Kynthia
From Lynnesheets
Contents |
the one who survives by making the lives of others worthwhile
Name: Kynthia
Player: Lynne
Concept: changeling!me
Virtue: Temperance
Vice: Sloth
Seeming: Fairest
Kith: Muse
Court: Spring
Image Song:
Attributes:
Intelligence: 4
Wits: 2
Resolve: 2
Strength: 1
Dexterity: 3
Stamina: 2
Presence: 3
Manipulation: 1
Composure: 3
Skills:
Mental Skills:
- Academics 4 (Literature)
- Occult 3 (Japanese mythology)
- Politics 2
- Science 1
Physical Skills:
- Athletics 1
- Brawl 1
- Stealth 2 (Easy To Overlook)
Social Skills:
- Empathy 1
- Expression 4 (Creative Writing)
- Socialize 2
Merits:
Defense: 2
Health: 7
Size: 5
Speed: 9
Willpower: 5
Wyrd 1
Glamour 5
Clarity: 7
Initiative: 6
Contracts:
Fleeting Summer
- Baleful Sense
Vainglory
- Mask of Superiority
- Songs of Distant Arcadia
Eternal Spring
- Gift of Warm Breath
Dream
- Pathfinder
anticipating night falling tenderly around her
The young Muse now calling herself "Kynthia" grew up in a sheltered, smothering, stifled upper-middle-class suburban existence, being all she was expected to be-the good student, the dutiful daughter, the loving elder sister-being all she was expected to be, even though those expectations weighed heavily on her at times, she lived up to them. Mostly.
The one time she deviated from her obedience, it changed her life forever. When she was fifteen, she became infatuated with a strange young man, the kind of person her parents told her to stay away from, ignoring her parents' warnings to Stay Away From Boys. Unfortunately for her, she didn't listen, and when the boy gave her a too-flowery note asking her to go out with him, she wrote three letters on the note which sealed her fate:
Yes.
The True Fae, for that was what he was, took her away then, spirited her across the Hedge, through the Thorns, into Faerie, and kept her there. It wasn't bad, per se, and for some time after, she kept her girlish crush, kept her infatuation. It helped, when he stood her up on a pedestal, a living statue, a symbol. Perhaps it helped then when he worshipped her from afar with the worst poetry she had ever heard, cliche and much too flowery, and his words transformed her into the image of what he wrote, she was his muse, his inspiration, and his "love", with very few chaste kisses brushed across fingertips at rare intervals. For a little while, a very little while, it was flattering.
But infatuation died, and she was unhappy, unhappy with the shallowness and unhappy with being a symbol, not a person, and the "flattery" made her angry. Deeply unhappy, yet not understanding that he could not change, that her Keeper was one of the True Fae and he could not become what she sought, she simply remained on her pedestal, not knowing what she could do, or how to leave.
And finally, when he brought another girl back, and said that he loved the new girl just as much as her, something snapped, and at last she understand that he could not be what she sought, and furthermore, that she wouldn't waste any more of her life here, waiting for him to change.
She stepped off the pedestal and ran, fled back through the Thorns. But when she came home, she found out that she had been accounted missing years ago, before finally being given up for dead, almost five years in Arcadia had stretched to 10 in the real world. Her family had long ago mourned her and moved on...and she decided not to go back to them, it would be easier on them rather then a miraculous reappearance from the dead.
And she drifted from place to place, looking for what was missing (something to hold onto) until one fateful night when she was in a bar, somewhere in West Virginia (because, really, as godforsaken as it was, it was on its way to somewhere else). She didn't drink, really, but spent a lot of nights in bars with pad of paper and pen, with a drink she never drank, for lack of really anything to do. This time, one of the bar fights caught her attention, and she looked up from her notebook to see a really tall man in over his head-and she recognized him immediately as a fellow Changeling, a Summer Court Ogre.
Maybe once she would have been too shy to interfere, too scared, but she had changed, stuffed notebook and pen into her purse with living plushfrog, and hurried over. Somehow, she managed to talk the fight down.
the flower trying to bloom in snow
Behind the Mask.
she's seen too clearly what she can't be
The Mask.
i need not to need or else a love with intuition
she carries the act so convincingly/the fact is sometimes she believes it/she can be happy with the way things are/be happy with the things she's done
