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Sorcha bin Nasir


0 · 837 views · located in Lignum Portum Academy, Nova Scotia

a character in “Little School Of Horrors :.Remake.:”, as played by Phoeni







Sorcha [Sore-sha] bin Nasir



Djinn- Sorcha also has mild dust manipulation that comes from her father’s side.


On the outside


Hair colour
Medium auburn. Depending on the lighting of the room it can look truly red, brown, or at a stretch strawberry blonde, although it is a medium auburn.

Eye Colour
Green. Her father’s eyes were the same shade of green.

Height and Weight
5’8, 128 pounds.
She still hasn’t really grown into her height. Her arms are longer than average and they seem to dangle at times.

Although she is fairly tanned, perpetual freckles cover her face. They seem to never fade, even during the months of cold weather and snow. She is half Irish and half Omani, which makes her seem on the fence of being tanned and being pale. She is a mix of both her father and mother- father’s eyes, mother’s hair, father’s smirk, mother’s freckles.
FC || Lindsay Hansen

on the inside



Nature || Painting|| Dancing || Colors || Calligraphy

The Devil||Arrogance ||Jibes || Cakes || Cooking


The devil taking over || Fear 2 || Fear 3


She can feel him coursing in her blood and her bones. He lays dormant, waiting until he needs her assistance. (Often, he simply wants something he shouldn't have, like a sweet from the shop or a commotion in a crowd, but other times his demands are more complex.) When she was small, she didn't try to resist his strong and forceful hands, entwined around the inside of her throat. As time passed and clocks ticks, the list of terrible deeds she didn't understand grew, and fear began to bloom in the little girl's heart. She was always kind, generous, extremely forgiving. So forgiving, in fact, that each and every time he betrayed her she forgave the monster in her heart. ("It's alright," she would whisper to herself late at night, once everyone was asleep, "you can stay.") I reality, little ------ was unsure of what it would be like to be alone in her head - would things to be too quiet without the voices she heard? And would she be lonely, there, with nobody to tell her what to do?

In truth, she was afraid. Not just worried, but held but an all-consuming, crippling fear that seeped right into her core. (She loves the devil that makes her brave and hectic and rebellious even if he only holds her for a while at a time and drops her to deal with the aftermath, because without him who would she be? An empty shell, a broken music box, unable to play anymore? She couldn't be sure, and so she could never bring herself to demand he leave her to be hollow. (Sometimes she would cry and beg and plead but he would stroke her hair and tell her that it was all for the best, that they were a team, and that he was the only one who would never leave her. Best to follow his advice, because one day, he'd be all she had left.) She cried, because from the space behind her eyes, he could hear her worry, and he laughed.

You're quiet - (you have to be, to make up for terrible, hollow screams that the demons sing when they hold your throat) - indecisive, and far from brave. The only reason you put up with the stranger in your mind is that you are afraid of what being alone will sound like. A silent, empty head without the constant demands of another is enough to stop you from insisting that the monster leaves. And so you live in fear of him, and you live in fear of your own weakness. (Part of you aches to be free, but that angel on your shoulder was never enough to conquer the darkness elsewhere.) Ever since you were a tiny child, you never spoke up, never let the sweet and harmless thoughts in your mind spill further than your lips. This, of course, is another reason why you cannot help but love the terrible inhabitant you host - he makes you reckless and wild and free.

As the youngest of three, you never had it in your heart to argue. What others wanted, you gave - over and over again you listened and wondered and obliged, fetching whatever your siblings wished for and following the strict rules of your mother without question. Never curious, always a witness. (And then one day everything changed, of course, and the devil came knocking.) You were bored - that's the story you tell yourself. Weak, useless, lonely, perhaps. Even so, when he asked to stay a while you knew deep down he meant forever. Stable, and reliable and consistent he waits, occasionally deciding it's his turn to pull the strings on your life.

You mend and you fix and bind back together the seams of your life each time, secretly just a little glad for the distraction. (That's not the only thing you need to heal, for each time Mirri does her best to banish the devil from your soul with her blood, you are the one with the needles and bandages once you are yourself again.) She cannot know, and so you hide it. That's what you want to be when you stop being the baby of the family and become an adult on your own. (You wont ever be alone, not really, but you ignore that.) With wide eyes you watch as others have dreams and aspirations, but through the curtain of red hair you can see that the road ahead continues on. Keep on mending, returning the fabric of what should be back to the place it belongs.

You do not know this, but you were born to a devout Catholicos mother. Your father was a Djinn high in the ranks. They say they met eachother through chance, although they lie. When she was twenty and clueless (Like you, ----.) she summoned him, and they fell in love. As you know, ----- fairytales are not true. Happy endings aren’t often in this world of darkness and disease.

Your mother says you shouldn't approve of the cousins, for they dabble with the devil. (If only she knew.) Even so, you cannot quite bring yourself to be anything more than mildly interested in the apparently forbidden things they practise - impurities are fascinating and yet fearful, and so you skirt around the fringes of your cousins lives, learning without intruding. It is almost as though you cannot bring yourself to feel passion about anything at all, because in the last few years you have watched your mother dissolve into obsession before your eyes, and nothing has ever seemed quite so unsteady. At the very least, you are consistant - (bar the things you cannot control) - and never allow yourself to be anything less than disciplined in your approach to everything.

(She taught you that before she toppled from the edge of what is good and fair.) You worry you'll follow her into the abyss. When you fear, it almost consumes you, gnawing at your bones and itching in your blood. Only the darkness can reassure you, reminding you that no matter what changes, no matter how many people spin away and die and change and grow and flee from your life, he will stay. This is why, despite your protests to your desperate and loving sister, you cling to him. ("No, Mirri, I want him gone as much as you do. I'm sorry. I'm trying." And, later, "I'm ever so sorry, I am, please, forgive me.") You are a little girl who talks to the demons in her empty heart, and this is all you ever want to be.

So begins...

Sorcha bin Nasir's Story