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Euphrosyne
Dusk Court Soldier
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Age:

4 [Year 500 Summer]

Gender:

Female

Pronouns:

She/Her

Orientation:

Pansexual

Breed:

Arabian X Morgan

Height:

14 hh

Health:

8

Attack:

12

Experience:

10
Offline

Last Visit:

4 hours ago

Joined:

10-20-2019
Signos: 225 (Donate)
Total Posts: 0 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 0 (Find All Threads)

i start giving my heart away
euphrosyne 'rosie' amechania

Everything about Euphrosyne is soft. she is the color of a sunset; of spilled burgundy wine on velvet ivory cascades, the deep red of a sun drowning in a cloudy sky. Graceful, if only in the air. She is built for the sky, for flight: slender and bird-boned, petite, with two pairs of wings sprouting from her shoulders. They give her extra balance while in flight, allowing her to perform complicated aerial maneuvers. However, they only seem to get in her way too frequently on land. She is always tripping over wings that seem far too large for a girl so small.

you bled me dry just like the tears you never show
sarcastic, honest, trusts too easily, falls in love too easily, empathetic

there used to be a time when euphrosyne was soft; she spoke in whispers and songs barely hushed on the breeze, always comforting, always soothing some broken part of you that you never knew were hurting. she was tender like the forming of a bruise; lilac creeping over pale skin like a blush. you can still see the softness on her: long fluttering lashes and sweet lullabies on her rosy lips, flowers delicately tucked behind one ear, woven into the braids of her hair. now though, there is a sharpness to her like a knife’s edge. The world has left it’s mark on her, it has used those bruises she once healed to mold her into something entirely different. she has been hardened by survival, her very existence now relies on her desire to thrive in the world that was originally forbidden to her. liberation has been traced into her very being, written in the marrow of her bones and the blood in her veins. she hoards her freedom like a dragon hoards gold, and so she uses whatever means she has to survive. time has given her the tools, but she is the one who now puts them to use.

why don't you take what you want and go?
she barely remembers her mother; though she remembers the way her feathers used to shift colors in the sun like pearls. She remembers her voice was always soft and comforting, tending to every bump and scrape. She remembers she would turn poetry into songs and lullabies, the tales of naiads and titans and gods sweet on her lips. they would go to the river and splash in the shallow water, laughing and singing until dark. euphrosyne often wished her mother could have been there, for all the days after she was gone, so she could still kiss her bruises.

Her father, on the other hand, she remembers distinctly. he was golden like the sun, golden like his god given blood; the mark of brilliance on his skin. he was not a god himself, merely the sliver of what his father had given him. achilles’ grandson -- too muddied to be much of anything, they would say. it did, however, allow him to marry the woman so many had wanted to claim for themselves. a demigod’s daughter and achilles’ blood was a match almost too good to be true, they exclaimed!

if her father had been a better man that might have been true, but that was not the reality. her father was anything but. everyone had said so, and she had seen it: huddled beneath the table as he dined with his advisors, her mother laboring away in the other room. she knows he didn’t shed a single tear when her mother died, when the nurse came in to tell him of his new daughter. she knows that he scoffed, sat back in his chair, and instead said: “she could have at least left me a boy.”

rhadamanthys had no use for daughters. especially not ones that asked too many questions, ones that did not bow their heads and obey without hesitation. He would have married her off as soon as he could, if there had been a prince rich enough to pay for his god-blood offspring.

she spent her days in the kitchen instead. playing with her sister by the hearth. helping the cook gather herbs and spices in the forests her mother once walked with her. She lived without fear, without rules or restrictions. Her father remarried quickly, and his new wife bore him son after son. it was on one of those dauntless days that they found her: basking in the sun, sleeping away the afternoon. they were slave traders coming from the south, looking for exotic women to fill their brothels. they snatched her from the beach before she could even shout for help. her father never would have struggled for her, anyway, he would have demanded that they pay him for his property.

she thinks of her father often: when she thinks of her pain like thorns around her heart, when she cries softly into the night, when she is reminded of her sins and those she has loved and those she has lost.

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hi, i'm rommy. i'm a lover of snacks.

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Rommy (PM Player)

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