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Stella Calder

"Kick my plants and I will personally grow a tree in your stomach."

0 · 324 views · located in The Silhouette Institution

a character in “The Silhouette Institute”, as played by Not that awesome

Description



S T E L L A




Image




B A S I C S



| Full Name |
Stella Josephine Calder

| Nickname |
Usually just Stella, but sometimes goes by Elle.

| Age |
Sixteen

| Ethnicity |
South African-Australian.[/url]

| Gender |
Female

| Power |

Ecopathy. [To be expanded]

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L O O K S


| Eye color |
Image
| Hair Color |
Blonde
| Skin Tone |
Medium
| Height |
Five foot three inches

| Appearance|
Two wide turquoise eyes peer at you from underneath the shelter of the petals of a sunflower. They seemed dead; no spark of life was evident within their brown mass. Her unwavering stare made you feel self-conscious even though you could see that they were distant and unfocused. And even so they held a certain unwavering confidence that gave you the sense that you stood in her home. These plants that grew around you like a forest, tall and god-damn near perfect were hers. Her lips parted for a brief second and you wait expectantly, waiting for her words to slip from her lips, but nothing does (Words seemed far beyond her). The confusion settles in as she closes her mouth, she acted as if she had spoken, nodding her head ever so slightly before looking, eyes downcast at the ground. You wait, pausing, curious as anyone would, wondering if she was indeed going to say something, but of course she doesn’t.

She doesn’t use gloves as her fingers begin to dig into the sand, clawing at the hard roots, removing stones and rubbish from the soil, before replacing it with a loose and more air-rated soil cover. She moves with an air of carefulness and love that seems to come to her as she looks after the plants. You watch as numerous amounts of dirt hit her, as it is flung at her and it stains her face, her hair and her clothes, but she keeps going, not even to pause and wipe the dirt away. Her long pale fingers are easily stained by brown; it stands out like black on white. Even by looking at her from her bent position you can easily tell that she is tall. Her long legs are tucked underneath her as she digs in the soil. You try to ask her question and even as the word “hello,” escapes your lips and you feel stupid. It was as if the girl couldn’t here you, she didn’t so much as flinch, her thin body diggingdiggingdigging.

A tangled mass of blonde hair protects her face, it falls around her in an uncared for pile, knots lace it like a spiders web. It looked as though no one had brushed it for a very long time and you stare at it. You begin to count the knots, the clumps of hair that are so visible, one, two, three, four –she looks up. You flinch as her eyes meet yours, her cherry red lips curling into a small smile (Run, run, run, run, go, go, go, go). She had caught you. However, her eyes do not burn with hate or even surprise, she knew you hadn’t left, she knew you were still there. It was not uncommon for people to stay and stare at her like an animal. She was different. Different attracted attention. The smile broadens, just a touch, as you stare at her stunned. The air warns you to run, you feel it play at your neck, whispering into your ear. For a brief moment her unfocused eyes come together and she stares at you intensely. On legs that seemed to shake you stumble back a few steps, before you catch yourself. Than you turn and run, and you feel her eyes still boring into you.
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P E R S O N A L I T Y



| Likes |
+ Gardens
+ Dance
+ The gardens
+ Flowers
+ Music
+ Jewels
| Dislikes |
- Industrial Areas
- Arrogance
- Those who abuse power
- Bullies
Image

| Personality |
Stella loves being outside and in the garden because it gives her a sense of belonging and being. She doesn't know who her family was, she knows nothing about them or anything to at all, really. The garden to her is like the family she has never had, they grow bigger and stronger under her care, she treats them and makes them happy, she smiles, she cries she loves them like any parent does a child. When a plant flowers she sees at as a child that she has raised, in her mind perhaps she does see a child, a baby, a part of her. Maybe she does see nothing, but a flower. When a bee lands on her plants and drags the pollen across them she sees it as magic, like the falling pieces of dust from a fairy as it flutters across the lands and it makes her smile.

Stella loves to dance because it gives her the opportunity to feel as though she is a whole new being, the music flows through her limbs and she as if it is instinctive moves with it. When the music is playing she feels like she is the best, she feels as though she can do anything and when the beat of a tune starts she knows it is her time to shine. Her dreamy attitude makes her very ignorant of everyone around her and she will just ignore them when she is in her own little world. When she is dancing or doing gymnastics or even gardening you get in her way she will just keep going, she will just pretend you are not there. In that way she is selfish towards humans. She would never do that to a plant, or insects, but humans she would easily do it without a regret.

Her fondness for pretty things has become an obsession. She will collect trinkets, jewelry anything really. She will keep it in her pockets or in a tiny little box that she carries around with her everywhere she goes. She will grab anything that she finds small and fragile, shiny things, little things anything. Jewelry goes missing all the time, cutlery and anything she can grab. She is like a small child, touching and wanting anything she can get that is within her reach. It goes further then that is is as if in her mind she is still a young child, some of her actions are childlike, but then other times she can act as if she is sixteen.

No matter what she does she loves to be outside and gardening, the mud that usually stains her skin is evidence enough of her obsession with the garden. Her moods can change like the flip of a hat, like the colours of how she feels can vary. She isn’t one for sitting on an emotion for a long time. Her ability to switch from angry to sad within a heartbeat just encourages everyone to see her as mental. However, when the gentle hum of a song plays she cannot resist the urge to move with the drum of the music and sadness, anger and pain seem far beyond her as the rhythm and hum of music takes control. Her blood flows to feel of the beat of the guitar or even the sound of an animal calling, any type of music, no matter how quiet and soft gets her going. To feel the music in her is everything that she wants. Her love of music transformed into gymnastics and in that she became quite a dare devil, risking her life in many of the tricks she performed, but she never did these in a gym. She had to stay outside, she had to do it in the fresh air, where no one could trap her where she could feel the cool breeze brush over her like music, the way it flooded her and took control of her and she moved and flipped, twirled, turned, (Swaying like the flowers) halted, jumped and danced with expertise.




H I S T O R Y


| History |
My mother named me Stella because she loved the sky. When my father married another woman, he broke her heart and clipped her wings, and the only natural thing for her to do after that was stare out of windows and long for flight in the same way any broken-winged creature would. She thought the stars in the sky would revitalize her; she thought the brightness would make her forget the green in his eyes; she thought the brightness would cure her lust for darkness. Eventually, she came to realize that if one stares at the sky long enough, the revitalizing light is replaced with only a vast scope of nothingness. And, when one realizes that, they also realize that stars can mean death as much as it can mean rebirth. My mother named me Stella because she never touched the stars. She loved things she could never touch, and maybe if she named me after the stars, it would almost feel like cradling them in her arms.
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So begins...

Stella Calder's Story