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Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 502
▶ Season || Summer
▶ Temp || 74℉ (℃) - 100℉ (℃)
▶ Weather || With the end of Spring comes Summer's warm embrace. While some flourish in the comfortable glow of the sun, others take shelter from its sweltering midday heat. Even so, it is now that the continent bustles with life, for it won't be long until a cool chill returns.

Spotlight

Character of the Season
Avdotya

Member of the Season
Jeanne

Thread of the Season
.. Cool your fever ..

Pair of the Season
Ipomoea and Messalina

Quote of the Season
Bexley gives him a cold, dark, beautiful smile. “Wanna see a trick?” she asks, eyes glowing with feral self-satisfaction. The bare of her teeth in a mock-grin is nothing less than terrifying. “I can make you see ghosts.” do the hungry ever sleep?

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Brizo
Dusk Court Warrior


The Character


Offline

▶ Age: 5 [Year 497 Summer]
▶ Gender: Female [She/Her]
▶ Orientation: Demisexual
▶ Breed: Andalusian X
▶ Height: 14.3 hh
▶ Health: 10
▶ Attack: 10
▶ Experience: 10
▶ Signos: 5 (Donate)

▶ Joined: 02-16-2018
▶ Last Visit: 04-17-2018, 09:12 AM
▶ Total Posts: 0 (Find All Posts)
▶ Total Threads: 0 (Find All Threads)

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break your teeth on love

age, five years old
build, svelte & dangerous
height, fourteen three hands
coat, pale smoky cream
eyes, soft periwinkle
scars, trailing from lip, through her nostril, & across the bridge of her nose, various others
accessories, wolf tooth necklace from her deceased husband, thigh wraps

who did you pretend to be, in the light of the moon? they could spot you even in the darkest of nights; your body is the color of freshly fallen snow - pristine, crisp white spread out for miles on your skin. luminescent as the stars, screaming of an innocence that has long been desecrated. it would only saved by the elegant arch of your neck, the feminine contours of a delicate frame and face. instead you are blemished ; the dark pink flesh of a scar mars the expanse of bright white, running from the corner of your lip, over your nostril and across the bridge of your nose. it has made you look menacing, sleek and feral like a cat, combined with the blue silver of your eyes and the sharpness of your cheekbones. but the most intimidating of all is the wolf necklace hung by rough spun thread around your shoulders. each tooth has been carefully extracted from your husband after he had shifted ; the wolf skin was much too cumbersome to lay across your withers, the skull too large to find a place at your breast. you instead took his fangs, kept them close to your heart as a reminder that you are dangerous.
you will have loved for nothing
calloused - brutal - feral - possessive
devoted - passionate - loyal - independent - honest - protective

you've been menacing, most think, since the day you were born. fierce and unpredictable and angry, like a volcano bursting with it's fever. no one has ever stopped you, coddled you like you were innocent. no, your mother would watch you with his blood on your lips, dripping off your chin and smile. your father would only chuckle to himself. you just thought about the way he laughed at you one too many times. it was by their blessing that you grew to be as you are now: a wolf among the waves. they even called you the wolf in sheep’s clothing, bathed in you in the blood of a lamb and praised your ruthless smile. it was like a crown of rubies on the seat of your pale forehead, like a necklace of teeth wrapped around your throat (which you now proudly wear like a badge of honor). you always kept it close to your heart and never left home without it, your precious ferocity. and although there is that feral tenderness written all over your skin, there is always a smile accompanied with each bite (either by fangs or tongue), an underlying cruelty to the saccharine words that spill from blush lips. you discovered just how brutal you could be; listening to your mother sing through the tide, listening to her songs cut short, that triggered something in you. now others would do well to tread lightly when you show your tight lipped smile, when you let fangs slip past your cherry blossom mouth. they would do well to remember what is yours. it is said you are a storm trapped in mortal skin, the ocean’s true born daughter. and like the sea you can be either be forgiving or brutal, soft like the sands or hardened like the waves.
your contempt will always taste like grief
*trigger warning, containing mentions of sexual abuse

your mother was the the color of cream pearls. she was soft and ethereal, shimmering like the sun glinting off the waves. she loved you as much as she knew how to, as much as she was allowed. goddesses did not willingly lay with mortal men, they did not bear the children of a brutal husband who took what he wanted with calloused hands. and yet, here she was astride your father’s mantle. curled around his throne as dutiful as any wife. the gods had made her stay, made her promise to remain until you were old enough to live without her. you heard her each night, crying at the tide, whispering for the sea to set her free. you felt the clock tick and tick and tick when you were around her, until one day she was gone. the only thing left of her was the ripple where she had disappeared into the waves. you wanted to follow her, wanted to dive in and beg her to come back — love you like you deserved to be loved. instead you watched the shore each day, hoping she would appear from those frothing waves, watched until you could no longer stand the sight of the sun setting and rising.

it was no longer your home. she was no longer your mother.

— — —

the sand was black here. the water lapped at it’s edges hungrily, consuming the inches until it swam at your feet. when you looked up she was there, a bright red light against ebony and bone. her laugh was contagious, free as it was in the ocean air, where only the gulls seemed to match her merry tone. you felt a smile tug at your lips, felt invisible hands tug at your heart, and that was it. you were caught in the song of her laughter, spinning until you were dizzy with the sound. you were happy, once.

and then

you felt the pressure of rough fingers against your cool throat, gasped for air until you felt black soften your vision. this must have been how your mother felt, with blood running down her thighs, as she stood by your father. and now it was your story, sitting by your husband’s throne, bending the knee as he took what he wanted. always greedy, always wanting more. he nurtured your tender brutality. he called you a queen and gave you an army. placed a crown of thorns on your brow and a cloak of fur along your shoulders.

you took kingdoms, conquered lands for their gold and their women (you turned a pale cheek to your soldier’s misdeeds, let them ruin all that they could) and in exchange you sat on your throne and polished your pride, sharpened your knives. you had bought your freedom, and hers too, as long as your husband was satiated with the lives you traded.

until one day he had touched what he promised never to touch.

her blood was red even as it stained the black sand.

his looked pale splashed against the marble, pale in the moonlight. you did not murder him in his bed, as easy as it would have been, you waited until he reared that ugly head of his — until he bore the skin and bones of the wolf he was named after. fenrisulfr. the dread wolf.

he did not seem so mighty with his throat slit.
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wolf tooth necklace, thigh wraps



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▶ Player Name: rommy (Profile)
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