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Vega Delacroix

"Reality is naught but cruel, we live as we are born to. There is little else to life than this . . . right?"

0 · 390 views · located in Aeval An Domhan

a character in “Chronicles of the Waning”, as played by Jakuri Serpentia-β


Vega Sterre Delacroix

Theme: Fading Away
Image Song: Falling Awake – Tarja


Gemstone: Pyrope Garnet
Role: Pure Pyrope Garnet.

Gender: Female
Nickname(s): Due to her upbringing and the environment in which she was raised, Vega has far and few nicknames that she’s gone by, or has been given in general. Her rearing was a rather loveless one, and something seemingly done only out of duty . . . seemingly. However, there was a point in her earlier years where Vega did have one nickname given to her by perhaps the only person in her life who has genuinely cared for her, and that nickname was about as simple a one as you could get. Merely, he called her ‘Vee.’
Alias(es): Given the fact that she’s technically been married, well, yes, Vega has a sort of ‘alias,’ so to speak. In the way of her having a maiden name, that is. A few years ago, she used to be ‘Vega Dubois.’
Age: Sixteen
Love Interest: Love or romance isn’t something Vega is really familiar with, and as far as the former goes, the only point in her life Vega has ever really experienced something called ‘love’ was when she was very young, and that ended in tragedy for her and he.

Height: 4’10”
Weight: 75 lbs.
Measurements: 30-21-34.
Build: Vega’s build is superficially that of a child’s; very nearly flat-chested—though not entirely, she is rather bone thin too as her arms and legs are somewhat twiggy, and her midsection is very slight. She’s got a very skinny waistline while that evens out in a set of very slender hips. Although her figure isn’t much to speak of, Vega does have one and because of how she turned out to be, her form is one that would be otherwise described as ‘pear-shaped.’
Hair Color: Her hair’s color is rather deceiving. Now, how could that possibly be? Well, it’s simple. When you aren’t exactly human, it’s easy for your hair to play tricks on the eyes!! Vega’s hair is prismatic. In a lot of lights, it looks like it’s just a stark, boring black. It’s not though. No, like the gemstone she is incarnated from, her hair is truly a deep, dark wine red that only looks like it’s black. Just as garnet refracts light at angles to look black, her hair rather does the same, only it takes certain light to bring out the true redness that it is.
Eye Color: Far more easily explained, and less deceptive than her hair, Vega’s eyes shine like the given jewel she is, remaining at a lovely sort of crimson red.
Scars/Tattoos/Piercings: Zip, nada, ZERO! Vega doesn’t have any of these things. Because of her family background and the social class she was reared in, it would be nigh unthinkable for a child to have any sort of blemish upon their person—and given that Vega already had one outstanding abnormality present upon her person, in plain view unless specific measures were taken to hide it, there was no chance in Hell that her parents would let their daughter partake in an activity that might further imperfect her. As far as piercings go, yeah, pretty much the same thing going on there as with the scars motif. In the area she was raised, a woman having any sort of piercings placed into her body was considered a sign of her being a harlot. It was immortal and improper, so yeah, no go there for Vega. And once more for the tattoos, those would certainly be a no go too if scars and piercings were. Her upbringing and prospective future depended partly on her outward appearance and having her skin be as flawless as possible. And even with Vega being away from her parents now, there isn’t a time or a chance for her to have even gotten away from anything to wind up with a piercing or a tattoo.
Gemstone Placement: It lies in plain view for the world to see, that is, it does if her bangs aren’t made to hide it. Vega was born bearing her manifested gemstone right smack below the center of her forehead. ¾ of an inch by ¾ of an inch in width and height, it’s not too large, but given it’s a . . . gemstone sitting there, on bare skin, it’s pretty noticeable. Formed in the shape of a symmetrical and neat little diamond, Vega’s gemstone has a distinction from some others in that hers sort of juts out to form a kind of horn, coming out from its placement in her body to make a literal point. Her pyrope garnet’s placement is akin to the mythos that the jewel was regarded to possess many benefits and such toward one’s mental state.
Hair – Given the upbringing she received, and the fact that she was raised to bear a ladylike air, Vega keeps rather long hair. Though normally kept bound together in a ponytail at the side of her head, ornamented with a sort of decorative band around it, her hair if let loose will fall to very near her knees, even up it still extends below her hips by several inches. . . . For everything, her hair seems to be a pretty standard shade of black—really though it just plays tricks on the eyes and is actually a deep wine color. It is of a straight texture and it carries to it a very healthy and maintained sheen, a sign of the life she’s led. Beyond the fact that she mostly keeps her hair very long, Vega does also have two locks of hair cut shorter than the rest that frame her face, resting before her ears. Each falls to her collarbones while she keeps beyond this bluntly cut bangs which go just a bit below her eyebrows, they do however gap in the middle of her forehead against her wishes, in a way, the haircut and style Vega keeps aids in making her look younger than she really is.

Body – Putting it rather simply . . . she’s tiny. There’s no two ways about it, Vega is just a girl who is definitely small for her age. From her frame, figure and form, she’s underdeveloped, and she looks the part of a girl a few years younger than sixteen. Really, she’s a twig, her chest is near flat and she barely maintains a weight healthy for her height nowadays, so her arms and legs are rather spindly while her torso is bony—her ribcage shows through her skin rather well while her collarbones and shoulder blades, and spine, also are rather prominent features upon her person if unclothed. . . . As far as things go, she’s not so thin and skinny that it’s sickening, but there’s no doubt that she’s teetering on the brink of taking on the appearance of malnourished. Even her waistline is so tiny, that if it were much smaller it’d definitely be nausea inducing.

Why exactly Vega has grown so little and is so underdeveloped she has no idea, but for the whole of her life she’s always been a small girl, her size has been under that of most children her age. When she was younger, her small size never bothered her a bit, there was no reason for it to, her size was something that others stated made her look . . . delicate and graceful. Regardless of this though, Vega is still a female when it comes down to it, and so, she’s actually somewhat embarrassed by her lack of an appropriate figure and her tiny build, suffering something of a slight bit of jealousy toward girls and women around her age who’ve properly developed. This is a trait though that is at the very back of her mind and that rarely ever surfaces. Because of her current circumstances she cares little for her figure in comparison to that of other girls. She does still feel some envy once in a bit though, if her mind is allowed to wander free of her life.

Face – Her face is rather childlike in many regards. She looks the part of a teenager, certainly so, but it would be very easy to mistake her for a child if you would just glance over her without really looking. Although her face has since managed to shed itself of what is deemed as ‘baby fat,’ ridding itself of looking very round and soft like that of a younger child’s, Vega still has a very youthful face, her face has a healthy appearance to it, albeit childish. . . . .it doesn’t help that she’s got a very small nose either, or somewhat large eyes. A part of her forehead is obscured by those bangs of hers too, though usually not enough to hide away the one truly distinctive trait of hers. That hornlike garnet of hers.

Eyes – They’re sort of on the larger side of the spectrum, looking almost innocent in a sense due to their size, they are a sort of crimson color, pure and powerful in its hue. Despite the fact that her eyes are large, and her appearance is similar that of a child teetering on the verge of becoming a teenager, her eyes betray this fact with their coloring, simply put it’s a rather intense shade. Regardless of this though, it’s all too often that Vega’s eyes are alit with little if anything beyond a dull sense of pain.

Skin – It’s very fair and pale, a light shade of ivory, Vega’s skin certainly seems the sort of someone born of nobility. Though she’s been on her own for some time now, there’s no doubt that her skin still shows signs of the great care it once received when she remained with her family. Healthy enough in appearance; there is no denying the fact that her skin has begun to show the strain Vega has been made to undergo in recent months with the work and such she’s been made to undertake. Though pallor before this, in many moments, she simply looks ashen, her flesh seems to go as white as paper—looking only worse when compared with her dark hair and intense eyes. Circles sometimes form under her eyes, and it becomes obvious that she’s actually rather tired.

Expressions – Most often, only a look of apathy can be found upon Vega’s face. Little more than that most of the time. Usually, if an expression does wind up taking form upon her features, what will be found is something of a scowl, or a bitter sort of look that might speak of her becoming irritated or annoyed rather than anything positive—distant looks are not uncommon either, although, the only time one might find this sort of look upon her face is if they were to find her thinking about the past.

Preferred Clothing: She is a girl who knows clothing, as she was raised in a world to believe that looks and whatnot were things to value above all other matters. Vega was taught to dress well, and to always maintain a ladylike, proper appearance. The clothing she’s always been left to wear has been of top quality, the finest materials and up to date on the latest fashion. Even if this what Vega was raised on, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s what she prefers though . . . it’s just what she knows, or, knew. As of late, Vega has been subjected to wearing a single, standard set of servant’s clothing. Given her circumstances, it’s what she is given and made to wear, and it is what she is used to now. Though it is a servant’s uniform, it is still made of rather high-quality fabric, as those she is kept in the care of do not want their underlings wandering about looking like some common street urchins.

Made of thick silk and satin, Vega’s usual getup consists of a black and white uniform* that is . . . rather revealing in truth. She’s not the only one made to suffer wearing this outfit, as it is a normal for ALL the female servants of the household in which she resides to wear it. Honestly, she herself hates the clothing she’s made to wear, as she feels it inappropriate and far too revealing for her tastes. Her brother-in-law is on the perverted side, however. . . . So, she bears with it and pretends to ignore any stares she receives for wearing what she does in public—as do all the girls who serve her in-laws.

If she had the freedom to choose her clothing, it would be of the simple variety. Just very simple peasant sort of clothing that carries a very ordinary style to it, and that is common to see on many girls.

A Near Inhuman Appetite – It may well seem strange, but Vega is a lass who possesses an appetite that seems far too large for a girl her size. Due to the upbringing she received however, she is one to downplay her immense appetite under all circumstances. But, for her size, Vega truly has to her the ability to out eat even men who weigh nearly three times what she does. Although her appetite is something which embarrasses her, the truth is that if Vega were allowed to lose herself in a state of comfort and with people who she felt contented around, the fear of her appetite becoming something with major shock value would otherwise vanish.

Sleepwalking – Evidently, Vega suffers from bouts of sleepwalking. More times than one she’s been discovered fast asleep in a place that very clearly wasn’t her bed. This is something that is very much hated by her Mistress/sister-in-law, and it’s earned her a bruise or two in the past as well. And as it happens, when it is that others might find her in the midst of one of these episodes, Vega is found with a rather doll-like expression on her features; expression deadened, all signs of humanity gone with nothing but a blank look left.

Without Fear To Insects – Given the upbringing she had, one might think that fearing the stereotypical girly things would be something she suffers from, I.E. insects, arachnids, rodents, all that jazz. . . . Oddly enough, no, Vega does not fear any of these things at all, and they do not bother her in the least. Even if a spider were to crawl across her bare stomach before her eyes, she wouldn’t bat an eyelash at it.

Klutz – A personal shame of hers; Vega is rather clumsy, despite the fact that as she grew up a rigid lesson was thrusted at her day in and day out to be graceful and elegant, always so. It’s never been something she could aid. It’s something that Vega is self-conscious about, and she often does her best to avoid accidents and such, but it never seems to be enough as she still has them anyway. As a servant girl in the home of her brother-in-law, Vega has had many accidents, those which earn her the scorn and spite of her fellow servant girls, and their Mistress. Often these accidents have resulted in verbal and sometimes physical abuse. She is not a creature of poise.

Very Formal – Her manner of speech is something that may seem strange to many, it is very formal. Vega is someone who very rarely uses brash language, or even conjunctions. Her way of speaking can be seen as very odd and uptight, but it is all she really knows.

Cooking – What sort of proper lady would Vega be if she couldn’t so much as do this? Ladies cook, and know how to do so where she is from, no matter the class, a proper woman always knows her way around a kitchen. However, even if Vega can cook, that doesn’t mean her meals turn out looking elegant and fancy. . . .

Song-voice – As well as with her rearing, she was taught how to sing, and sing well. A wife must know how to entertain during a party. . . . But yes, Vega is a capable songstress, and is able to sing very, very well.

Book-based Intellect – Vega is a very well read young lady. Her lifestyle allowed her room for much reading and delving into book after book, so she is one who possesses a surprising wealth of knowledge within her head. Although, it isn’t something she makes much use of, nor does she have a chance to.

Honesty – Although she is unaware of this, Vega is a girl who is capable of shocking honesty. She possesses a sense of perception and clarity that even she is oblivious toward, in situations, she is able to spot out things others would be likely to overlook.

-Good Food
-Warm and Pleasant Days
-Moon and Stargazing
-Books and Reading
-People in a Certain Way
-Blood and Death
-Arranged Marriage
-Loneliness and Social Isolation
-Complete Darkness
-Bitter and Spicy Things
-Aspects of her Current Self
-Thunderstorms and Nasty Weather
-The Cold
-Cooking and Baking

Brontophobia – Fear of Thunderstorms
Cleithrophobia –Fear of being locked in an enclosed space

Sexuality: Although Vega is definitely classifiable as Heterosexual, events in her early life have left her otherwise Asexual, given her current disposition and preference in keeping people at bay. However, she still does understand the notion of physical appeal and attraction.

Personality: A bit of an odd girl, Vega is someone that is not at all easy to define. . . . Given her upbringing and the last few years of her life, she has developed quite an interesting and complicated personality. Reared as a nobleman’s daughter, Vega is someone who seems to present themselves with pride, strength and the upmost certainty of their heritage, person and self. Looking at her, Vega seems like she’s a very strong young woman, someone who can carry their own weight and shoulder a multitude of burdens without batting an eyelash. She seems as if she’s haughty, prideful and almost arrogant, even the expressions she carries upon her face cause her to be written off as such. Here’s the reality though . . . she’s not really any of these things. She’s not full of any sort of pride in herself or her lineage, and she’s not strong in any sense of the word. Her mentality and emotional state are rather fragile, and in truth, the slightest of overloads can be enough to send her into a spiral of depression, anxiety and a fit of tears. Vega is really a timid young woman who merely presents herself as a being full of strength so that no one would have the chance to think otherwise, she fears what people might think, or do, if they discovered that she was actually a very weak girl. Not wanting to end up being used, or taken advantage of, Vega does her best to hide her many weaknesses and her fragile state of self.

As she is now, and as she has been for many years, Vega is one who does her best to detach herself from the happenings around her. From people’s plights, to their words and to any situation at hand, she prefers not to let her emotions get mixed up in anything; she knows her own frailty and realizes that if she allowed herself to be open to the misery of the world around her, and to her own situation, that she would break. Honestly, what is keeping Vega from breaking now is uncertain, even to her; she even wonders why it is she is trying to look strong to everyone around her now. Her situation seems utterly hopeless, so why? The only answer to this whole matter that she can form is that inside of her, she wants to retain some sense of self, something that will remind her that she is still her own person, and that she will not break to her keeper. . . . Even still, there are undoubtedly times when Vega’s nearly lost it, and become overwhelmed with her situation.

She tries to act as strong as she can, she doesn’t want to submit to the reality of her life, but the truth is that her façade is slowly, slowly crumbling and with each day, Vega is coming closer to breaking.

Underneath this mask of hers, this seemingly emotionless girl who seems a pillar of certain strength, maturity and pride, Vega is really something else. . . . With that emotional frailty of hers, Vega is certainty a very sensitive and actually sweet young woman. The plights of others cling to her heart and have become a heavy weight upon her, part of the reason she seems so insensitive toward everything and one. She feels a lot of guilt for what the world seems to be coming to. In reality, she despises herself, and the family in which she was raised. She’s utterly ashamed of what she is and whom. But still, she doesn’t want to break in front of others, so she never lets them know of how she feels. Vega is certain that they would not sympathize with her, and would only seek to truly harm her if they realized how deep her guilt traveled.

With that sensitivity she has, Vega is honestly a kind soul who is scared. Though she can seem off-putting and rude, she’s really just anxious of the world around her . . . but she is also curious toward it. She was a sheltered child—in a word—and she never saw the truth of the world as she grew up, and because of that, everything around her is still very much alien. Even though she’s lived as a servant to an upper-class nobleman for the last year, she both fears and desires the world. But, her fear has overcome her desire, by isolating herself from everything she feels like she can cushion those uncertainties of hers and keep her heart sustained. Honestly . . . that defense of hers is beginning to fail her. Vega led a relatively isolated existence up until her marriage at fourteen, and even after, she never had a friend or true companion. Her husband was an unpleasant man whom his servants feared, and as such, they were dreadful of interacting with his wife, Vega, and did much to avoid her. Even if Vega bothered to try to reach out to converse with them, they would always find a way to cut the contact short.

So, what things boil down to is this . . . she’s lonely. Vega is a girl who is very lonesome. In a way also, she has begun to see herself unfit to befriend those around her, given what her heritage seems to be, in a word, she has started to feel as if she is only a burden, and that she would be a burden to others. She knows of her own shortcomings and as such, she doesn’t want someone else to have to deal with them. However, just to say, if Vega were ever able to make a friend, or find herself becoming close to another, the heavy mask she wears, the one that makes her look so haughty and strong, it’d come off. Maybe she’d be able to show the world who she really is for the first time in a very long time.

Note that before, it was said that Vega has been this emotional mess for years. She hasn’t been as this for the whole of her life, nor is it who she really is inside. In reality, she’s a very sweet child. She stuck betwixt and between naïveté and a sort of sense of maturity. Brought up with a restrictive rearing, Vega was kept from the world and knowing of all its normal day-to-day happenings and occurrences, common life is not something to which she is accustomed, even at this point in her life. By the manner in which she was raised, she often found her young mind drawn into the world within the books and novels that she had access to. Due to not being allowed to leave the premises of her family’s home, text was all Vega had to bide her time and as such, she became absorbed in reading, and from it gained much factual knowledge, as well as a natural love for books and such. For all of her inconsequential knowledge, Vega is a rather simple young woman still . . . not understanding life outside her home very well; she’s not always good at figuring things out on her own. You could say that Vega isn’t exactly blessed with commonsense, though she always would mean well when acting.

Her lack of knowing how the world works, and not understanding the workings of people in general, things like critical decision making and such things are not Vega’s strong suit—she has trouble reaching a conclusion on them, though she would do her best to resolve things if she must. The uncertainty in her decision-making abilities leaves Vega with a tendency to look to others for guidance rather often, as she will be unsure of herself and what might happen in the end. Even still . . . in a word, she is a sort of brave girl. Even with those rather painful uncertainties of hers, Vega is a girl who will take quick action when it comes to what she does think is right and wrong. Though complicated choices might leave her stumbling about in the dark clueless, simple decisions that are to be made based off one’s morality are things she can come to a sudden choice upon. Her views of what is right and wrong are defined in her mind already, but they are intertwined with her naïveté, and thus, her ethics are heavily flawed, more so than a normal person’s. What she understands is rather black and white, and her standing beliefs are on the side of inflexible at the moment, as they have always been.

Although she is somewhat afraid of making choices, she will stand by the things she feels are right. She’s both a deep and strange girl. One obvious aspect of her personality is that she is on the clueless side of the range—Vega is a girl to see as . . . ‘interesting’, but it’s apparent she doesn’t really understand the commonalities involved with normal socialization. Often, rather blatant things would tend to fly over her head and she misses them completely, making her seem like a total airhead at times. Other times, uncouth and harsh words might wind up leaving her own lips due to her not thinking through what would happen on being spoken. She speaks with her heart, sometimes for better or good.

The truth is that Vega finds people to be precious in all their forms, though she might not think as much of herself. Vega is a girl who will always, always put others before herself no matter the situation. She seems to think so little of herself. Although she knows how to fight, perhaps shocking, given her upbringing, Vega is a gentle girl at heart; she’s a girl who feels that all human life possesses value in some way or form, all of it. So, within her is a strong desire to protect as many people as she can, even those who might be considered an enemy. As weird as a trait as that is, it’s something within herself that Vega cannot deny or keep suppressed. Whether that is a good thing or bad . . . that is up to one’s own subjective views.

In a weird way though, you might say she’s quick to assume responsibility. Vega will put others ahead of herself, almost no matter what. Although she’s not the brightest of girls when it comes to many aspects of normal life, she still places others above herself for many reasons; this runs so deep in her mindset though, that Vega can be seen as selfless toward others to a fault. If she were pained, injured or anything of the sort, she would hide her problems from others almost as long as she could deny having anything wrong with her. She believes that it would be selfish of herself to burden another with her problems, and as such, Vega seems like she might be a superficial girl who only knows a naïve way of the world.

This very far from the truth of course, as Vega’s surface self would reveal. Pain has entwined itself around Vega’s heart deeply, and even into her true self it would remain. An aching loneliness that’s persisted throughout much of her life. Rejection has been a constant in her short life, rejecting her for everything she supposedly was. She has been alone for such a long time, her rearing was restrictive and without any true sense of affection, she was starved of companionship. She was married at fourteen, with no more socialization than before. Being left alone as she was is a pain that reflects within Vega. The way she would latch onto others so easily. . . . The reality of Vega is that she is a girl who has hidden away all she once was in order to adopt a façade toward the world that would guard her from its horrors and the pain of living itself. Beneath that though is a girl who is otherwise very innocent, lonely and simply genuine and kind.

-Superstrength and Durability


As far as things go, Vega doesn’t exactly have a lot of various things she can do with this really, what she can do Is simply control electricity to a degree. She’s never honed this power of hers, though she is aware she has it, she has never done anything with it. In line with the mythos of pyrope garnet, Vega’s little body serves as a conduit for all things electric. She can manipulate their current, and use them to her own designs, however the main thing she is able to actually do with this power of hers is . . . garner electric to her body and fire it from the gemstone embossed within her forehead as a bolt of crimson lightning. It’s not something she can do often, calling upon her own strength to do this is something that is horridly taxing on her body, even if she can pull it from herself—from her body’s natural energy reserves, it’s not easy pulling together enough electricity in the body to form a full-blown lightning bolt.

However, as Vega can control electric in general, and not just within herself, she is able to also to call to her command the lightning of Mother Nature. Should a storm erupt nearby, and should Vega will it, she can summon to her command all the lightning within said storm.

-Superstrength and Durability
These two sort of go hand-in-hand together. Though she does not normally display signs of it, Vega’s little body actually houses a wealth of extreme strength in it, on levels of inhuman. Truth be told, Vega herself is not aware of this power of hers at all, as the garnet is a stone linked to strength within the body, Vega herself can at times call upon immense amounts of physical power. As it goes too, with this superstrength comes levels of inhuman durability and resistance to injury; if a girl of her size and build actually tried to lift something that weighed something far heavier than herself, even with superstrength, her bones and body couldn’t handle it. The durability only comes into play for her when it is that she manages to call upon her inhuman strength. When it is that Vega’s body is as fragile as that of any human’s, she’s capable of falling into injury just the same. As things go, this power of Vega’s is something she can only call upon in times of extreme emotionality. When something overwhelms her, or fear takes root within her heart and otherwise completely consumes everything in her mind, she can bring this power into being, much like what happens with a normal human in times of crisis, simply just to a much high extreme.

Perhaps the most interesting of Vega’s powers as a gemstone, purging, a strange ability to resist and reject toxins. Vega’s own body is immune to poisons and all such things, physical, emotional and mental. As strange as this sounds, and as weird as it seems, what emotional and mental toxins refer to are lies within the mind, and mental illness. Translating this over to Vega herself, it simply means that everything Vega feels and thinks is genuine and honest. Her body is pure and healthy, as her mind is pure of intangible toxins, no matter how it might be she acts herself.

Following in further with this, this power of Vega’s is something she can pass onto others, and not just keep within herself, but . . . such affects are temporary. Contact with Vega, and close proximity to her would pass on her ability to purge people of any toxins within, but say if someone was suffer the effects of an incurable mental illness, contact with Vega would provide a short-lived reprieve for them from it. Their minds would be free of the illness for a short while, until Vega’s influence gave away. To stop the illness again, said person would have to again find themselves in Vega’s presence to extend their reprieve.

As things go, Vega’s presence around others provides a sort of . . . calming effect, a sense of certainty and purity due to her unintentional power to Purge. She’s able to also ‘purify’ the emotions of others too, if they have feelings lingering and obscuring their true sentiments, Vega’s presence can bring a true emotion to the surface . . . and make it certain and genuine. Purging in itself is a complicated power that Vega is unaware of possessing at all, the only signs of its existence are the feelings people experience around her, and the fact that Vega herself is as she is.

Weapon Discipline: Vega is capable of using a halberd; despite her upbringing, she was hastily trained in the art of fighting with a weapon as this for the sheer formality of it. As she was marrying a man who had made a strong name for himself as a wartime general, it seemed that her appeal to him would be upped if Vega herself were able to support herself in battle.

Fighting Style: Though she was trained to fight, and with her ability to conjure lightning, Vega is not much of a combatant. She could be a highly aggressive and offensive person because of how she was trained, her size and the fact that she can call upon lightning as she can, but, she’s just not up to the task. If put into combat, the best Vega could probably do is block and defend, she doesn’t want to fight, even if she could in times of crisis.

And even with her powers, Vega is still not a reliable ally due to themselves being unreliable. Vega cannot control her abilities—her electrokinesis, her superstrength—these are not yet controllable by Vega, and they are things that only come to her aid when she is extremely emotionally strained or has her back to the wall.

Relationship Status: Widowed . . . technically. By legal law, she was married. Even if the marriage was an arranged one which she really wanted no part of. Back during that point in her life, Vega was living as little more than a doll with few expressions of her true nature, and so, she married a man thrice her age without much protest.
FatherAldric Dubois
-Age Sixty-Two
-Head of the Dubois family, and married to the much younger Marlene, Aldric is a man who possessed much pride in his name and status. He lived as he was expected, and overlooked his family as his father did before him; stern and rigid. There was no room for error; things had to be perfect, always. That was what he was taught to expect and to implore in his household and himself. This is the way he was and always has been, right down to the point of attempting to conceive a son to name as the heir to his family. Aldric’s current wife has not been his only . . . as it has been custom to marry within the family to maintain a sense of pure and noble blood, Aldric has in the past married relatively close in; his previous wife was discarded after It was she aged beyond her childbearing years. She was by blood, Aldric’s cousin. As this was common, it had begun having very adverse effects within the Dubois clan. Children would be stillborn, women and men infertile, illness was frail health was a commonality, and it was very rare for a child to be born anymore that was considered of normal health. Aldric was one of these rarities.

But it seemed that any woman around his age within the family who could have been considered as a wife for him suffered from the ill-effects of the poor marriage choices made in the previous generations, they were either barren or far too weak to bear a child without dying. The only woman who seemed to be neither of the two, and relatively healthy enough for pregnancy and birth was Aldric’s own cousin, a woman named Jutte. So it was that she and Aldric married, and for many years attempted to conceive a child, as expected of them. But that never came to be. Eventually, age came and went, and Jutte’s ability to have children passed, following this, Aldric being in his late 40’s took to the only option he had. He discarded himself of Jutte, and took to marrying again; this time another girl within his family who was a great deal younger than he was. Marlene Dubois was the daughter of some extended family, but still within the realm of the same bloodline. When it was she reach the age of sixteen, she was offered up by this branch of the family to Aldric as a wife that might be able to bear him the son Jutte could not.

The two were wed rather quickly; a large public ceremony was held, and it was not too long after that Marlene did indeed find herself pregnant . . . just like what was expected and hoped for. Despite Marlene quickly conceiving, there was concern for her wellbeing as she showed signs of ill health time and time again while she carried. As fate would have it, Aldric’s child was born two months early, and much to the disappointment of both he and his wife, the child was a girl . . . a girl with a gemstone embedded within her forehead nonetheless. As Marlene never seemed able to be with child again following this, it seemed as if fate had resigned to end the Dubois line with he and his daughter. Aldric has never seen his daughter as anything but a sort of object, and thing. From soon after her birth, to right before she was married off at fourteen.
MotherMarlene Dubois
-Age Thirty-Two
-The wife and Lady of Dubois, Marlene is a woman who is a deal younger than her husband, and beyond having become his wife at the tender age of sixteen, her life has been short of anything noteworthy. She was married by Aldric simply because she was within his family, and because she seemed capable of bearing to him a healthy son without losing the pregnancy or delivering a stillborn baby as his former wife. As such, Marlene was married off out of duty, and there existed between her and Aldric no notion of love. To this day, she stays with her aged husband out of this, mere duty. She was unable to give him the son he needed, and the only thing she could bring into the world was naught but a tiny, premature little girl who was imperfect in every sense of the word; upon her head was a clear indication of this in the form of what looked to be a red horn. As this goes, Marlene looked upon her daughter with neither love nor hate; simply she viewed her as just another facet of the family. Under her guidance and word, Vega was raised to become what was considered to be the ideal wife for a noble. As Marlene was unable to give birth again, as she either never became pregnant, or she lost a baby to a miscarriage, the only thing she and her aging husband could do was to raise their daughter to be what Marlene herself was.

Because of his, Marlene never showed or truly felt any sort of love for her child. From after she was born, to when it was she last lay eyes upon the girl. There was always just a sense of indifference, duty to see her as something to better the Dubois family’s status in the world as it decayed further. As Vega was married off, Marlene and Aldric both came to a silent conclusion that they together would mark the end of the main line of Dubois family; Aldric had become too old to attempt to father a child anymore, and Marlene couldn’t carry one as it were anyway.
Late HusbandDietrich Delacroix
-Deceased at Forty-Six
-A man with a high standing in the world, from both family lineage and due to his own personal accomplishments within the realm of battle, Dietrich is the late husband of Vega, and is the one from whom she inherited her surname. Some years before his marriage to the young Vega, Dietrich took part in a skirmish between uncertain territories that had been on edge with one another for ages. Already within the military, and with family power backing him up, Dietrich commanded a legion of men into the fight, and battled through. He became renowned among the army he served for cunning, ruthlessness, and for seeming to have a sick sense of pleasure in taking the lives of others; getting enjoyment out of tormenting them before finally ending them. Following the fact that his side won in this small scale war, and because of number of victories under his belt . . . Dietrich returned home a ‘hero’. It didn’t take long for him to take power over his family, and the town they ruled. It didn’t take long for him to be hated by the rest of his family, though their feelings toward him to begin with were mixed, at best. How it was he acted following his war victories simply tipped the scales.

Hated by family, servants and the citizens of his territory, but still feared, Dietrich ruled for years will little opposition . . . and unmarried till a time came when the apparent slipped into view, his age and his childlessness. So, an arrangement was made between him and the head of a noble family that was falling into decay because they themselves lacked a proper heir to their name. In exchange for a better name for themselves, the Dubois’ family handed over their young, fourteen year old daughter to Dietrich to become his bride, and to be simply used for bearing him a son. Beyond this, Dietrich had no interest in her. As things were to be, Dietrich never did wind up having an heir with his ‘wife’. Only a year after he and she were married, Dietrich and his entire household succumbed to poison, many passed on in their sleep. As Vega had not showed signs of being able to conceive a child, Dietrich had never once touched her. . . . But, it was only she who remained alive from the whole ordeal. In a sense, she is Dietrich’s only living legacy in the world—being his widow, carrying his surname and as the survivor of a horrific poisoning.

Personal History: They claimed themselves unjustly cursed. Hexed by an old witch of a woman who was delusional, jaded and mad, someone who swore to them that their family would fall into decay at a painful slow, yet obvious rate due to her words. This is how the Dubois family came to defend its slowly falling status within the world. And, it was into this family that lay on the fringes of decay that Vega was born. Born to a father old enough to be her grandfather, and a mother young enough to be an elder sister, it’s obvious that her start was not what one might call normal in the least. Vega herself was a child born a bit more than two months premature, due to her mother suffering ill-health. Though she survived the birth intact, and alive, Vega was seen as a disappointment by both her parents. She was . . . a girl. This was not what they had wanted, the only reason Marlene had been taken on a second wife to Aldric in the first place was to attempt to ensure that he would get the son needed to carry on the Dubois name and main line. Given that Marlene had managed to conceive a child so quickly, and carried one till birth, albeit a premature one, it made many sure that it was a sign that the Dubois family would receive the son it so needed.

When it was discovered by both the servants and parents that said child was in fact a girl, few knew how to react, except to perhaps show disgust. It was a girl; the firstborn child of the Dubois family . . . was a girl, someone unable to carry on the name. How Vega was raised from then on is to be expected given the reaction she received from her family and household upon coming into the world, she was raised and kept healthy, but such a rearing was lacking in emotional support, love and such. Vega’s life was devoid of affection. It’s simply how she was raised, she grew accustomed to the treatment she received, and in return became emotionally distant from the world, as that’s what she believed it was like as a whole, that everyone was this way and would be this way toward her.

As Aldric and Marlene Dubois continued on trying to conceive another child, a boy, and they kept failing, it became apparent and clear that Vega was going to be the only child they had born alive. So, their focus came to be on rearing her to at least become an ideal wife for some upstanding nobleman at some point in her life. If even she couldn’t carry on the name of the family, she could at least serve as an outlet of some honor for the Dubois family as long as she was seen as suitable marriage material. . . . Vega took to her rearing quietly, and obediently, as there was no other way she knew how to act, it didn’t seem like she had other options, and besides that she was kept away from the rest of the world as a whole. And as she was kept away from the rest of the world outside her home, Vega too had no interaction with any children around her age too. She was kept to herself, raised with only the influence of many coldhearted adults around her. Vega grew up not as a child at all, and she knew no other way, until that is, around the age of eight, when it was she was greeted with a chance she’d never had before.

A boy had snuck onto her family’s land. A boy around her age who had heard rumors of the heiress of the Dubois family, a girl who had a gemstone within her forehead. Few had seen her though, and he wanted to see for himself if the rumors of this gemstone-bearing girl were true.

Well, turns out the boy wasn’t exactly talented at sneaking around, as he was quickly found out by Vega herself, the girl who he had been seeking to see with his own eyes. Stunned and surprised, Vega very nearly called for help from her servants before the boy began to laugh and examine her with lively, curious eyes. However, she stopped herself from doing so. And . . . gradually, she and the boy began to talk with one another, the boy treating Vega as she had never been treated before; as a person, as a girl, as a child, as a . . . friend. Vega very quickly came to bond with this boy when it came for his time to leave, and to head home, Vega for the first time in her life felt a sense of desperation at someone leaving her. And asked him if he would again come to visit her, surprised by her request the boy could only look at her with this sentiment spread across his features before it was he smiled, and promised her that he would return soon—after all, a gentleman could not deny a request from a princess like her. And for the first time in her short little life, Vega managed to smile a real smile.

As it was, this boy continued to return to her day in and day out, neglecting some of his other friends for meeting with her at times, and in a rather short while, the two of them managed to grow rather close. And it wasn’t too long before Vega and the boy shared a promise prompted by his leaving one day, though it was a part of their normal, it didn’t stop Vega from finding herself in tears. She was tired of this secret friendship, of being miserable any other time the boy wasn’t with her, so she began to cry to him to not go again, she didn’t want to be alone with only her unloving parents and servants anymore. But, the boy knew he had to leave again, he wasn’t even supposed to be within the Dubois household at all; it was technically illegal for him to be. But still . . . he comforted Vega till the tears nearly stopped, and her sobs were reduced to quiet hiccups, and then as she came back to sound-mindedness, the boy took Vega’s little hand in his own and wrapped his pinky around hers, curling his fingers and thumb into a soft fist as he urged Vega’s to do the same. And with a gentle smile on his young face, pink held within his cheeks, he made to her a promise, one that would fill little Vega with elation.

“Vega, I might have to go right now, but, I’m gonna make you a promise, I swear that . . . that when you and I are older, I’ll make sure you’re never lonely again. I’ll be with you always. I-I . . . want you to be my wife when we grow up.”

A promise of future-marriage. A promise that when the two of them grew older, that she would never have to be alone again, she could be with him and always be happy, loved, given affection. It made her smile, it made her the happiest she’s ever been in her life. But, as many happy things are fated, it wasn’t to be. Vega and the boy remained secret companions for some weeks to come, but eventually, Vega’s father one day wandered away from his usually daily scheduled when he overheard very loud laughter coming from the place where Vega was meant to be alone, studying to become the ideal woman for a future-suitor. Aldric found Vega with that boy, and at that single moment, in that single instance, everything that Vega had become, her happiness, it was shattered. It broke.
Furious at this boy . . . Aldric had him caught, and shortly after his young life was ended, right before Vega’s eyes. By the hand of her father. He resisted, and as ruler of the area, Aldric did what he saw fit and ended the boy’s life. Right in front of Vega. Bloody, broken, dead—the boy who had made Vega smile, who treated her as a human, as a friend, who’d promised her happiness in the future, to be with her, he was deceased. Following this, Aldric made it quite clear to Vega that she was not anything normal, that she was not to interact with those of a lower class than she was, she was nothing more than a girl destined to better the name of the Dubois family, she would marry a man of noble status, and that was it. She was nothing more than that. That was all she would ever be . . . and anyone who treated her otherwise would ultimately see how wrong they were to do so.

It was at that moment that Vega’s heart closed up, and she locked herself away into a shell. Being the only child born to her parents alive, they were disappointed. Aldric was angered by the fact that his wife could not give life to a son to carry on his family’s name, and did not take to Vega well. Marlene, even as her mother, she did not look upon her newborn daughter with much love, no. She could only look upon the baby girl with questioning, a wondering of why it was she was only able to bear a single infant to the world, and why it was that it was a girl. Suffice to say, neither of her parents looked upon Vega with affection, she was simply there, their daughter, someone who they would raise and just marry off someday. . . . In line with this, Aldric and Marlene continued to try to conceive another child, hopefully a son this time, but after Vega was born, Marlene never even got pregnant again. Vega was all they had.

Though bitter about it, Aldric and Marlene took to rearing their daughter as society saw fit, molding the girl into a would-be someday perfect wife, a girl who was intelligent enough to be interesting, but also subservient enough to conform to the whims and wishes of her spouse. She was kept from true education, subjects that were thought best for boys to learn only were kept away from her and she was cultured in the ways of how to be a ‘woman.’ Maintaining elegant speech, how to stay in line with the wishes and beliefs of a man . . . etc. This was her education, the way she was instructed on how to live her life, and she was told that this was the proper way to do so. Yet still, there in Vega remained a certain spark that couldn’t be extinguished by this sort of rearing. Her mind was ever active, and she wasn’t so simply made to relinquish her sense of self. No, not entirely. . . . As she grew up, Vega was not treated with any affection by her parents, at all, she was regarded and acknowledged, but that was all. Love from Aldric and Marlene weren’t something she ever got, and as such, Vega grew up a lonesome girl who passed her idle hours alone, perhaps sewing or even arranging flowers, and even thinking. Though she was not given a heavy education, Vega was not stupid at all.

She was a smart enough girl to understand topics of deep thought, of philosophy, history, light politics. . . .

While she might’ve formed such thoughts upon her own volition and in isolation, Vega never once uttered a single word of her ideology to her parents, or to anyone because she was reared to not do so. She was taught that there was no reason for a woman to weigh her head down with such serious thoughts. That was how it was for the daughters of nobles at the time. Under the current governmental rule, girls were left with little schooling and were simply molded to be girls of leisure. Although, it was considered standard practice to still have a girl gifted with the ability of any sort of magic trained to an extent. And this was what happened with young Vega at the age of eight. She discovered her own powers as a gemstone at this point in time, coming to be able to conjure up small amounts of electricity to her because of the garnet embedded into her chest. Without guidance, she managed to figure out the basics of her powers on her own.

It was a slightly impressive feat, even to her unloving parents. And as such, they quickly began to have her trained by a rather harsh instructor. The man showed no tolerance or laxness for any student, not even a small, eight year old girl. He was hard on young Vega, forceful and impatient, he did not at all care that she barely understood what it was she could do, no, all he cared about was getting the power out of her. Day after day, he forced her to spar with him, he would often end up just that knocking her around since she was lacking proper control over her powers. While he’d control himself to not critically injure her, he would still come in close and suddenly slam her in the torso and send her small self flying unless she managed to summon her powers and fend him off. This sort of ‘training’ really did nothing to help Vega hone her powers as a gemstone, at best, it only made them jumpy and even more uncontrollable, as Vega only truly understands how to activate them now when she’s frightened.

Because of how her teacher was, Vega never really learned how to properly control her lightning, and as such, she is not a skilled combatant. No, what little control she managed to ascertain over her abilities fell into a method of self-defense, preservation. She only ever learned how to defend herself from being attacked rather than how to attack another.

This life went on for the next few years, even after the territory she inhabited sparked a battle between itself and a smaller country nearby, resulting in a near-war. Vega was instructed on the ways of how to be a proper woman, a good wife, and she was rigidly trained by her bending master. She knew little about the near-war, only that the rulers in power had ‘done a good thing,’ and that they ‘were amazing men with a wonderful vision.’ Both things were said by her father. As far as Vega knew, what was happening to the world was indeed a very ‘good’ thing, being who she was and what; she was never told anything about it. The horrors and cruelties of it, the fact that so many people were killed. . . .

So, while the near-war progressed outside of her home and Vega’s normal life proceeded, Aldric and Marlene began to make preparations for something unknown to Vega when she was still thirteen. . . . The news and relevance of just what it was her parents had been up to for the last odd months, with their meetings of the same people over and over again, all of it was revealed upon her fourteenth birthday. Much to their own satisfaction, her parents announced her engagement. Vega Dubois was going to be getting married in only a few short weeks to come. Yes, at age fourteen, Aldric and Marlene had set up a marriage for their still-young daughter, and to whom?

Her marriage was to be to a man more than twice her age, a reputed general in the army, a man who was looked upon well due to the victories he’d earned the army during the near-war. She was to marry Dietrich Delacroix.

. . . .and it happened, Vega became a wife at a very young age, and came to live with her new husband right after. Dietrich was not a very kind man, not by any means, he was a rather frightening fellow from the battles he’d seen, and had only married Vega for the simple fact that he knew he’d be needing a wife in the coming years in order to have himself an heir to his name, so really, it didn’t matter to him what woman he married, so long as she was able to have children for him. . . . The only thing Vega was regarded as to him, was a future childbearing . . . thing. That was all. Given the fact that she was fourteen, young Vega was fortunate that she was someone who was late to develop in many senses of the word. Due to this, she was spared any treatment that would have truly left her emotionally scarred by her husband.

A year after her marriage to Dietrich, when she was fifteen, she was still physically unable to have children, and as such, she remained spared, for it was soon after this that things would take yet another dramatic turn. Dietrich suffered an ‘accident’ that resulted in his death. Widowed, and with nowhere to turn as her parents would not take her back, Vega found herself being claimed by Dietrich’s brother, and he took her into his home, where she was not treated as the wife of a noble, but instead as a servant girl. Dietrich’s brother, Abel left her to be one of his maids.

Abel’s wife looked upon Vega with disinterest and annoyance, but she abided by the wishes of her spouse, provided ideal clothing for the girl, and instructed her on how she was to wear her hair, so that her face could be seen. If anything Vega was lucky for when it came to Abel, it was the fact that he never laid a hand upon her. She feared him, and remembered what it was Dietrich had wanted from her, but Abel never saw such a thing from her, only he viewed her as a remnant of his brother. And in essence, the very notion of seeing the girl in such a way disgusted him, for he thought her tainted already, after all she was a wife for a year. . . .

Now, it has been a year since Vega was made into the servant of her brother-in-law. And, in this time, Vega has made no attempts to flee from the care of her brother-in-law. Her spirit already broken and battered by the before happenings of her life, there was little point in it, and now as things go, Vega has simply resigned to her life as it is now, remembering that her father had warned her years before when it was he killed the boy who’d treated her as human.
For the last year of her short life, this is how Vega has come to exist, living idle, wearing a mask of false strength upon her body that is ready to break at any moment, all the while, unaware of the reality that she is a part of, the great destiny before her.


So begins...

Vega Delacroix's Story


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Character Portrait: Vega Delacroix
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Vega Delacroix

Sunset-colored light filtered into the room from between the ever so slight part in the heavy drapes; the once quiet air of the chamber alit with the false light of candles and lamps had been permeated just before by the jarring noise of a teacup shattering. All activity within the room had ceased as soon as it had happened, movement had halted and the servant girls of the Delacroix household all found themselves with their breaths hitched in the confines of their throats, an anxious sentiment settling in upon the lot of them. Another broken piece of dinnerware, even as simple as a broken teacup . . . even for something so simple, the girls had proper reason feel as they did. The Mistress would fall into a mood fouler then as she normally was. There would be a punishment for this, so much as a slip up, a mistake, anything less than perfection would earn any one of them, and sometimes all of them, pain or time without meals. Considering whom it was that had an accident this time, it was likely that penalty would not be limited to the individual responsible. Likely that the Mistress would see to all of them paying. . . .

She always had this happen to her, every other day. No matter how many times she was reprimanded, whether physically or verbally, it still always occurred. The girl’s dunce-like ways served as the bane of their days working, as they too always ended up being castigated for her wrongdoings. Why it was the Master and Mistress even bothered with her still was beyond the lot of the servant girls, regardless of if the girl was the widow of the Master’s brother . . . she was little more than a pariah. Both in attitude and appearance; to most everyone she was a simple freak, inhuman. She was not worth bothering with anymore, she never was. The only thing she was to the Delacroix name was a blemish . . . the servant girls knew that, as did the Mistress.

There was barely even a hint of movement from the blemish on the Delacroix name, the culprit and one responsible for breaking yet another teacup, she remained as she was when the delicate porcelain cup had slid from its tray, full of drink, her listless and harsh eyes transfixed upon the sight below her of broken china and tea that began to seep out in all directions. Her shoulders didn’t even move to draw breath; if she was even breathing at all. There was no expression, no sense of anything, regret, panic, anxiety or . . . anything. Everything about Vega Delacroix then and at that moment was entirely numb. And still, everything remained quiet, before; at last, the sound of movement came from their Mistress.

She’d stood up to her feet from where she had been sitting, waiting for Vega to come serve her, her afternoon tea, little else but annoyance and disgust upon her aging features. Her emerald eyes were focused upon the mess on the floor, before it was they slipped upward, gazing upon the twig of a girl that stood there above, doing nothing to remedy the untidiness she’d made. And so, it happened in a flash, so quickly that few of the servant girls who were able to call themselves onlookers even managed to comprehend till they heard the dull, and yet so loud, thud.

“Bumbling oaf!” Came the shout from the Mistress, as it was her foot had left the floor below and hit the unmoving and apathetic Vega square in the diaphragm with no mercy. Though she was aged, all the servant girls knew well enough their Mistress was still physically apt and capable of causing much pain if she saw fit to. . . . Her physical punishment toward Vega was just another example.

Vega had been jettisoned partway across the room before her airborne body was halted by meeting a wall. The girl gave no verbal cue to this, made no noise that would even make one aware that she even knew what had just happened to her. There was only the thud of her body hitting the wall, before sliding downward at the beckoning of gravity to hit the floor with yet another thump.

She lay there, silent, in merely a heap, eyes open and apathetic. This was . . . normal. This was what happened to her whenever she managed to make a mistake. The other servant girls only looked on, they’d grown a very thick-skin to sights such as this, fellow servants being reprimanded for messing up. They suffered like this too if they allowed themselves to make such mistakes. . . . If it happened to one of them, it didn’t matter. It was a part of their lives, their everyday lives. They held no compassion for one another, no empathy. Vega had these sorts of things happen to her all the time; she was always at the receiving end of their Mistress’ anger for these occurrences. The child always managed to screw things up, and never once did she show any sign of caring or realization toward this.

Everything about her was clumsy, and entirely devoid of sense, there was no sign of humanity within her.

Even in moments such as this . . . she showed no signs of being human, she only acted as if she were an emotionless doll. Never did the Mistress’ punishments get a rise from her; no tears, no apologies; nothing.

From her place on the floor, against the wall, Vega could hear the seething of her Mistress, “Damn it all, she got tea everywhere.” A hiss, “Enju, go fetch some rags before it stains the floor. Now!” she demanded.

“Yes, Mistress.” The monotonous voice of another young woman answered to her Mistress’ demand. Following was the hastened steps of feet against wood, leaving the room. Enju, heading to retrieve clothes to soak up the split tea . . . Vega knew where she was headed, after all, she’d been in the service of the Delacroix household for over a year now, since it was Dietrich was discovered dead and poisoned along with the rest of his household. In that time, she had not changed a bit.

The eyes of the Mistress turned back to Vega, who in this short timeframe, had not moved a single bit, not even to breathe it seemed. Vega knew the woman was looming above her now, her silhouette was blocking out the light of the candles and lamps in the room. “Well,” she started, irked, “aren’t you going to get up you indolent wench?” To her words, Vega’s body involuntarily twitched just a bit, as a tiny breath entered her lungs. Despite the small movement though, her lips remained shut.

A sharp huff came, before the shouting. “UP! Get up now!” the Mistress demanded, “Get up and leave! I do not want to see your face on our lands for the rest of the night!”

Those words were enough for Vega to ascend to her feet rapidly, a red glint coming from her forehead as she moved. Her eyes cast downward; she darted out of the room hurriedly, without saying a thing. She could feel the gazes of her Mistress and the servant girls on her back as she rushed through the doorway and into the hall, heading toward the door. She was to it in seconds.

Her red cloak was stolen away from its place upon the nearby wall hooks, and found itself around her shoulders very quickly as it was she stepped out into the soon-to-be evening air. Buckles were done up hastily, and her feet were locked in a dead sprint. Quickly, she was darting through the desolate and near-empty streets of the town she was bound to the for the remainder of her Master and Mistress’s lives, running toward an unspecified local within it. Though her mind had not acknowledged where she now headed, her body knew. It was where she always wound up whenever the Mistress demanded she leave the premises of the Delacroix household for the rest of the day.

Vega’s small hands hand worked their way out from beneath her cloak, and had brought the hood upon up and over her head, to hide her face from the looks of the town citizens. Though it was that her boots pinched her toes and feet as she moved with haste, she kept the pace up, keeping her eyes cast down, away from anyone and everyone. The world knew her, and the world did not like her. The surname she carried; the clothing she wore. . . . It marked her as a Delacroix. People knew her, they knew who she was. From her name to her face, her marriage to Dietrich Delacroix was something that would forever follow her, and chain her down for the rest of her years. People had hated her late husband, though he’d been one of power, he had been hated. And because she had been his wife, because she was all that was left of him, people hated her too, if they knew her, they hated her.

She didn’t have to look where she was going as her legs carried her to where she needed to go. The way was engraved entirely into her memory, she’d been there so many times after incidents like before after all . . . even if she wasn’t liked, in the Inn at least everyone more or less left her alone as long as she got something to drink or eat, and minded herself.

Out of breath and tired by the time she reach her intended destination, Vega stopped herself from running right at the doors; breathing harshly. Standing herself up, her head still cast down with the hood hanging over her eyes, she entered into the establishment. She knew she was getting more than a few stares; even within the bounds of an Inn she was out of place, she was tiny, her form could easily be taken as that of a child’s, and not as that of a sixteen year old who’d already seen marriage. A soft sigh could only leave Vega’s lips as she knew that more stares were to come her way with the removal of her cloak.

So, with hesitation, Vega went ahead and allowed the hood of her cloak to come away from her face; revealing her seemingly young features, her crimson eyes and inky colored hair that was plastered to her face from the rain. Indeed, there were more stares. . . . A vacant look overtook Vega’s features as she quietly cast her gaze down to the floor as she unbuckled the secure buckle on her shoulder, and removed her cloak from her form; knowing that her clothing was bound to attract unwanted glances and scowls, it wasn’t as if it were the most appropriate of attire. And it wasn’t as if she had much of a choice in her apparel. Her legs were on show for the whole world to see if it were not for the high socks she was made to wear, and the outfit even had sewn in holes on the sides of the torso. . . .

Regardless of the stares, Vega kept her eyes to the floor, biting the inside of her cheek as she hung her cloak up, moving her long ponytail away from getting snagged on anything as she turned around and headed to take a seat. She simply intended on minding her own business; that really was all she wanted to do. After managing to get herself kicked from her Mistress’ sight for the remainder of the night, she simply just wanted to be left to herself, to make sure that she was in no one’s way, nor that she was a bother to anyone. The last thing she desired was to be an active annoyance to anyone, at least, no more than she already was. People in the village didn’t like her, and the local regulars at the Inn regarded her no better, travelers often didn’t know who she was unless explained to . . . peace was half and half within the Inn, and as things were for her, that was about all she could expect. Within the walls of the Inn, she could at the very least expect stares, if not because people knew who she was, but because of her clothing, the way she was dressed.

It was likely that some people found her attire improper, maybe even offensive. That was the fault of her perverted Master, the man never touched her, but he made all of his servant girls wear such . . . clothing like her own. It showed too much for comfort, and was provocative, and especially inappropriate for someone like her to be wearing, looking like a child and being in such dress was on a level of disturbing, as least, Vega believed that well may be the case. She didn’t know much of the world, and she feared learning more than she already had; if the world were already as bad as it was for her with what little she knew, then . . . how worse could it be if she learned more?

Although, it was not as if she had to worry about learning more; her life and fate was sealed. She was a widow, and had been claimed by her brother-in-law, then ultimately made to be one of his servants. Her life belonged to not herself, it belonged to another person, so what did she really have to worry about now? My existence is fated to be as it is, there is no changing what Destiny has lain out for me. she thought to herself, tuning the noise and rowdiness of the Inn out as she kept her eyes averted from every other human in the room.

Vega kept her crimson eyes cast to the table she sat at as she brought her hands up onto its surface, and laced together her gloved fingers. [/i]I can feel the stares of others’ upon my person now, the locals do not desire my presence here, they would rather I leave immediately.[/i]

Dietrich had been a rigorously hated man, though he had power, he was still loathed by more than he’d ever understood. Following his death, Vega came to understand the severity of that loathing herself. Even his own brother had hated him . . . and as his survivor, Vega was subject to those lingering bitter sentiments.

As a small sigh left the girl’s pale lips, her face colorless and pallor from the emotional strain she’d been putting herself under for so long, her attention was interrupted, and she was pulled back into reality; the full noise and commotion of the Inn hitting her at once, causing her to wince, grimacing. Her small body tensed up, and it was hard for her to not flinch inwardly as she was used to when startled within the constant presence of her Mistress. There was no denying the tenseness upon Vega’s features and in her small body, she sat as stiff as a board, barely even moving to breathe. Even here she felt uncomfortable. The stares, she could feel the stares upon her person. . . . How she just hoped that people would go about their own business again soon and leave her alone, as she desired.

But, she heard it, even if she wanted solitude, and to not be noticed, it looked like she was not going to receive that pleasure tonight. She’d escaped her Mistress for now, but. . . . “Hey, isn’t that . . . isn’t she his . . . ?” The woman’s voice was soft, supposed to be guarded, and quiet, as to not draw attention, but it wasn’t. It was loud enough to be heard by even her.

The stares again, “Who are you . . . ? Oh, oh her? That thing in the lascivious clothing there?”

“Yes, her! Who else would I be talking about?! You know that only Sir Delacroix’s servant girls wear that lewd stuff around. But, what I’m asking is if she’sthat one?”

Vega tensed up as she more muddle whispers seem to flitter in and out of her hearing, and a part of her was certain that she was the focal point of many of them.

There was a scoff of what sounded like disgust, “Hell yes, that’s her, she’s his widow; the bastard Dietrich.”

She bit down on the inside of her lip as more soft and hushed voices seemed to permeate the atmosphere of the Inn, changing it from rowdy to something of a quiet one of seething disgust when her late husband’s name came to be mentioned, her being pointed out as his widow. This was the only place she could go now, and even here . . . things sometimes got to a point where she merely wanted to bolt, and, she felt as if she were already ready to do so.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Vega Delacroix Character Portrait: Jordan Telisay
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While the sun began to set, the building began to fill with the lower class civilians of all ages and types: farmers conversing about livestock populations, laberors drinking their pains and aches away, blacksmiths cleaning themselves in their ale before drinking it, few shop keepers hoping to escape their deranged wives or families, even a few women to gossip and throw objects. Regardless, the Goodfellow Inn was picking up steam, and so was its barkeep. While the different groups of people mingled, drank, sang and overall had a good time, a red blur was constantly moving from area to area; it didn't matter if he was serving, pouring or conversing, the red blur was almost always moving.

Jordan liked to call it his specialty as an Innkeeper: 'If I can pour 2 drinks while getting an order from another table, I get done faster.' Okay, that was only half of the truth. His other problem was that if Jordan swore that if he stopped moving, he would explode or something.

So Jordan continued his service to the Innkeeper, Mr. Goodfellow himself (who was currently out of town for a few days, which meant Jordan had to run the entire Inn by himself) to make sure that he would make ends meet. Sure, he didn't plan on staying for another month with the Inn, but Jordan didn't plan on tarnishing his spotless reputation with Inns; even if they never saw him again to give him a reputation. Though Jordan did have to admit that he wouldn't mind staying at the Goodfellow Inn for longer. Unlike a few of the other Inns he had been in service to, this one had running water, a door and windows. He was surprised when he saw all of those - it even had a broom for the glass! Goodfellow Inn was where it was at, but then again, Jordan wasn't about being 'where it was at'. Jordan moved because he felt compelled to: if the world didn't change for him, he had to change it himself. Besides, the longer he stayed the more management would want to interfere with him, the more he had a chance of possibly being spotted and recognized. He had been pretty sure that the searches had been reduced, but reduced wasn't the word he wanted: Jordan wanted to hear the word 'nonexistent'.

The bar was still buzzing with activity when Jordan got back from his rounds of the tables. As always, a few of the fellows were singing, while another two were in a drunken argument over something petty: a cow perhaps? Maybe they felt a relationship forming with their cow, and had to defend it? Jordan didn't know, as he didn't spend enough time thinking about it: already he was getting another ale ready for the man at the far end of the bar, to which he slid in his direction when finished. Instantly a cloth appeared and Jordan began to wipe down the counter with efficiency, even going around the two cow men who were now drinking themselves into an agreement.

As the sun continued to drop from the sky above, so did Jordan's energy level: call him a day person if you will, but his hyperactivity was a lot more mundane during the night. Regardless it was at this time that the door opened once again, this time letting in a familiar face that he had seen multiple times before but rarely conversed. He could barely remember her name, let alone why the whispers started. Being Jordan, who could barely focus on conversations for longer than 5 minutes, his ears began jumping from whisper to whisper like a vortex of sound, one that was starting to get mildly annoying on the ears. Besides, were they whispering about her odd clothing attire? Sure it was a little different, especially for a child. Is she one of those freaky child servants or something? Maybe she is just really hot! Oh who knows.

The noise was still starting to aggravate him, especially when he started hearing people talk about her in a little bit more dangerous manner. Still, he had not a clue who she was (he wasn't the brightest, since any idiot of the area could identify the symbols, but he was a special idiot) only that she was a valuted customer and this simply wouldn't do. So, while hopping over the bar like any Innkeeper wouldn't do, he barked out a simple sentence.

"Oi! Gossiping is for old hags, pregnant or drunk! And I'm pretty sure none of you are even close: so have a round on me, eh?" Cheers went up as many of the patrons returned to their booze, eagerly finishing their tankards in expectation of their free ale. Jordan had to give a smirk: after all, it didn't take much to make a room of drunkards happy with a simple sentence. True, he may cheat a few of them since he would need his funds to get out of this land soon enough, but for now he was simply happy that they had shut up.

Darting to a few tables to clean them off, he finally made his round to the petite girl with the cloak thingy. Jordan looked at it for a second, thinking about his own wardrobe and his own cloak which hung on the wall behind the bar, leaving him in simply a vest, armbands, pants and his super boots. See, to Jordan her getup made no much more sense than his own did, which made them like two odd peas or something in his eyes.

Anywho, his genuine smile began his conversation towards her as every other time he had served her. "Welcome back once again, Miss. Care for a drink of tea?" Now normally they didn't serve tea or coffee past a certain time, since it was more for the hungover or tired. However, she always seemed so down when she came that Jordan refused to refuse her when she asked the first time when Goodfellow served her. None the less, Jordan caught the bustling people out of the corner of his eye as the town slowly came to a close: such was how the night worked. A man with a cup speeding down the road, an oddly dressed girl running afterwards, and whatnot.