• Siempre les gusta alguien. SIEMPRE. • Mega-emocionales • Bastante despistados en ocasiones. (Probablemente no sabe que sucede en su vida ahora mismo) • Se ponen muy raros cuando no se sienten cómodos/seguros • Para ellos un extraño es sólo un amigo que no han conocido aún (si no les has caído mal a primera vista) • Tienen buenas intenciones casi siempre • Son muy creativos • Se sonrojan con facilidad • Le cuesta bastante decir “no” • Ocultan cosas para no decepcionar a quienes quieren • Tratan de hacer a todos felices y eso los agota • Muchos tienen hoyuelos
Is bits of ash crackling from suffering wood and fire. The warm embers hot from delight, dancing at midnight. 36.28 percent different, different from society- hated, despised, dirty, filth…She’s an orange light in the corner of her eye. A blink, a scan, a machine, an ugly machine. Discrimination, standing up to her stepmother’s whims, and not being able to cry over a peony’s petals.
Is dresses and bodice and lace wounded so tight she can barely breathe. Promiscuous fashions and big floppy hats and kisses under moonlight. Grace, beauty at it’s peak, just like her pretty mommy. Long braids and high cheekbones. The one that never happened, only found in a fantasy. Courts every gentleman known to Lunar-kind.
Is her Grand-mere’s precious, her beloved scar. She’s crazy, off her rocker like her grandma, but she’s different somehow- she’s…pretty, they laugh, they catcall at night. Her beautiful face and robust, lacy curls of red, bloody red, and curves that sway just right. She’s a hard worker, bravery winning under a shield of hate at night. Secrets in a box, and a gun beneath her hoodie.
Is a descendant from a Lunar. She’s Lunar. A Lunar, the men in the moon, they jeer at her, she’s one of them, but what can she do. She’s not a Benoit after all, no, she’s got silver blood. Her hair is not red, it’s blue with the thousands of sorrowful stars, and everything she thought was true…was a lie…but she’s got support, and she’ll build herself up. She always does, always have. Gritting her teeth, guns, and gusto.
Is swirls of light pastels. A harsh tug of hair, in the darkest of nights. Constellations align to burst bits of love and passion for her; the world is her blanket, the world is her cover- she’ll tuck herself in at night and hum a melody so sweet. Afraid of the monstrosity she’s caused. Worked for Mistress for a decade- the pain, the sorrow, the damage she’s done…
Is a friend to many. Her bright yellow laughter, her wit, the risk she has placed herself in. A star, an independent beauty of a sun, in the sky, working for freedom, what she believes in. She’s no one’s little worker, no one’s little servant or slave. She’s sand and tears, don’t waste tears dear, and she’s sleepy faces and soft eyelids.
Princess Winter Hayle-Blackburn
Is burdened with fear. There’s the creep Aimery, her delusional brain, the servant who wants to die and fall…her father, dead….Never officially meet the mother she had for mere seconds…Princess, stay with me, are the only words she wants to hear. Soft nectar in her ears. Scars on her face. There’s the palace guard she’s infatuated with. Firecrackers and big eyes and long walks. Pirouettes, but only when step-mother isn’t looking.
Is a season of cold. Survival through everything, through Death itself. She’s a cousin, a friend, maybe even a girlfriend. Her wolf cries without her, she misses some things, but not everything is perfect, little ambassador. Taut, corkscrew curls of tresses and gauzy, bejeweled dresses. Giggling, grinning, and gaining sanity.