𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛... 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑆𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒

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Just a place for the characters that live rent-free inside of my head... 'tis getting a bit crowded...​

 

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PRINCESS CALSITA ERYNDOR​ Calista was born a contradiction. In a family of dark-haired, olive-skinned nobles, she emerged with cascading silver-blonde hair and eyes the colour of amythests. Her presence is both haunting and divine, as if sculpted by forces beyond mortal comprehension. Though she is clothed in the richest silks and gilded embroidery, no luxury can mask the quiet distance between her and her kin. Calista is living proof of a divine tampering. Whispers surrounded her birth—some claimed she was blessed, others insisted she was cursed. But the truth is far more dangerous. Lloth, the Weaver of Lies, is said to have spun her Fate into existence, twisting the fabric of prophecy to forge a mortal who should never have been. Whether Calista was meant as a weapon, a warning, or a plaything of the gods, no one could say. From the moment she drew breath, her body hummed with latent magic, raw and uncontrollable. To suppress it, her father—King Eryndor—had an enchanted ring crafted and locked around her finger. She has never been without it, and though it keeps her powers dormant, she feels it. The whispers in her mind, the flickers of energy in her veins, the unseen forces pushing against their cage. Her family does not speak of her nature. She is an heir in name only, kept at arm's length, a daughter whose existence brings shame and fear. But beyond the court's polished façade, another truth lingers: Lloth does not forget her creations. And the ring will not hold forever. A bit about her personality... She is poised and intelligent, trained in the art of diplomacy yet forever an outsider. She masks her loneliness with icy composure, but beneath her quiet demeanor lies a relentless will. She is fascinated by lost myths, forbidden magic, and the unseen hands of the divine, particularly those who claim a stake in her Fate. She does not wish to be a pawn in a god's game, but the question remains... Is she strong enough to resist the destiny woven for her?​

 

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Circe Alden The White Witch of Hollowmere ❝The world cast me out for what I am… and the woods kept me for what I became.❞​ Long ago, Circe Alden turned her back on the world of men... She had once healed the sick, whispered to the wounded earth, and danced beneath the stars with her coven sisters. But mercy was never enough to still the fear of mortals. When fire and steel came for them—when her sisters' screams were lost to smoke—Circe fled. Branded a witch, betrayed by those she had once saved, she vanished into the wilds of Hollowmere, a forest older than the kings and crueller than myth. There, among the ivy-clad bones of a forgotten temple, she carved out a sanctuary hidden by enchantments and guarded by wards stronger than steel. Snow gathers gently on her doorstep, but it does not melt. Candles burn in still air that no longer belongs to the wind. Time drifts differently here. Circe is a creature shaped by grief and silence. Pale as snowfall, her eyes hold the weight of centuries—watchful, wary, untrusting. She rarely speaks, and when she does, the woods seem to hush to listen. Her magic is vast, capable of bending frost and root to her will, but she wields it with restraint, each spell cast like a memory—sharp-edged and sorrowful. She is not cruel, but neither is she kind. She is what the forest made her. Then, on a bitter dusk carved from winter's teeth, she finds him. A man, half-dead at the edge of her warded lands—wounded, frostbitten, and unmistakably other... His blood hums with ancient magic, a song Circe has not heard in lifetimes... Against the instinct honed by solitude, she takes him in. She lays him in the spellwoven sheets, tends to him with trembling hands, and waits. As he heals, something old within her stirs—something not quite dead. She does not know who he is or what he brings, but the forest whispers his coming was no accident. There is a reckoning on the wind, and his shadow, Circe feels the bones of the world beginning to shift. Whether he is a harbinger of ruin or redemption, she cannot yet tell. But she knows one thing: the woods, long and silent, are listening again...​

 

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Age: 24 Occupation: Graduate student in Literature Hair: Short dark brown Eyes: green-gray eyes Additional: Evie has delicate features and a thoughtful expression that often lingers on the edge of curiosity. Personality: She is inquisitive, perceptive, and deeply introspective. She has an innate ability to read between the lines, both in literature and in people. Evie is drawn to mysteries, not because she wants to solve them but because she wants to understand them. She carries an air of quiet determination, softened by a romantic idealism she tries to suppress. Backstory: Evie was raised by her grandmother, Eleanor Sinclair, in a house filled with stories. Eleanor had once been a professor of literature herself before retiring, and her home reflected a life devoted to words. From the moment Evie was old enough to recognize letters, she was surrounded by old books, handwritten notes in the margins, and late-night readings of classic poetry under the warm glow of a vintage lamp. Her parents, both academics, were absent for most of her life—not through neglect, but through a shared obsession with their work. Anthropologists, they traveled constantly, sending postcards from faraway lands with notes scribbled on the back about mythologies and folklore. Evie learned to cherish those postcards, seeing them as pieces of a larger narrative she could never quite complete. While their love for history and cultures fascinated her, she never resented their absence because her grandmother filled every gap with stories, both real and imagined. It was Eleanor who introduced her to the literary greats: Brontë, Woolf, Austen, but also the darker, more complex minds like Poe, Plath, and Kafka. When Eleanor spoke about books, it was never just about the words—it was about the souls behind them. "Writers are haunted people," she used to say. "You don't just read their books, Evie. You listen to their ghosts." This belief became a core part of Evie's identity. She saw literature as a dialogue with the past, with people who could no longer speak but had left echoes behind. She developed a love for marginalia, finding notes in secondhand books and imagining the people who had written them.​

 

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VALERIA STARK ❝ The South can keep its games. Here in the North, we do not kneel. ❞ ​ Setting: Westeros – Game of Thrones Allegiance: House Stark of Winterfell Role: The Iceborn Lady, Warrior of the North Age: 20 Born the youngest daughter of Lord Stark, Lady Valeria was never meant for courtly life. Raised among warriors and direwolves, she trained in secret with the Stark men, mastering the blade with the tenacity of a Northern wolf. When the War of the Five Kings shattered the realm, she took up her family's Valyrian steel sword, Frostfang, vowing to protect Winterfell at all costs. Legends speak of her as "The Iceborn Lady," a woman who walks the frozen tundra alone, unafraid of the White Walkers or the biting winds of the North. Some claim she is part direwolf, others say she is a ghost of the Old Gods come to life. The truth? She is merely a Stark—cold, unyielding, and forever bound to her home. ambience⠀♫⠀​

 

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JAIDYN BLACKTHORNE ❝ Men speak their truest words with ale on their breath and a warm body at their side. ❞ ​ Setting: Westeros – Game of Thrones Allegiance: House Blackthorne (Minor noble house sworn to House Baratheon) Role: Tavern owner & informant Age: 24 Jaidyn Blackthorne was born into a minor noble family that fell into ruin after her father backed the wrong side in Robert's Rebellion. Stripped of lands and titles, her family was left with nothing but a crumbling inn on the outskirts of Storm's End. Instead of wallowing in misery, Sera took charge, turning the inn into The Stag's Rest, a thriving tavern known for its fine ale, lively atmosphere, and well-kept secrets. Despite her station, she moves between worlds with ease—equally comfortable drinking with sellswords, seducing merchants, or exchanging whispers with highborn lords who visit her establishment. While many see her as a simple innkeeper, those who know better understand that she's a powerful informant, selling knowledge to the highest bidder and quietly playing her own game. ambience⠀♫⠀​