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Beautifully drawn by Sid (Erasvita@DA)!
Current Novus date and time is
... currently in progress!

 Year || 503
 Season || Fall
 Temp || 35℉ (℃) - 69℉ (℃)
 Weather || The iron grip of Summer has slowly faded into the gentler Fall embrace. The morning dew frosts over in the early morning hours and melts by the time the sun hits high in the sky. Many of the trees have traded their lush, vivid green for a more suitable array of red and orange hues. But don't blink, for Winter's cold embrace is fast upon Fall's heels.


Character of the Season

Member of the Season

Thread of the Season
r.i.p. to my youth;

Pair of the Season
Atreus and Fiona

Quote of the Season
"Are there lines she's crossing? Should she toe them or touch them with a pole and stay away wholly? But to avoid such a storm he offers, such a taste of life; to withhold herself from the chance to taste starlight, to love satin and silk and swallow pomegranate seeds not yet offered... She should be stronger." — Moira in
Small as a wish in a well

see here for nominations


Inactive Character

The Character


Age:6 [Year 497 Summer]
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/Her/Hers
Orientation: Bisexual
Breed: Arabian x
Height:13.2 hh
Health: 5
Attack: 15
Experience: 13
Signos: 50 (Donate)

Joined: 09-20-2017
Last Visit: 03-03-2019, 09:39 PM
Total Posts: 10 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 3 (Find All Threads)

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Something of a lovely creature, Pandora is finely built – light, with angular features and a delicate structure, though in possession of a lithe strength and physical prowess. She has the structure of a dancer, and moves much like one as well, with a fluid grace and unconstrained freedom that seems apparent in her every move. There is a deliberate beauty to her every step, as though she is accustomed to being in front of an audience; she seems entirely genuine nonetheless, even effortless. Pandora initially seems to consist entirely of smiles and joviality, a whirlwind of charms and passion, and then she shifts, like a flame flickering away in the wind. She is rage and adoration in equal, rapid measures, a constant ebb and flow between one extreme and another. If nothing else, she lives in vivid color.

Pandora’s coat consists primarily of a gentle cremello, interrupted only by the patches of flaming red-gold scales tracing down her spine and the backs of her legs. Her mane, most often, remains shaved off, but her tail grows near-excessively in its absence, trailing behind her in a passionate red that fades to brilliant orange. At any given time, she has at least a few braids in her tail, though the number and size is subject to change. A metallic golden horn, akin to a tree branch, sprouts from the middle of her forehead, positioned neatly between odd eyes – the left a pale brown, and the right a vivid cerulean blue. Her voice is silky and high, even lilting, and she smells almost constantly of incense and candlesmoke.

POSITIVE | charismatic, charming, witty, driven, loyal, confident, inventive, inquisitive, jovial, creative
NEGATIVE | manipulative, sarcastic, bitter, self-destructive, heartbroken, attention-seeking, liar, narcissistic, bitter, reckless

Pandora is venom carefully disguised with sweet honey.

Eloquent, charming, and alluring, she is apt to draw unwary individuals into her trap with sweet nothings and dizzying joviality, a tempo all her own – she is as much a dancer in speech as she is in form, quietly perceptive and in possession of an overwhelming magnetism that makes opposing her difficult. Loveless and empty for all her smiles and charisma, Pandora feeds off attention and affection. Her pursuit of adoration is almost vampiric in nature; come close to her and you will be burned, pulled into the same self-destructive and volatile downward spiral that has held her captive for many years. Perhaps it is her tragedy that makes her so alluring, like a faded silver-screen beauty or a wilting flower. Perhaps you wish to save her from herself, pluck her free of the darkness that clutches her between the jovial smiles and fickle chatter, the thoughtless affairs and dangerous schemes. Perhaps you think that, if you just try hard enough, you can redeem her – that the perpetually-damaged beauty will belong to you, that she will love you, that she will be oh-so thankful for your efforts and all the world will know how wonderful you are for your generosity. Perhaps you think that you love her. Perhaps you do.

She will suck you dry.

Coyly manipulative, ambivalently passionate, and ambiguously sinister, Pandora is a fickle and volatile creature with a lackadaisical and inconsequential relationship with reality; time is of no importance to her, nor nations, nor individuals. Blessed with forever, - endless restarts, endless lives, an eternal soul – she seems to have forgotten consequence, if she ever knew it to begin with. That said, hundreds of lives have left her far from apathetic and weary. Unlike her twin brother, the weight of years seems to have only made her burn brighter, more ferociously. She clings to each passing second, each word, each touch with the knowledge that they will never come again. She is possessive and dismissive in equal measures, vindictive and tragic; and, above all else, Pandora is reckless, even foolish, for all the wisdom of the years has left her with little more than a desperate desire for a rush, for the pounding of adrenaline in her chest. She tells herself that she is alive. She lives, breathes, thinks, feels – all like a living being. She has lived many times.

She longs to feel like it.

You are born among the cover of orange trees and marble columns, just as the sun slips beneath the cover of the horizon.

You are your mother’s first child, though your beloved, beloved twin brother creeps into existence only moments after you. A little princess, one of many – your mother is a concubine, but she is the king’s favorite for her honey-coated speech. When she sings, she sings glamorous tales of ancient lands and brave heroes, and your father loves them. You are like your mother, or so he says. You learn to sing and dance and suck the ichor from fresh oranges; you frolic with your brother in ornate marble palaces, shedding off your golden robes for the ecstasy of youth; you listen to all of your mother’s stories; you learn to tell them; you pray to the sun goddess that keeps careful watch over your land. Life is simple and sweet. You are betrothed to a young nobleman from a foreign land. Life is simple. Life is sweet. Your brother learns to wield and sword and buries himself in the palace library. Life is simple and sweet. Your parents are oh-so in love.

Life is simple. Life is sweet.

And then, abruptly as a strike of lightning, life is neither simple nor sweet.

They call your mother a witch, her sweet songs enchantments twisting your father to her will. She protests. You protest. Your brother protests. Your father protests too, at first – but you see his hesitation, and you see his suspicion, and it seems to grow with every passing day. They hunt your mother down in the middle of the night, but, when they burst into her chambers, she is gone like wind across the sea.

They chase you, next. You are her daughter, the inheritor of her witch-magic.

Your brother protects you, but he is but one man against a raging tide of men with swords and spears; he falls. You fall. You remember slipping into that first darkness. When you were still a princess, you would bathe in hot marble pools of water clear and blue as the sky above; it feels like stepping into the baths, but you keep walking and walking until the water covers your head.

You can’t see the sky. It’s very, very dark.

And then you remember fire.

You open your newborn eyes and see your mother with the coldest expression that she has ever worn. They were wrong. Your mother is no witch – your mother is the sun goddess. Her flames bring you and your brother back to life.

She turns her cheek from the kingdom. Without her, it falls into a permanent darkness. Decay runs rampant in those marble halls, and there are no more orange trees; they wither away, choked from the light.

She disappears from your sight, too, but she leaves you to keep her flame; whenever you or your brother die, she promises that so long as one of you bathes the other’s body in the fire, you will return to life.

You have forever. What will you do with it?

Your father grows bitter and regretful. You never go to see him again, but you hear of his death in passing.

Your brother grows destructive. You do not remember how many lives it takes for his rage to grow. He does not want to live forever, but you do not want to be alone, and he does not want you to die. You become the only thing that is real to him, the only person who matters at all – other lives become a game to him, a massive story to twist and turn to his will. You try to soothe his temper, but he grows into something monstrous out of your control. He would see the world burned just so that he could burn with it.

It feels like you have always been trying to soothe. You pray to your mother every day to cast her lands in light again. You begged your father to remember his love for your mother, for your brother, for you. You beg your brother to be merciful, but he isn’t, and he leaves a trail of destruction in his wake – you follow behind him with a pleasant smile and strip yourself away to fix his mistakes. You wonder when he will finally do something that you cannot fix.

But then he begins to kill, to feed flames and start wars – he expands his sights to foreign lands. You follow. You always follow, and then, when he finds himself dead, you bring him back to your mother’s flame.

Sometimes you wonder if you should just let him die for what he comes to be.

You peel parts of yourself away, slowly. You become colder, more distant. Your life becomes nothing but chasing your brother and fixing his mistakes. You don’t want to be alone. You can’t be alone, and, without him, you will be alone.

You have followed him to Novus.

When you arrive, you find that he is long dead. You do not know where his body is, if it hasn’t rotted away to nothing.

You do not know what to do.
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POSTBIT : Magtox
AVATAR : Morriten
SIGNATURE PIXEL TWO : The Lovely Renegade

The Player

Player Name: Jeanne (Profile)
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Other Accounts: Jeanne, Seraphina, Sol, Virun,
19, female, currently in college.
Pandora's Signature

and I eat men like air

please tag Pandora! contact is encouraged, short of violence