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Messages - Cinders Märchen

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OOC Landmarks:
05/06/2016
→Application accepted! Link <3

IC Landmarks:
16/03/1930
→ Cinders Oriana is born.
1940
→ Ella Märchen dies and Midas Märchen succumbs to his sorrow; the Cottage Children move in with Grandma Alice.

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E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Cinders Oriana Märchen

Gender: Female

Age: 17

Bloodline:
Halfblood

Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): 
Midas Märchen & Ella Märchen (deceased). Raised by Alice Märchen, her grandmother.

Residence:
Neath Port Talbot, Wales

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
Nah

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Märchens, because family <3

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Gardenia Reine and co.

Biography: (100 words minimum.)

“Mother, are you alright?” a young girl asked, staring deep into the dazed eyes of Ella Märchen. Perhaps Mother was only daydreaming; ten-year-old Cinders could certainly relate. She liked to stare at clouds and peer at the fluffy forms they assumed, and she liked drawing charming princes she would certainly fall in love with, and she most certainly enjoyed playing in the meadows and pretending to be the queen of all fair folk. Perhaps this was what Mother dreamt of in these early hours. Cinders in her late angelhood wouldn’t judge.

“Cinders, I would like you to promise me something.”

“What is it, Mother?” she wondered aloud. Mother’s voice sounded so far away and faint, as if it came from a whole country over; that was a symptom of daydreaming, was it not? Her curiosity shone bright, as every child’s should, for the answer was at the very tip of Mother’s tongue.

“Promise me to always be kind and gentle, Cinders. Always be a good girl; do you understand?”

Well, she obviously couldn’t say no to her mother, for mothers tended to know what was best. “Of course, Mother!” Cinders giggled, nuzzling into the crook of Ella’s warm neck. She should have known that it wouldn’t be too serious.

Mother was gravely sick—that was all she could tell from the doctor’s frequent visits. But it would do well, wouldn’t it, just to pretend she wasn’t. In the meantime, reality was pave its way and Mother would heal. Mother would heal, and then they could play with Father and young Pearce and little Goldie and baby Goose again in the flower fields. Cinders knew this with utmost faith, as she took care of Ella alongside Father.

Oh, but the consequences of believing so hard were devastating.


“Be a good girl to your grandmother, Cinders—”

She daydreamed of idyllic fantasies of when Mother was alive and well, and when Father was a happy man, and when she, Pearce, Goldie, and Goose weren’t teary-eyed children mourning the absence of both parents. The young lass had imagined still living in their picturesque home, where her siblings would dilly-dally in the garden where the leaves’ greens were bright vermillions and the flowers were radiant, saturated colors, and when Father overcame the loss of his only love. From the moment Father’s goodbye had fallen onto her ears in his croaky voice, Cinders was already dreaming of something better; she was dreaming of something proven unreal.

“—you will do what she asks of you, understood?”

“Yes, Father,” she agreed wistfully, inattentive and oblivious to the future she had unknowingly succumbed to.

“And, Cinders, take care of your siblings—”

Oh, her poor siblings! How scared they must have been, to be in a new place so unlike their old home—baby Goose in Father’s arms was starting to tear up, little Goldie was holding back sobs whilst holding her elder sister’s hand, and young Pearce, who stood surrounded by his sisters yet still alone...

(Well, Cinders didn’t know if Pearce knew how to cry anymore.)

“—Grandmother does not have the best of memories, and you will help her. Understood?”

“Of course, Father,” Cinders nodded, staring at the weeds that haunted the crevices outside the cottage and how she could remove them and make Grandmother Alice’s house pretty again. The young blonde peered into the window to see a slightly disheveled kitchen, a crooked portrait, and doors that led to rooms unknown. Goodness, she’d have to clean up for Grandmother; young Pearce and she did not do well in messes, and it would not be good for their youngest sisters if baby Goose and little Goldie grew up in a dirty household.

Yes, she’d have to clean, clean, clean.

“I will return soon, Cinders. Understood?”

Like the pipe dreams and chimeras she lovingly adored, ten-year-old Cinders knew Father wasn’t being truthful. But she—

“Understood.”


Cinders soon learned, after a week of being under Grandmother Alice’s care, that Grandmother Alice was somewhat of a loony woman. And being under a loony woman’s care, Cinders Oriana Märchen was obligated to do all the important things for her, like house maintenance. And breakfast, lunch, afternoon snacks, and dinner, and tending the garden, and various other chores Grandmother and her siblings couldn’t possibly do themselves. It was what Father asked of her, was it not? This was the best she could do for her family.

From that day onward, Cinders cleaned, and fed, and cleaned. It shouldn’t have been hard, it shouldn’t have drained her as much as it did; yet the girl put all of herself into her work. Supple fingers were stained with the ashes of the fireplace, peachy skin faded to a snowy pallor, and her diamond blue eyes dulled into a stormy gray sky. Cinders, as she was christened as, finally lived up to her name. Had her parents known her fate? Perhaps.

But she would look in the mirror and see her mother’s angular face, daintily pointed nose, and the same freckles that she and Pearce and Goldie and Goose adored. Cinders would look in the mirror and see beauty hidden in the crevices of her cracked pride, rusted gentleness still in her porcelain heart, and waning kindness that stood tall in her delicate soul.

She would stare at a hardened reincarnation of her former self; it wasn’t her. But it was still Cinders, ever-so-enchanted with wishes and fantasies she would cling to in the memories of a happier life.

Yet somehow, underneath all the dust and embers that stained her palms, she could find happiness in this one.


Roleplay:
Reply as your character to the following:

Godric Park.

Overhead, the sky was a crisp blue, for once clear of the ever-pervasive spongy clouds and rain. The sun was a lemony-yellow presence, high in the Eastern sky, and in front of it zipped three broomsticks in a straight line, or something very like one. One... two..... three... the boys passed, their shouts of excitement echoing as they chased the snitch, a tiny shimmer reflecting the sunlight.

Far below was another, much smaller broomstick.

It trugged along the ground, hugging close to it like a sluggish choo choo train and occasionally shuttering in protest. This was because said stick was currently being occupied by a very small girl who was tugging upward on the front of it with all her might, trying to coax it into doing what it had been expressly designed NOT to do.

"John, I said wait up!" The tiny girl squealed, giving the broomstick another tug.

Begrudgingly, it drifted upward a foot, and then sank, depositing the troublesome girl safely on the ground. Janey Hurst was not pleased. In a huff, she hopped off the toy safety broom, grabbing it firmly and thrusting it handle first into the turf.

Her brother was such a beast. He NEVER let her play! She folded her arms, seething blue eyes fixing on another figure nearby.  "You!" She barked, much more sharply than she meant to.

"...Do you want to play?"

Roleplay Response:
A picturesque scenery that expanded across the skyline, overflowing the world with a dreamlike glare—goodness, it was all Cinders could have hoped for after those first few nights of endless downpour. Yesterday’s dreary gray could finally be forgotten; today was finally a cerulean blue, mixing with ripe yellows and happy footfalls of playing children.

It all put a glimmer of optimism in Cinders chest, and although it flickered for only a moment, positivity prevailed.

Sunlight reflected the golden tones of her hair as the young woman glided across with fluid movement, melting away the jabbing thoughts of responsibility into things more sweet. It was funny how something as little as weather could lift up her mood; perhaps she had learned to lower her standards into something more feasible after so many years. Cinders attention shifted to the boys competing in the sky, and she briefly admired the way everything felt so scenic and ethereal.

Her fingers tugged at the hem of a costly cloak that she managed to get tailored recently. Although Father tended to deposit a sizeable amount of money for Grandmother and did allow Cinders to consume a part of it, she hated to spend it on material things—the cloak was just another necessity, as pretty as it was.

(“Hated to spend it on material things.” What a lie, looking at her vast shoe collection. Cinders was just as human as anyone else.)

Everything was going well. Everything was absolutely perfect.

"You!"

“Excuse me?”

With an almost motherly tone, Cinders turned to chide the young girl. This was a bit of a regular occurrence with Goose, and she was already used to this. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to lecture another child. “You should be more polite, miss,” she scolded gently. “Shouldn’t you be speaking more ladylike?”

"...Do you want to play?"

“Ask me again, and perhaps I shall.” A slight smile graced her features with the clement response. Of course she would though; if Cinders couldn’t resist Goose, then this girl would be no different.

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