Post by Shadow on Dec 22, 2007 1:25:57 GMT
Name: She was too young when abandoned to remember a real name; The kindly couple that raised her tried to name her Meredithe, but the name that ended up sticking was simply "Shadow"...
Nicknames: None yet.
Fairytale: Cinderella's not so Happily Ever After...
Age: Late teens? Early twenties? Witching blood makes it a tad hard to tell...
Race: She appears to be Human, or some variant thereof.
Hair Fair-haired, usually kept bound or braided, but falling beyond her waist when unconstrained.
Eyes: Translucently pale-coloured, and often one of the more expressive features she possesses.
Height/weight: Willowy and slender, her figure is that of someone who's young life was rough, and who's current life is pleasant but minimalistic.
Appearance: Once upon a time, our little Shadow found an ancient chest, forgotten in a dusty closet, in the house the kindly couple who raised her lived in. The dress within was ancient, but clearly of a ball-room styling, complete with corset, petticoats a-plenty, delicate slippers, and all the things intended to make a young girl look to be a woman. Finely chiseled bones shaping pale skin and angular features of face, the clean lines of collarbone and shoulder overlayed by toned body-type used to a day's work in the garden displayed above the bodice of the corset, with matching thin wrists terminated by slender hands and long fingers emerging from the connected sleeves. Corset itself accented the slender curves of the young woman, though hinting little of the wiry strength concealed beneath the overlapping layers, and the plethora of petticoats similarly concealed the slenderly muscled legs and delicate feet hidden beneath. Expressive eyes had stared long into the mirror, slanted portals into the soul wondering at the mysterious being who gazed back, before courage finally failed at a sound behind and below, whereupon the dress was quickly disrobed and hidden away once more, the little Shadow darting from view.
Attire: There was always a day's work to be done for our little Shadow, so her customary attire became that of simple wool and linen, dark colours of necessity to help hide the amount of dirt accumulated; a skirt swaying just above the ankles, a loose blouse or tunic belted at the waist by simple leather adorned with pouches, and low leather boots, shaped to perfect comfort by time and wear. A cloak is often evident, hood and all, for inclimate weather does have a tendency of sneaking up on a person, in similar browns, dark greys, and blacks, matching the rest of her attire.
Personality: They wished to call her Meredithe, but the reason Shadow always stuck so well was because, well... it so aptly descrybed her. Impish, playful in an unrestrained, and occasionally uncontrolled way, she had a definite tendency to slip between the fingers and disappear from sight as needed. The mistresses of the house she and the kindly couple dwelled in paid little attention to the worries of the outside world, but the outside world paid a great deal of attention indeed... and little Shadow wasn't supposed to be there. So she became rather adept at hiding, and mimicry, and all other manners of survival... for she had a rather similar appearance to the mistresses of the house, and would occasionally stand in for them.
Sexual preference: Unexplored and dubious... she's seen how poorly the ways of man and maiden tend to go... for the maiden, at least.
Romantic interests: None for the time being.
Occupation: Mistress of the gardens, tender of the animals of the land, preparer of the evening food, ever since the Missus became too invalid of mind to do it, and overall aide to the work-hand. Such things, and perhaps a bit of the Fae in her blood, were the perfect makings for a hedge-doctor, a hearthwoman... a witch of the earth.
Lives: Everything was beginning to turn so well, until the fire. Now her home is burned to ash, and her past destroyed. All the places of memory are gone, and the little Shadow was cast "free" to wander where she could...
Likes: Moonlit gardens, forests, the smell of fresh-turned earth. Dusty hallways in grand mansions, running streams, and thunderstorms. Beautiful singing, images that play fingers upon the heart-strings, and the sounds that only nature can make. Most of all, she loves warmth, and the physical presence of her rare loved one... though this she's explored not at all since the fire...
Dislikes: All the woes of her life come from the avarice of others, and the denials for the betterment of their own image. Self-grandiose mannerisms and the putting on of airs unearned stirs a red anger within her only matched or bested by two things: The forceful removal of one's personal choice and freedom... and fire unrestrained, unconfined, and all-consuming...
Pets: All the animals she comes across, at least for a time.
History: "Picture this. A boy and a girl; one rich, one poor. Most often it's the girl who's got no gold and that's how it is in this story. There didn't have to be a ball. A walk in the woods was enough for these two to stumble into each other's paths. Once upon a time there was a fairy godmother, but the rest of the time there was none. This story is about one of those other times. Our girl's pumpkin is just a pumpkin, and she crawls home after midnight, blood on her petticoats, violated. There will be no footman at the door with moleskin slippers tomorrow. She knows that already. She's not stupid. She is pregnant, though.
In due time, as things always come, the girl gave birth to a girl. Being unwed and of no import, she was forced to raise the poor thing in poverty and filth, always struggling, always making compromises. In time, such things weigh so heavily, that one either bends and grows stronger, or breaks: it only took a couple short years before the girl took her unwanted child to the gardens where the boy was known to come calling often, where the child was left to wander.
Halfway along a path in a garden she has never been to before, cold and hungry, the child suddenly realizes she is alone. Behind her is the garden door that leads into the forest. It remains ajar. Is her mother behind it still? Ahead of her is a shed that, to her child's mind, has the look of a little house. A place she might shelter. Who knows, there might even be something to eat.
The garden door? Or the little house?
Door? Or house?
The child hesitates.
She hesitates..."
Other: Always up for RPing, always willing to be flexible.
Password: TopHats! ~.^
Nicknames: None yet.
Fairytale: Cinderella's not so Happily Ever After...
Age: Late teens? Early twenties? Witching blood makes it a tad hard to tell...
Race: She appears to be Human, or some variant thereof.
Hair Fair-haired, usually kept bound or braided, but falling beyond her waist when unconstrained.
Eyes: Translucently pale-coloured, and often one of the more expressive features she possesses.
Height/weight: Willowy and slender, her figure is that of someone who's young life was rough, and who's current life is pleasant but minimalistic.
Appearance: Once upon a time, our little Shadow found an ancient chest, forgotten in a dusty closet, in the house the kindly couple who raised her lived in. The dress within was ancient, but clearly of a ball-room styling, complete with corset, petticoats a-plenty, delicate slippers, and all the things intended to make a young girl look to be a woman. Finely chiseled bones shaping pale skin and angular features of face, the clean lines of collarbone and shoulder overlayed by toned body-type used to a day's work in the garden displayed above the bodice of the corset, with matching thin wrists terminated by slender hands and long fingers emerging from the connected sleeves. Corset itself accented the slender curves of the young woman, though hinting little of the wiry strength concealed beneath the overlapping layers, and the plethora of petticoats similarly concealed the slenderly muscled legs and delicate feet hidden beneath. Expressive eyes had stared long into the mirror, slanted portals into the soul wondering at the mysterious being who gazed back, before courage finally failed at a sound behind and below, whereupon the dress was quickly disrobed and hidden away once more, the little Shadow darting from view.
Attire: There was always a day's work to be done for our little Shadow, so her customary attire became that of simple wool and linen, dark colours of necessity to help hide the amount of dirt accumulated; a skirt swaying just above the ankles, a loose blouse or tunic belted at the waist by simple leather adorned with pouches, and low leather boots, shaped to perfect comfort by time and wear. A cloak is often evident, hood and all, for inclimate weather does have a tendency of sneaking up on a person, in similar browns, dark greys, and blacks, matching the rest of her attire.
Personality: They wished to call her Meredithe, but the reason Shadow always stuck so well was because, well... it so aptly descrybed her. Impish, playful in an unrestrained, and occasionally uncontrolled way, she had a definite tendency to slip between the fingers and disappear from sight as needed. The mistresses of the house she and the kindly couple dwelled in paid little attention to the worries of the outside world, but the outside world paid a great deal of attention indeed... and little Shadow wasn't supposed to be there. So she became rather adept at hiding, and mimicry, and all other manners of survival... for she had a rather similar appearance to the mistresses of the house, and would occasionally stand in for them.
Sexual preference: Unexplored and dubious... she's seen how poorly the ways of man and maiden tend to go... for the maiden, at least.
Romantic interests: None for the time being.
Occupation: Mistress of the gardens, tender of the animals of the land, preparer of the evening food, ever since the Missus became too invalid of mind to do it, and overall aide to the work-hand. Such things, and perhaps a bit of the Fae in her blood, were the perfect makings for a hedge-doctor, a hearthwoman... a witch of the earth.
Lives: Everything was beginning to turn so well, until the fire. Now her home is burned to ash, and her past destroyed. All the places of memory are gone, and the little Shadow was cast "free" to wander where she could...
Likes: Moonlit gardens, forests, the smell of fresh-turned earth. Dusty hallways in grand mansions, running streams, and thunderstorms. Beautiful singing, images that play fingers upon the heart-strings, and the sounds that only nature can make. Most of all, she loves warmth, and the physical presence of her rare loved one... though this she's explored not at all since the fire...
Dislikes: All the woes of her life come from the avarice of others, and the denials for the betterment of their own image. Self-grandiose mannerisms and the putting on of airs unearned stirs a red anger within her only matched or bested by two things: The forceful removal of one's personal choice and freedom... and fire unrestrained, unconfined, and all-consuming...
Pets: All the animals she comes across, at least for a time.
History: "Picture this. A boy and a girl; one rich, one poor. Most often it's the girl who's got no gold and that's how it is in this story. There didn't have to be a ball. A walk in the woods was enough for these two to stumble into each other's paths. Once upon a time there was a fairy godmother, but the rest of the time there was none. This story is about one of those other times. Our girl's pumpkin is just a pumpkin, and she crawls home after midnight, blood on her petticoats, violated. There will be no footman at the door with moleskin slippers tomorrow. She knows that already. She's not stupid. She is pregnant, though.
In due time, as things always come, the girl gave birth to a girl. Being unwed and of no import, she was forced to raise the poor thing in poverty and filth, always struggling, always making compromises. In time, such things weigh so heavily, that one either bends and grows stronger, or breaks: it only took a couple short years before the girl took her unwanted child to the gardens where the boy was known to come calling often, where the child was left to wander.
Halfway along a path in a garden she has never been to before, cold and hungry, the child suddenly realizes she is alone. Behind her is the garden door that leads into the forest. It remains ajar. Is her mother behind it still? Ahead of her is a shed that, to her child's mind, has the look of a little house. A place she might shelter. Who knows, there might even be something to eat.
The garden door? Or the little house?
Door? Or house?
The child hesitates.
She hesitates..."
Other: Always up for RPing, always willing to be flexible.
Password: TopHats! ~.^
