The day Aislinn was born the stars wept, or so her mother used to say as she wiped away a young Ash’s tears and sang the songs of the night.

Her mother had always insisted upon her beauty even as Aislinn looked despairingly in a mirror and wished she had the brilliant blue hues of her mother or the crystal clear eyes of the father she never knew.

The star-singers had been renowned for their ethereal looks as much as their enchanting voices- the blood of the Seelies and the Fae the mortals would whisper. But Aislinn had felt rather drab in comparison to the illumination of her family. Her wings were mere wisps of mist compared to the glorious butterfly wings of her aunt or the divine swan wings of her grandmother.

She’d always worn her hooded cloak, draped over as much of her body as it would cover. Every night her mother would pull back Aislinn’s hood and tell her the world deserved to set eyes upon the youngest of the star-singers. And every time the young filly would pull it back up again with a soft huff.

She rarely takes it off now, fearful of the stars wrought across her skin and the legacy she cannot hope to continue, the memory traced in constellations upon her face.

Notes: Though her eyes are portrayed as glowing in her artwork I will not rp her with glowing eyes until I've got a second passive magic item

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Aislinn is the heart of an artist trapped in the body of a youth, untested by time or tribulation. The troubles of her people hang over her head, though she knows not the truth of it. She burns bright and beautiful beneath the darkened sky- a star spinning, ephemeral in the infinitesimal galaxy above.

Fleeting in passion, wild in emotion, she is extinguished as quickly as she is born when light peers over a tentative horizon and the stars wink out one by one. For beneath the cover of darkness she is wild and happy, safe amongst her stars where her voice can chase away the worries and she can feel closest to those that came before her

Though the light of the sun may be warm and brilliant there is a sadness for Aislinn in the unchanging blue of the sky, as though with the rising of the sun comes the dawning of reality and the settling of memory.

She is all that remains of a once glorious people and beneath the night sky where her song draws the stars nearer the hurt does not feel so dear and the burden does not feel as heavy. Were the depths of her woes not so lonely perhaps she might have learnt to love the light of the sun as much as the glow of the moon but there has been no one to show her the beauty of both.

The star-singers were renowned once, sought by every court, every Kingdom, every noble. They sung the night into being, weaved the stars into the halls of those that invited them and drew the galaxy closer. It was said a single star-singer could make the night seem endless, could captivate a crowd for hours upon hours until their star flecked darkness and divine-whispering voice became eternal, unending

“The voice of Nysa”, the people had whispered centuries ago, awed at the ethereal beauty of a star-singers voice, as though it were gifted by the very heavens. They would sweep down from the forests of the Fae and Seelies, to the lands of the mortals- the only creatures to truly walk both worlds. All who beheld their voice found their hearts lifting and their souls crying out in joy, as though the star-song brought forth the happiness they had been seeking for so long. Who could deny anyone such deep, fleeting enchantment?

Aislinn is the last of the star-singers, a child of tragedy and a legacy long lost. They used to whisper about the star-singers, in the days after Oranus’ defeat, when the world breathed a sigh of relief and began to stitch up the wounds slashed across the lands. But the whispers died down after the new world began, after order was re-established and the line of Amaris led the mortals into a darkness they could not even see. The voice of the star-singers could not undo the hurt that had been done, could not heal the gaping lacerations clawed through the hearts of the survivors. Their song was a balm, an ephemeral distraction that only made the return to reality that much more painful. So those that had survived Oranus’ wrath, few that they were, grew broken hearted and faded, passing into death and legend.

So Aislinn wandered, the truth of her history little more than fragments and the depth of her powers locked up, deep inside the cavernous night of her bones. She feels the weight of a legacy she does not recall, a pressure only lifted when she sings. Though she does not of the power locked inside, she still sings with the beauty and passion of the star-singers that had come before her, weaving happiness from words and music.