Rockette

Olympus Academy // A School for Demigods and Demigoddesses

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𝚒 𝚠 𝚒 𝚕 𝚕 𝚏 𝚕 𝚢 𝚏 𝚘 𝚛 𝚝 𝚑 𝚎 𝚗 𝚒 𝚐 𝚑 𝚝 𝚏 𝚘 𝚛 𝚢 𝚘 𝚞</sub>

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While everyone around seemed fixated on either finding their friends they haven’t seen in the three months since the end of the last semester or figuring out exactly who their new roommates were, Damien was stuck. He was stuck because he knew who his roommate was, or at least he knew who she was by reputation. Her name wasn’t a common one: Persephone, the name that was shared with only one other person and that person currently lived in the Underworld. How vain was Demeter?

Honesty to the Gods, as he stood as far away from the crowd of overexcitable neanderthals, especially the Sons of Sun and Bloodthirst, Damien found himself in deep thought that he had not yet noticed his sister making her way towards him. Even worse on his part, he had not yet realized that she was full of silver tears. To him, seeing her shed those drops from her eyes wasn’t something he could bear. But he knew what those were tears of. He knew to see him after so long was like the wave of joy she couldn’t handle, so the overwhelming feeling came bursting through the surface.

He waited for her to finally get close enough so that he could hug her. His embrace was always the trick he knew to get her to calm down. Once he was confident she was no longer in a place where she was a soaking mess, he let her go. When he saw her pale face again, he had hoped no more droplets were present and she would return him a smile with one of her own.

“Now, stop that mess. It didn’t take you that long to find me, but aren’t you curious about your new roommate?” He asked her. There was both a slightly teasing tone in his voice as well as a trace of genuine curiosity. She couldn’t have gotten the short end of the stick. That right was reserved for Damien.

Her relief was instantaneous; a smattering of glimmering stars bursting with an abundance of silver radiance pinged with glittering dust that feathered soot lashes and dotted pale cheeks lifted upon her grin. Emma's gaze was a ritual of warmth and a night sky in unison, simultaneously aglow in adoration and alight in the loyalty of the moon suspended above her crown, for he was her centre of gravity. And here, with her grasp scooped against his spine, clinging on just a little tighter, for just a little longer, her shadow pooled upon their heels, conjoined to his own to form a singular eclipse of a reflection of the bond these children of night personified shared. Emma's lilting rejoinder was sounded upon the bell crest of her laughter, sharp and appealing, a chime of cheer that lifted those literal shadows suspended upon her like till they fell, twirling absently upon an unseen wind as feathers of the void.

"I've missed you." And it was genuine in her praise, the way she clutched upon his gestures, fingers twined, endearment colouring her delicate voice something bright, honest, and yet fleeting. However his following inquiry bid her pause, and anything else to be shared suddenly dismissed. Slowly, her head canted, dropping loose strands across her brow as it twisted and then fell. Had she even glanced at the sheaf of paper that told her of her place, and then, her eyes lifted wide; alarmed, almost panicked and pinched on the border of her lashes still adorned in silver.

"Would they not room us together?" She breathed, for sheer madness would be told otherwise. With a flourish of leather and black, Emma dropped Damien's hold and panned her gaze low, landing upon her name and another that was not his. "Aiden Weinmann?" The solid pronunciation of his moniker snapped her teeth together beyond pale lips, bone upon flesh in contortion, her posture gone taut and wound with a whimper slipping jaggedly from her throat.

"I don't -- I don't. Why?"

“That’s what I would like to know,” he muttered to what he thought was quietly, but clearly, it wasn’t.

He couldn’t help but notice just how displeased Emma was with the roommate arrangements. Damien felt similarly, though in his case, his roommate, Persephone Neotera, was completely unknown to him. The only thing he knew about her was she was the Daughter of Demeter and she was a pale blonde. Maybe that was for the better. In the case of Aiden, Damien didn’t really have any feelings about him one way or the other. He was an idiot who lived too much like his father. He didn’t like that his sister was going to be forced into a living situation with him. As he let out a heavy sigh, Damien pressed his hand between his temples in an attempt to distract himself from his shared disappointment with his sister.

“I guess they wanted to be unique and creative. This experiment will fail. But hey, at least your roommate isn’t completely unknown. You know what you’re going to get with Aiden. Meanwhile, mine is a blank canvas. I envy you, sister.”

Did she know him? Did she --
Wait. Did he know of her?

There was a chasm of doubt that splintered across her veneer as a supernova, glittering specks of silver that bled ebony shadows within her eyes, fracturing into worry and intensity as paper crinkled and shredded within her grasp, her nails slicing through her own name; impaled upon her epitaph. She didn't even bother to make note of her apartment number.

"I don't want to be an experiment," she spat, her voice seethes, her shadow writhes and blooms far and wide, coiling upon a frenzy as she despairs over their circumstance. Her head shakes, dispelling a boiling void that's threatening to clamour upon her soul, twisted silver charms twinkling upon her distress.

"But - who is yours?" Emma utters, her lips twined into a frown, letting shreds of paper descend upon scuffed leather, her head bowed then.

“Persephone Neotera,” he recited. The name was embedded into his memory. He must have read it a few times just so he could know who she was. It was annoying for him. Anyone else would have been just fine. The lack of knowing anything about her was honestly driving Damien up a wall (so to speak). “It’s clear as day she’s Demeter’s daughter. That name isn’t exactly common.”

"I -" she glanced away, animated eyes of woeful starlight flickering among the students, searching, probing, landing upon each for milliseconds before flashing away on pings of silver. "- see..."

"Should we - can't we change it?" Emma inquired, knowing the answer long before such parted from her lips in hushed murmurs. Instead, she knotted her fingers upon the thin chain draped over her nape, thumb caressing over tarnished heirlooms and refused to meet Damien's eyes should he see the wake of turmoil in her own stare. She sighed, dejected for that moment and said:

"I guess I should go find him -- Aiden," she reminds herself on a whisper, though her body does not move and she makes no effort to glance once more upon the crowd.

Damien had known her to be quite reserved in a lot of instances, but something was up. At first, he thought she just missed him so much and perhaps that's why she has been acting weirdly, but now it seemed like she was downright avoiding any direct eye contact. Had it been out of her control, then maybe he wouldn't have an essential eyebrow arched in suspicion, but Damien knew his sister and something was up.

"Oh, no you don't, not yet." Damien stopped her from leaving as a hand landed on her slender shoulder. "Talk to me. What's going on?" He politely demanded to know.

"Nothing," she immediately distresses, vocals taut and voice strained, eyes finally meeting blue-blue eyes mysteriously aglow. Emma recoils, briefly, shoulder flinching under the press of his palm as if burned. Though she twines her fingers there, looping their gestures and squeezes just so, trying to reassure him. To reassure herself. She doesn't know if it works.

"I just don't like this. Being housed apart. Curious experiments or no." She admits on a soft voice.

"You're not alone there, Emma," Damien found himself admitting.

The exchange of a mutually-displeased gaze met Emma's. Even after it was all said and done, Damien didn't like it. If nothing else, he was worried about his sister. Knowing full and well what could potentially happen if he wasn't around drove gut-wrenching distress through his body. It wasn't so much that he was worried about Aiden whatshisface was going to hurt her, it was more about how he knew his sister well enough to know that being away from him was the worst thing. Maybe it was Damien just feeling protective over her.

"This may suck, but there's a silver lining," he said, smiling assuringly at her. Damien pulled out the paper and looked over the information for a brief moment. "The layouts of the buildings has us directly across from each other. So if Aiden gives you any problems, I won't be far. And if he has any problem with that, I'll just kick his ass." A laugh followed that comment.

Tucking a lock of black behind her pierced ear, Emma too glanced over the paper, forgetting at that moment that she had shredded her own which was drifting around her feet in the catches of her twirling shadow. He was right, these assignments at least had them near one another, yet so very far apart, and though it did little to ease the stress of anxiety fisting around her heart and choking her lungs in a vice, she could at least be assuaged by knowing he'd be there. Close. Exactly where she needed him.

And so, she laughs. Bells matching baritone laughter, merry spurts of happiness that paints her eyes alive in twinkling light. It's a threat he has brandished many times, to countless men who have approached her, and it does something to her spirits now lifted.

"Thank you, Damien." And she means it, with every bit of her glimmering smile.

&&𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑.

@SweetOwlette



^{&& click raw to receive the code.}

Olympus Academy // A School for Demigods and Demigoddesses

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𝚢 𝚘 𝚞 𝚠 𝚎 𝚛 𝚎 𝚝 𝚑 𝚎 𝚕 𝚒 𝚐 𝚑 𝚝 𝚝 𝚑 𝚊 𝚝 𝚜 𝚑 𝚘 𝚝 𝚝 𝚑 𝚛 𝚘 𝚞 𝚐 𝚑 𝚝 𝚑 𝚎 𝚍 𝚊 𝚛 𝚔 𝚗 𝚎 𝚜 𝚜</sub>

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She had left the house just as he had: plywood against glass, velvet curtains whispering against old, Victorian wood a dull, chipped beige bruised with weather and time and eroded in places that wept with the rain. The records were stacked to the ceiling, instruments kept to the walls atop one another, tacked high above her crown where as a child she had gazed upon them with a strong, firm hand sweeping through her locks, teasing and playful and there a sad smile that never quite reached his eyes. A young Emma never touched their likeness, yet here in her farewell she caressed aged casings and strummed over taut strings that hummed beneath her graces. A solemn goodbye parted from her lips and eyes twinkling in the crisp hours of an early day, the night suspended in fog and a moist breeze that promised an early Autumn. Starlight shined bright upon unshed tears, a sorrow that eclipsed her bitterly in throes of malice, a shadow that haunted her steps even as she left the house once more upon the summons of her crippling birthright. In her grasp she clutched tarnished silver and uttered a prayer, one whispered in a mantra and murmured into her ear every night she dreamed or told desperately to her by the only man alive who could touch her without succumbing to the turmoil of power quaking 'neath her breast.

Upon his thought, the likeness she adored and loved bloomed within her mind; warmth and devotion, a bond of kinship and something more that simmered there in hearts of night and darkness. At her booted heels of scuffed leather and silver, her shadow shuddered and twined itself upon her shoulders in the mock embraces of her brother, and in the void upon her nape stars shone brightly within the suspension of a black hole.

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The Academy's splendor never ceased with each semester, it hung prettily within a glow of mythic embellishment, where if she canted her head just so, the shimmering, kaleidoscope barrier maintained by the goddess who was wreathed in misconception as much as her own mother was seen in a myriad of pastel, rainbow hues. They maintained the presence of nightly wonders and Nyx whispered tales and stories where she spoke with her many moons upon the crossroads she guarded with torchlight and key. Emma slung worn, beaten leather over her shoulders and exhaled steadily, allowing the comfort to settle against the off colour sweater she wore, a shade suspended somewhere betwixt white and pale yellow that cupped to dainty shoulders with ebony lace peeking from the twist of coal tresses barely contained. Through the phases of introductions, this daughter of Nyx skirted the grounds with her luggage carted behind her, hands twisted through a black chain, matte black nails prickling against her sallow skin with every trudge of her boots towards the Hestia proper. Starlight eyes ticked critically, oblique observations as she watched the castings of shadows from the buildings and searched in vain for her brother -- they hadn't really spoken all summer, something desperate and raw that left their last year tasting much like soot and ash on her tongue from his widely known offense of power during a yearly soiree.

Emma had taken upon his rage with a gluttonous purpose, digesting the emote of tragedy and felt within her heart the might of his wildly bidden heart. It was a glimpse into his soul that still left her within disparity, for even with her spirit and hand woven to his, Damien was still lonely.

A breath of a sigh whistled from parted lips the same instance the heavens boomed and summoned her to the Ares Colosseum, the likeness of the Headmistress's bust glared down upon her, a stern reproach awaiting any and all. Emma cast her eyes upon her belongings with a pinched expression, her grace of touch over each carrier before others began to file in pursuit and thus she followed, barely noticing the man off to her right with hair spun of gold. The trinkets within his locks caught the sunlight purposely, thin rings woven onto thick braids and a whipping tail that brushed across broad shoulders and dipped between his blades. Emma's breath caught the moment their figures brushed, and she saw scarlet twine woven thrice around his neck and coiled within his clutch, she felt the configurations of chains upon his heart and panted around the brightness of his figure suddenly ablaze.

---

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𝚜 𝚞 𝚏 𝚏 𝚎 𝚛 𝚜 𝚕 𝚘 𝚠 𝚕 𝚢 𝚖 𝚢 𝚍 𝚎 𝚊 𝚛 𝚜 𝚘 𝚝 𝚑 𝚊 𝚝 𝚠 𝚎 𝚖 𝚒 𝚐 𝚑 𝚝 𝚔 𝚗 𝚘 𝚠 𝚑 𝚘 𝚠 𝚕 𝚒 𝚏 𝚎 𝚎 𝚗 𝚍 𝚜</sub>

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Avem Vogel had known the endeavors of his half-sister Helena's project weeks prior to her summons -- he refused on most days to acknowledge her mantle of Headmistress -- and already secured his area of the shared apartment. When one lived at the Academy their whole life, it was just a manner of shedding skin and living through the motions of his foreseen existence, Hera had once told him it was only fitting he change rooms every year, despite protests, and he had obeyed without question. Though, he had done a little investigating through the offices of his superiors, had glanced over the profile of his alleged roommate in advance and pondered on her mannerisms. Thin in the balletic grace of a bi-mortal child with a dour expression, she appeared almost eternally pensive, the sort of woman that hid beneath a stubborn glamour with enough bite to even break him into hesitation. Avem had taken in auburn locks and brown eyes set prettily within a square face that hinted towards a womanly beauty that she had not quite tapped into and uttered her name in silence; a child of Artemis. Irony coated his teeth, prompted a prod from his golden tongue and a press against his pouted lip, he wondered then if his mother knew of Helena's supposed experiment and would she find it just as paradoxical as he that he would be paired with a child of the hunt and moon.

Helena had known he would find out, she had bitterly foretold his scheming with her belittling twinge of voice, often greeting him with sardonic charms that were baited upon his eternal inquiry of: didn't she find it amusing to marry a son of Zeus? What would Hera say? He asks, bubbling laughter and nebula adorned eyes whipped with gold and sapphire, his stance open and wide for her scathing repertoire. She would never rejoin his derisive attempts and even now with her image emblazoned upon the sky, he could feel the iron adorned fist she would bring upon his head should he decline. He breathed, whistling breath through his pierced nose and brushed invisible dust from his broadly set shoulders clad in dark quarter sleeves, the threads of his blouse dyed a royal blue and pants black on black. It looks wonderful upon you, Hera once said, and Avem took to her praises with ease and eager grace. With his hair swept half up and down, decorated in gold, and wrists loosely adorned in brass, Avem plodded towards the Collesuem and hardly noticed the shadow wreathed figure coming upon his flank.

They touched, briefly, a singular breadth of contact that elicited a gasp from both, heavy threads of aphotic dread clung to her profile, sopping wet with shadows and the night sky, starlight blinding and then --

"Oh! I'm sorry - uhm." She flinched, those eyes of a night sky unmoving the moment Avem reached out, steadying her slight figure. He knew immediately who she was by the drape of leather and shadows over her grace and the uttered rumours of her rather unhinged brother, he wonders then, if he were here now, would he strike him down for righting her?

"No harm," he whispers, releasing her arm, unable to dispell that vision of a gaping sky and the thrum of powers quivering beneath her skin. His own flesh was aglow in golden light, subdued in relation to her expressive shadow cast at her heels in a wide, churning whorl. His brow quirked, slight, his lips poised in an inquiry to her state of sudden unease until the summons repeated once more, drawing a sigh from his chest that bespoke of his exasperation. Instead, he swept his gesture broadly and allowed her forward, he hardly noticed that she toed away from him, keeping a full three feet away from his tall, muscled figure.

"Shall we, Ms. Laurent?"

^{_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

They were among the throng of shuffling demigods, those that had debated and pondered among the means of the assembly so early within the return of the semester and had hurried during the Headmistress' recycled summons. A queer pair, gold and black, a child of Hera and one of Nyx, goddesses that ruled opposite realms and with glaringly different agendas and approaches. Avem glanced down, among the twists of her ebony hair there were faint pings of light, glittering dust that disappeared as soon as he saw them, but then he noticed the way her eyes raked through the crowd; up, down, sweeping left to right until they suddenly became lightened with silver ribbons. He followed her hope-filled gaze to Damien seated above, however, the press of bodies prevented her from little else, but only a small, bell-like sound of happiness that bubbled in her chain adorned throat. No sooner than when she found him did the gathering begin, and there were admissions of surprise and some with disbelief, colourful words spilled from lips as Helena summoned them all forward. Her smile twisted around his name, slick and red, the same aplomb she used in her pretty speeches dropping an octave to something ill and sick.

Their eyes met and he rose to the challenge, his smile broad and bone white.

Emma was already standing at attention, hands folded primly afront and her shadow oozing, trickling in waves across her steps as it reached for Damien called immediately after her. Avem already found Kelsey among the students, his marbled eyes coming to rest upon his other sister next, one like him in many ways and alike their mother in more; she was beautiful in a harsh way, swift lines and words and a crown of lies upon her head just like his. His expression soured, briefly, lips twisted when he saw the usual company she kept and the way she greeted them, juvenile he thinks. Her preferences were what they were, he supposed, his posture waning until he stood, hands tucked and presence withdrawing as he simply watched.

His roommate -- Kelsey, he amends -- busied herself with planning a night of debauchery, if her conversating with Dustyn was any indication towards her endeavors and habits. Avem's simper lifted at that, for who did not know of the children of Dionysus and their particular delights of all things carnal. And so he slunk closer upon the fringes of those gathered, whispers of parties and dalliances abound, his eyes and ears never missing anything and the threads that bound everyone together within a plethora of blinding colours. He breathes, taking in the wealth of teachings from his mother, the rememberance harsh and bold, her tutelage pristine and said --

"Excuse me, ladies."

Somewhere behind him, a hopefull sister greeted her brother with tearful smiles and twinkling eyes.

Olympus Academy // A School for Demigods and Demigoddesses

𝚎𝚖𝚖𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 && 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚢𝚡.

<sub>_______________________________________________________________________________________

𝚢 𝚘 𝚞 𝚠 𝚎 𝚛 𝚎 𝚝 𝚑 𝚎 𝚕 𝚒 𝚐 𝚑 𝚝 𝚝 𝚑 𝚊 𝚝 𝚜 𝚑 𝚘 𝚝 𝚝 𝚑 𝚛 𝚘 𝚞 𝚐 𝚑 𝚝 𝚑 𝚎 𝚍 𝚊 𝚛 𝚔 𝚗 𝚎 𝚜 𝚜</sub>

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^{𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚘𝚗𝚎 -- 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟸𝟷𝚜𝚝 ◆ 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 ◆ 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 ◆ 𝟻𝚘% 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚔 -- 𝟸𝟻& 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 -- 𝟸𝟻% 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 ◆ 𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛}

^_______Ａ Ｐ Ｐ Ｅ Ａ Ｒ Ａ Ｎ Ｃ Ｅ^{_______________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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.</sub>

^_______Ｐ Ｅ Ｒ Ｓ Ｏ Ｎ Ａ Ｌ Ｉ Ｔ Ｙ^{____________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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.</sub>

^_______Ｈ Ｉ Ｓ Ｔ Ｏ Ｒ Ｙ^{_________________________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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."</sub>

_{"𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 ; 𝚒 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞." && 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 -- 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑}

^_______Ｇ Ｏ Ｄ Ｌ Ｙ Ｐ Ａ Ｒ Ｅ Ｎ Ｔ^{_____________________________________________________________________________}

_{N Y X -- Primordial Goddess of the Night.}

^_______Ｒ Ｅ Ｌ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ Ｈ Ｉ Ｐ^{____________________________________________________________________________}

_{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.}

^_______Ｄ Ｅ Ｍ Ｉ Ｇ Ｏ Ｄ Ａ Ｂ Ｉ Ｌ Ｉ Ｔ Ｉ Ｅ Ｓ^{_______________________________________________________________}

_{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.}

<sup>&& 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.</sup>

^{[ 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 ◆ #𝟿𝚋𝟿𝟺𝟾𝚍 ]}

𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚖 𝚟𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚕 && 𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚊.

<sub>_______________________________________________________________________________________

𝚜 𝚞 𝚏 𝚏 𝚎 𝚛 𝚜 𝚕 𝚘 𝚠 𝚕 𝚢 𝚖 𝚢 𝚍 𝚎 𝚊 𝚛 𝚜 𝚘 𝚝 𝚑 𝚊 𝚝 𝚠 𝚎 𝚖 𝚒 𝚐 𝚑 𝚝 𝚔 𝚗 𝚘 𝚠 𝚑 𝚘 𝚠 𝚕 𝚒 𝚏 𝚎 𝚎 𝚗 𝚍 𝚜</sub>

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_{_______________________________________________________________________________________}

^{𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 -- 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝚜𝚝 ◆ 𝚋𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 ◆ 𝟻𝚘% 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚔 -- 𝟻𝚘% 𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗 ◆ 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛}

^_______Ａ Ｐ Ｐ Ｅ Ａ Ｒ Ａ Ｎ Ｃ Ｅ^{_______________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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.</sub>

^_______Ｐ Ｅ Ｒ Ｓ Ｏ Ｎ Ａ Ｌ Ｉ Ｔ Ｙ^{____________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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.</sub>

^_______Ｈ Ｉ Ｓ Ｔ Ｏ Ｒ Ｙ^{_________________________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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.</sub>

_{"𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗." && 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 -- 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜.}

^_______Ｇ Ｏ Ｄ Ｌ Ｙ Ｐ Ａ Ｒ Ｅ Ｎ Ｔ^{_____________________________________________________________________________}

_{H E R A -- Goddess of marriage and Queen of Olympus.}

^_______Ｒ Ｅ Ｌ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ Ｈ Ｉ Ｐ^{____________________________________________________________________________}

_{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.}

^_______Ｄ Ｅ Ｍ Ｉ Ｇ Ｏ Ｄ Ａ Ｂ Ｉ Ｌ Ｉ Ｔ Ｉ Ｅ Ｓ^{_______________________________________________________________}

_{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.}

<sup>&& 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.</sup>

^{𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚔𝚞𝚒𝚙𝚎𝚛 ◆ #𝚎𝟶𝚍𝟾𝚋𝟶}

Olympus Academy // A School for Demigods and Demigoddesses

@Altered Tundra -- @Plank Sinatra

𝚎𝚖𝚖𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 && 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚢𝚡.

<sub>_______________________________________________________________________________________

𝚢 𝚘 𝚞 𝚠 𝚎 𝚛 𝚎 𝚝 𝚑 𝚎 𝚕 𝚒 𝚐 𝚑 𝚝 𝚝 𝚑 𝚊 𝚝 𝚜 𝚑 𝚘 𝚝 𝚝 𝚑 𝚛 𝚘 𝚞 𝚐 𝚑 𝚝 𝚑 𝚎 𝚍 𝚊 𝚛 𝚔 𝚗 𝚎 𝚜 𝚜</sub>

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^{𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚘𝚗𝚎 -- 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟸𝟷𝚜𝚝 ◆ 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 ◆ 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 ◆ 𝟻𝚘% 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚔 -- 𝟸𝟻& 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 -- 𝟸𝟻% 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 ◆ 𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛}

^_______Ａ Ｐ Ｐ Ｅ Ａ Ｒ Ａ Ｎ Ｃ Ｅ^{_______________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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.</sub>

^_______Ｐ Ｅ Ｒ Ｓ Ｏ Ｎ Ａ Ｌ Ｉ Ｔ Ｙ^{____________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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.</sub>

^_______Ｈ Ｉ Ｓ Ｔ Ｏ Ｒ Ｙ^{_________________________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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."</sub>

_{"𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 ; 𝚒 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞." && 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 -- 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑}

^_______Ｇ Ｏ Ｄ Ｌ Ｙ Ｐ Ａ Ｒ Ｅ Ｎ Ｔ^{_____________________________________________________________________________}

_{N Y X -- Primordial Goddess of the Night.}

^_______Ｒ Ｅ Ｌ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ Ｈ Ｉ Ｐ^{____________________________________________________________________________}

_{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.}

^_______Ｄ Ｅ Ｍ Ｉ Ｇ Ｏ Ｄ Ａ Ｂ Ｉ Ｌ Ｉ Ｔ Ｉ Ｅ Ｓ^{_______________________________________________________________}

_{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.}

<sup>&& 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.</sup>

^{[ 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 ◆ #𝟿𝚋𝟿𝟺𝟾𝚍 ]}

𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚖 𝚟𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚕 && 𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚊.

<sub>_______________________________________________________________________________________

𝚜 𝚞 𝚏 𝚏 𝚎 𝚛 𝚜 𝚕 𝚘 𝚠 𝚕 𝚢 𝚖 𝚢 𝚍 𝚎 𝚊 𝚛 𝚜 𝚘 𝚝 𝚑 𝚊 𝚝 𝚠 𝚎 𝚖 𝚒 𝚐 𝚑 𝚝 𝚔 𝚗 𝚘 𝚠 𝚑 𝚘 𝚠 𝚕 𝚒 𝚏 𝚎 𝚎 𝚗 𝚍 𝚜</sub>

^{_______________________________________________________________________________________}

_{_______________________________________________________________________________________}

^{𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 -- 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝚜𝚝 ◆ 𝚋𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 ◆ 𝟻𝚘% 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚔 -- 𝟻𝚘% 𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗 ◆ 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛}

^_______Ａ Ｐ Ｐ Ｅ Ａ Ｒ Ａ Ｎ Ｃ Ｅ^{_______________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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.</sub>

^_______Ｐ Ｅ Ｒ Ｓ Ｏ Ｎ Ａ Ｌ Ｉ Ｔ Ｙ^{____________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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.</sub>

^_______Ｈ Ｉ Ｓ Ｔ Ｏ Ｒ Ｙ^{_________________________________________________________________________________________}

<sub>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.</sub>

_{"𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗." && 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 -- 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜.}

^_______Ｇ Ｏ Ｄ Ｌ Ｙ Ｐ Ａ Ｒ Ｅ Ｎ Ｔ^{_____________________________________________________________________________}

_{H E R A -- Goddess of marriage and Queen of Olympus.}

^_______Ｒ Ｅ Ｌ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ Ｈ Ｉ Ｐ^{____________________________________________________________________________}

_{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.}

^_______Ｄ Ｅ Ｍ Ｉ Ｇ Ｏ Ｄ Ａ Ｂ Ｉ Ｌ Ｉ Ｔ Ｉ Ｅ Ｓ^{_______________________________________________________________}

_{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.}

<sup>&& 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.</sup>

^{𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚔𝚞𝚒𝚙𝚎𝚛 ◆ #𝚎𝟶𝚍𝟾𝚋𝟶}

Zodiac High

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❆ 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘 ❆ ❆ 𝚃𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚠𝚘 ❆ ❆ 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚎 ❆

ᴀ ᴘ ᴘ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴄ ᴇ ᴅ ɪ s ᴄ ʀ ɪ ᴘ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ
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↳He is wholly regaled within the sigil of his ancestors and crowned within a dark splendor of rebellious ambiance that exudes assertive qualms befitting to his candor. Black on black, leathers and ash-grey jeans snug, all donned from head to booted-toes in monochromatic fashion that costs a pretty penny or two. Samuel is a gangly creature that hasn't quite filled out entirely to his over-reaching height of six-four, arms framed loose and spine slack that also suggests to a lackadaisical posture of slumped shoulders that hunch inward to dissuade from his rather beanstalk debut. A trait courtesy of his signature, astrological commitment that imparts lanky and altitudinous advancement over his peers. There's a shadow blanketed over that rust coloured stare bedecked with the tiniest slivers of scarlet that are alight in the shimmer of a passionate man with an under glow of stubborn qualities that glare obscenely red -- the most telling designation of his zodiac.

Embellishments of ebony rings adorn nearly every digit, an aesthetic Samuel has long held an affection for, coupled with minimalist bracelets that dangle just so from spindly wrists jutting with prominent veins. Beside his tall stature, Samuel is afforded a well kept impression, done up in the finer things found within life that one of his bearings can afford; from the ridiculously purchased clove smokes pursed upon his pout; to the glint of silver in pierced lobes; and the leather thrown across his shoulders or hooked carelessly upon his index finger; and those thickly rimmed Ray Bans perched upon his nose. Cutting across his brow often, Samuel's hair is a dark brown hue that runs black sobbing wet, and also curls inward in the humidity and teases often around his ears before settling properly. The scruff of a five o'clock shadow sets against his gaunt cheeks and contours his slight cheeks bones before lining his jawline subtlety, often prompting a manicured nail to scratch against the stubble in his idle musings.

Though Samuel's eyes are the most telling of his otherworldly grace and thus the most prominent of his blessed inclination, there is an unseen press eternally hidden beneath his wardrobe. Along the ridge of his spine are curious pieces of chitin in place that also can be found graced to each shoulder blade and lining to the point where they vanish just so at his nape where scrawling ink of his astrological insignia is displayed in black. These are furnishings of an exoskeleton, black of course, a trademark of his family eternally displayed through their line.





ᴄ ʜ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ᴄ ᴛ ᴇ ʀ ʜ ɪ s ᴛ ᴏ ʀ ʏ
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↳ Samuel's family, namely his parents, are true advocates to their zodiac; passionate, resourceful, brave to a point of fearlessness and stubborn to a fault and brandishing eyes of rust twinkling scarlet in the sunlight. The Cahors have eternally valued honesty and facts, all truths graced upon their lips and their speech lilted with the appraisal and purpose of being within the right -- they are never wrong. Samuel was raised upon teasing lit and came to value the means of being honest in life, even if such is burdened by the pain of always being blunt, open, and his keen intelligence and denial of potentially being within the wrong in social grandeur. His parents are the kind that fell in love deeply and quickly, a whirlwind affair that has never waned in their age, the zephyr of their match one of glistening roses and bloody aggression from their personalities writhing against one another despite all claims to soulmates and scarlet threads binding them for life. It was a vocally strenuous household with late night banters and seething words that would couple, eventually, to a mutual surrender that saw to prank filled mornings and grand meals around a polished table.

Samuel is the only child of their union, befitting to ones born under the sign of Scorpio because of their naturally jealous faults that allude to possession and fierce loyalty. As an only child, it is imagined that Samuel was incredibly doted upon with extravagance, after all, The Cahors founders were artists of eccentric works exported from Gwendale -- each piece a curious interpretation of the Zodiac seen within their own eye and thus paid well and financially blessed to afford luxuries of the finest expense. Creative inclinations have been deeply steeped through out the Cahors family, taught to each generation so as not to suspend their reputation for producing rather bizarre visual works, and with Samuel being that last -- he's lost two siblings to the misfortune of miscarriages in the past decade -- it has become more pressing to preserve the art.





ᴄ ʜ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ᴄ ᴛ ᴇ ʀ s ʏ ɴ ᴏ ᴘ s ɪ s
_{████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████}

↳ The Scorpio sign depicts many traits of the soul and heart, ones of passion, independence, protectiveness, bravery, and above all, an enigma of the eighth seat in the house of the traditional zodiac. Samuel, much like his parents, has slowly displayed all these traits in his recent years, slowly coming into his representation of authenticity, however even authentic souls such as his can be ugly. Where he his a man who is unafraid to blaze forth his own trail into life and his art, he is also someone who feels his emotional purely and profoundly, burdened by the manipulative nature of his own heart that bears methods of cruelty and jealousy and possessive qualms. As a water sign, he can sometimes become burdened by these emotes, unable to temper them off completely due to the constant tug and pull of life around them in the city made entirely for them by the Gods. At times, Samuel can be left vulnerable because of his empathy, thus these sometimes overpowering surges are protected by a literal shell liken to the incarnation of the Scorpio insignia: the scorpion.

However Samuel is a loyal man who values truth above all else and will seek such in whichever dark corner may shelter it. To earn such a trust and affection may be a war of constant bickering of violence, secrets, and sometimes fierce ardor of both flesh, heart, and soul, but such is ever lasting and eternal in these eyes of rust.

Samuel Cahors is broad strokes of scarlet upon a canvas bleached white and woven with black, the edges harsh and feathered at their borders from violent thrusts of a paint brush held within a ring-adorned fist. Smiles are punctuated with glittering teeth and dimpled cheeks, brushed delicately with manicured nails stained by chalk and dust of acrylics used almost daily. Charcoal lashes shutter through an intense stare that pierces through flesh and strikes the heart with purpose and admiration where Samuel seeks to gain from -- but he will forever guard and secure his own with secrets laden with distrust.





ᴍ ɪ s ᴄ ᴇ ʟ ʟ ᴀ ɴ ᴇ ᴏ ᴜ s
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❆ Theme.

&&𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑.

@Altered Tundra



you know the drill. ♥

Zodiac High

@Blushing -- Thanks so much. ♥

Zodiac High

&&

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❆ 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚒𝚘 ❆ ❆ 𝚃𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚠𝚘 ❆ ❆ 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚎 ❆

ᴀ ᴘ ᴘ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴄ ᴇ ᴅ ɪ s ᴄ ʀ ɪ ᴘ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ
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↳He is wholly regaled within the sigil of his ancestors and crowned within a dark splendor of rebellious ambiance that exudes assertive qualms befitting to his candor. Black on black, leathers and ash-grey jeans snug, all donned from head to booted-toes in monochromatic fashion that costs a pretty penny or two. Samuel is a gangly creature that hasn't quite filled out entirely to his over-reaching height of six-four, arms framed loose and spine slack that also suggests to a lackadaisical posture of slumped shoulders that hunch inward to dissuade from his rather beanstalk debut. A trait courtesy of his signature, astrological commitment that imparts lanky and altitudinous advancement over his peers. There's a shadow blanketed over that rust coloured stare bedecked with the tiniest slivers of scarlet that are alight in the shimmer of a passionate man with an under glow of stubborn qualities that glare obscenely red -- the most telling designation of his zodiac.

Embellishments of ebony rings adorn nearly every digit, an aesthetic Samuel has long held an affection for, coupled with minimalist bracelets that dangle just so from spindly wrists jutting with prominent veins. Beside his tall stature, Samuel is afforded a well kept impression, done up in the finer things found within life that one of his bearings can afford; from the ridiculously purchased clove smokes pursed upon his pout; to the glint of silver in pierced lobes; and the leather thrown across his shoulders or hooked carelessly upon his index finger; and those thickly rimmed Ray Bans perched upon his nose. Cutting across his brow often, Samuel's hair is a dark brown hue that runs black sobbing wet, and also curls inward in the humidity and teases often around his ears before settling properly. The scruff of a five o'clock shadow sets against his gaunt cheeks and contours his slight cheeks bones before lining his jawline subtlety, often prompting a manicured nail to scratch against the stubble in his idle musings.

Though Samuel's eyes are the most telling of his otherworldly grace and thus the most prominent of his blessed inclination, there is an unseen press eternally hidden beneath his wardrobe. Along the ridge of his spine are curious pieces of chitin in place that also can be found graced to each shoulder blade and lining to the point where they vanish just so at his nape where scrawling ink of his astrological insignia is displayed in black. These are furnishings of an exoskeleton, black of course, a trademark of his family eternally displayed through their line.





ᴄ ʜ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ᴄ ᴛ ᴇ ʀ ʜ ɪ s ᴛ ᴏ ʀ ʏ
_{████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████}

↳ Samuel's family, namely his parents, are true advocates to their zodiac; passionate, resourceful, brave to a point of fearlessness and stubborn to a fault and brandishing eyes of rust twinkling scarlet in the sunlight. The Cahors have eternally valued honesty and facts, all truths graced upon their lips and their speech lilted with the appraisal and purpose of being within the right -- they are never wrong. Samuel was raised upon teasing lit and came to value the means of being honest in life, even if such is burdened by the pain of always being blunt, open, and his keen intelligence and denial of potentially being within the wrong in social grandeur. His parents are the kind that fell in love deeply and quickly, a whirlwind affair that has never waned in their age, the zephyr of their match one of glistening roses and bloody aggression from their personalities writhing against one another despite all claims to soulmates and scarlet threads binding them for life. It was a vocally strenuous household with late night banters and seething words that would couple, eventually, to a mutual surrender that saw to prank filled mornings and grand meals around a polished table.

Samuel is the only child of their union, befitting to ones born under the sign of Scorpio because of their naturally jealous faults that allude to possession and fierce loyalty. As an only child, it is imagined that Samuel was incredibly doted upon with extravagance, after all, The Cahors founders were artists of eccentric works exported from Gwendale -- each piece a curious interpretation of the Zodiac seen within their own eye and thus paid well and financially blessed to afford luxuries of the finest expense. Creative inclinations have been deeply steeped through out the Cahors family, taught to each generation so as not to suspend their reputation for producing rather bizarre visual works, and with Samuel being that last -- he's lost two siblings to the misfortune of miscarriages in the past decade -- it has become more pressing to preserve the art.





ᴄ ʜ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ᴄ ᴛ ᴇ ʀ s ʏ ɴ ᴏ ᴘ s ɪ s
_{████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████}

↳ The Scorpio sign depicts many traits of the soul and heart, ones of passion, independence, protectiveness, bravery, and above all, an enigma of the eighth seat in the house of the traditional zodiac. Samuel, much like his parents, has slowly displayed all these traits in his recent years, slowly coming into his representation of authenticity, however even authentic souls such as his can be ugly. Where he his a man who is unafraid to blaze forth his own trail into life and his art, he is also someone who feels his emotional purely and profoundly, burdened by the manipulative nature of his own heart that bears methods of cruelty and jealousy and possessive qualms. As a water sign, he can sometimes become burdened by these emotes, unable to temper them off completely due to the constant tug and pull of life around them in the city made entirely for them by the Gods. At times, Samuel can be left vulnerable because of his empathy, thus these sometimes overpowering surges are protected by a literal shell liken to the incarnation of the Scorpio insignia: the scorpion.

However Samuel is a loyal man who values truth above all else and will seek such in whichever dark corner may shelter it. To earn such a trust and affection may be a war of constant bickering of violence, secrets, and sometimes fierce ardor of both flesh, heart, and soul, but such is ever lasting and eternal in these eyes of rust.

Samuel Cahors is broad strokes of scarlet upon a canvas bleached white and woven with black, the edges harsh and feathered at their borders from violent thrusts of a paint brush held within a ring-adorned fist. Smiles are punctuated with glittering teeth and dimpled cheeks, brushed delicately with manicured nails stained by chalk and dust of acrylics used almost daily. Charcoal lashes shutter through an intense stare that pierces through flesh and strikes the heart with purpose and admiration where Samuel seeks to gain from -- but he will forever guard and secure his own with secrets laden with distrust.





ᴍ ɪ s ᴄ ᴇ ʟ ʟ ᴀ ɴ ᴇ ᴏ ᴜ s
_{████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████}

❆ Theme.

Zodiac High

officially home kittens.
Samuel will be completed tomorrow, just fleshing out that character history.