under him, insisting that she should do so. Of course, how could one refuse such an opportunity, even so late? Ajilvsgi had, after all, already been doing her best to learn to use her potential for enchantment to the best of her abilities, but without someone to guide her, five years of doing her level best had not amounted to much. So off Ajilvsgi went to study under him.

Scarcely could she, or indeed could her parents or her clan, have imagined that the reason for the change in circumstances was not from Lord Calistar being older and now ready for an apprentice, but for how he sought to dredge up an ancient past—one which Ajilvsgi herself scarcely knew of until confronted with a meticulously-crafted family tree, compiled from records plucked from across Aurelia. How could anyone respond to one’s dreams being pierced by such a truth, that the one one aspired to learn a precious art from instead intended to draw out some ancient potential for evil that lurked within? Ajilvsgi bargained, pleaded, and eventually resolved that she would try her best, understanding that it was Lord Calistar’s hope to use this dark art only to help his ailing wife, if only so that she could learn enchantment as well from such a skilled master.

And so it began. Before this, Ajilvsgi had rendered her name as Anthia for Aurelians. But recognizing her potential, her willingness to “help”, and to make it better suited to a noble student, so Lord Calister reasoned, Ajilvsgi received the name Evanthia, for she was not only one who would bloom, but one who would bloom well. 

Indeed, she did bloom well. Blood magic is scarcely a simple art—in all respects, it is dangerous and volatile. For this and for many other reasons, it has long been a forbidden art. Yet, as one could imagine, Evanthia took to the dark art as one who had such a potential deep within her bones would be expected to. She was at once a ready, efficient student, and a miserable bearer of a burden which tore at her from within and without. And of course, it never did help that Blood magic was never meant to be a means to heal. 

Lord Calistar was never so narrow-minded as to allow himself to be hemmed in by the gods’ lack of imagination, of course.

So Evanthia propped Evelyn up, siphoning from herself to give to the ever-ailing, ever unhealable wife of her teacher. The gift of life was to be given by any means, and so many a night, like family, Evanthia, the Lord, and the Lady found themselves sharing the same room, as Evanthia laid slumped against the bed, Lord Calistar fanned his student, and Lady Calistar scolded her husband for convincing the poor girl to sacrifice another shard of her life for her.

Evanthia could never offer enough. Only the best blood for Lady Calistar, using Evanthia as a conduit, would do. And Evanthia, day after day, tried her hardest to be that conduit, to do the chores Lord Calistar asked in exchange for sharing his enchantment talents. The young student could hardly keep up. Smoking tobacco every moment she was away from Evelyn, drinking coffee like water, Ajilvsgi, barely more than a child, surely not an adult, held on for dear life, even has her bones ached, even as the blood pooled and clung to scars which now felt native to her hands, hoping only to cling to that precious approval Lord Calistar lavished on his student at every moment she could inspire a day’s more life within his beloved.

But blood magic was never meant for this. It is against its nature. It does not give, only take. And how it has taken again. For when it could not keep Evelyn’s body longer, Lord Calistar flew into a frenzy, and created something new. With Evanthia’s help, he fashioned an enchanted body, a precious heart to house a soul for as long as it needed, a warm touch—a simulation of Evelyn, made to become the real thing. 

As Winter Solstice approached, the attempts grew more desperate. The workshop’s floor was irreparably stained with blood—blood from Evanthia, from blightborn, from all sorts, but never from Evelyn. For that blood was precious. For that blood was irreplaceable. And if Solstice were allowed to pass without bringing Evelyn’s soul into its new body? There would be no use anyway. A little push was all Evanthia needed. A little bit more blood. The ritual demanded more.

Evanthia was never really given a choice in the end. But the ritual got more. And Virgal got what he wanted, didn’t he? Never mind that Evanthia’s body needed to be cremated before her family could see the runes hidden beneath her sleeves, or markings that she could not have made with her own knife…[/sub]

[COLOR=#cbd9af][b]“W H O  A M  I”[/b][/color]
[sub][color=firebrick]“Eve, my sweet Evelyn. My wife, my better half. You want to know who you are?

You are a noble lady first and foremost, beauty, elegance and grace of an enviable level. Your external beauty, as great as it is, does not compare to the internal. You are passionate and thoughtful. Imaginative and with the keenest eye for detail and fashion I have ever seen. You are a trend setter, not a follower and you have never been afraid to break the rules when it comes to matters of the heart.

You are strong and independent, even when you were ill you didn't let people cause a fuss over you. Not much anyway.

Of all the curves on your body my favourite will always your Smile.”[/color][/sub]


[i]How many can be so lucky to be so loved? Even if they can’t remember quite what it feels like, or how they’re meant to feel about it at all.[/i]
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[color=#ecb5b6][b][sub]S I M U L A C R U M[/sub][/b][/COLOR] 
[sub]Only a few months ago, few could have imagined what Virgal’s beloved was hiding beneath her skin. Or rather, what was said to be her skin. But it is uncomfortably clear, as the ravages of a journey with insufficient blood have revealed, that she is anything but the human he proclaimed her to be. Can a human’s face crack? Can it reveal, past half-rotten, inhuman tissue, an interior of heated metal? It cannot, for what Evelyn is, or perhaps what is said to be Evelyn, is an unholy sheathing of magnolia twisted to resemble skin, covering enchanted metal forced to obey a vile union of enchantment and blood-magic runes. There is something human in that artificial core, or at least trying to be. But that’s likely all the humanity left in Virgal’s masterpiece.


[COLOR=#ecb5b6][b]Abilities:[/b][/color] Evelyn, on a good day, is everything that one might expect from a forbidden construct of steel. She does not tire. She does not ache. She does not grow sick, nor is she troubled by most sources of discomfort at all. Were she to cease breathing, she would only become cold for that the little oil fire that keeps her skin a pleasant warmth would be extinguished. She has the strength that something made with absolute intentions towards perfection would be apt to bear. She has absolute control over her movements, if she should so choose, even when those appendages should be detached from her, by choice or otherwise. The bindings of life, of mortality, hold no sway over her, in such ways that she is perhaps freer from death than even the blightborn.

[COLOR=#ecb5b6][b]Weaknesses:[/b][/color] Or so one had hoped. A skin made of flowers is easy for the darkness to conquer. For the cold to conquer. The facade of humanity is ever-harder to cling to. And so it seems, all of this magnificence was wrapped up in the gift of magic Aelios had provided—a gift she offers no longer. Evelyn holds that facade of humanity tightly, as tightly as she can. But only Virgal knows how to put the mask back on when it slips. If her magnolia skin cannot feel the light, then it demands magic. And to keep enough magic to sustain them, Evelyn needs blood. The core demands it. Seluna laughs at this mockery, saying, “And who are you to defy my sister? Since you have been so flippant with life, now enjoy the trappings of undeath, as the blightborn do!” If only the blood did not stir little flashes of lives forgotten when it comes time to refresh the foliage.
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