SOVEREIGN, ember

[attr="class","hdtitle"]PERSONALITY

[attr="class","hdinfo"]

Oh tortured soul, a heart once pure of gold ; Sorrow and grief have tarnished a once pure hope with the intoxicating bite of poisoned hate. Lethargic, the enigmatic presence bleeds through, corrupting, tearing asunder the perfected veil of purity and allowing the burning gire to seep within stalwart grace. It claws, digs to fester and bury deep under the skin, glissading skeletal fingers through malign carcass to permeate and destroy the innocence lost in cruel rapture. Though radiant and scorching upon first approach, malignant and vexing in a glance, there is still an unwavering kindness about her soul. Though she may try to be harsh, to be a thorough monstrosity for the simple sake of survival, she is unable, incapable within her programming to destroy so freely, to act so harshly to those who she seeks to protect even in her self imposed path to destroy herself.

The fearful souls...those with no weapons to wield and, she would so willingly become a martyr for, a sacrificial lamb to be lead to slaughter to save but a single face, a solitary name and save from the hardships in which she herself once faced. Loss was something that never truly heals, an instigating pain that is never satiated by the passing ripples of time as so many assure. Comforting lies are not sweetly fallen from her cherub lips, only bitter truths of the melodious affliction that slowly eats away at the spirit and weakens the body, the mind into numb paralysis. It was like a neuron-toxic, a deadly bite administered to her heaving breast from the moment she lay eyes upon the fresh corpses who still wreaked of singed hair and flesh. Slowly, surely, she shuts down, the dim flicker within her gaze dulling, dying with each passing day. A raging fire nothing more but smoldering embers.

No confidence, no self-preservation lingers within her, though her masquerade hides well what lay 'neath the surface where she furiously struggled to simply stay afloat. Sleep eludes her, staying just a single step, tauntingly out of her desperate grasp some nights. It leaves her thoughts raw, each one like raking nails over open flesh to claw at the nerves hidden just out of sight. Her mind is cruel, a sick repetition of the traumatic night playing without mercy in each dream she dares to seek. No longer does she yearn for the escape of reality, no longer does she wish to open her eyes to a new day, another wretched moment within this existence. A once pure and holy thing was stripped bare, ravaged ruthlessly by those that would see them all dead; her hope. The loyal optimism had been torn from her youthful frame, a far more devastating occurrence than that which marred her flesh. Her body had mended, healed and all that remained upon it was the thin, ropy scar. Childish wonder and bemusement, however, had been slain in cold blood, a murder most foul.

Her training, her teachings to lead had robbed her of her child-hood, leaving no time for other lessons to be learned within life, and while she portrays a serious demeanor to those whom require it without thought, it does without saying that others may see a different front. An act, a facade of happiness is always erect, sorrows, vexations hidden masterfully behind the porcelain of her mask as she interacts with the very few souls who may have the fortune or misfortune or coming into contact with the girl. She is no stranger to the children, to the women as she helps in every sense possible from numerous chores to simply playing and occupying those of younger nature. It is often wondered by many how a woman so cruel...so wrathful and destructive can display such unwavering kindness and charity...her disdain for authority and false order impulsing her to burn it to the ground and wake from the ashes. Protection over those who have placed their faith in her.

Venture forward carefully young Icarus...for this sun burns brightly.

[attr="class","hdtitle"]HISTORY/MISC.

[attr="class","hdinfo"]A Phoenix rises from the ashes of her suffering, Oh Queen of Nowhere; What tragedies lay fleshed out with sin and malice, painted in ethereal shame - eternal glory and sultry lust. grandeur schemes of malignant, ill minds that simper with the very thought of commitment, of adulterated famish of the throne. A perilous game, a damning vexation that draws man, woman, and child alive to their grim fates. A cutthroat world of unimaginable malice through the fair looking glass.

A soul once oppressed by the heavy weight of loneliness and suffering crawls out from the darkness into blinding light. Born from the abusement and neglect of a wrathful father and oppressed by the deceptive man she shook off the chains of that binded her to reach to the skies. The girl took on the mantle of responsibility to become a shepherd among the lost and downtrodden. Shining down upon the licentious they scattered the sinful like maggots and took on the burden that became the guiding light to the lost children who suffered like she.

A troubled girl...scarred and traumatized she sought justice and with her glorious fortitude she purified the home she had always known to make way for cleansing fire. A fire that consumed her ancestral home and the monster who resided within it...


Little is known about Ember Sovereign. Only that before her freshman year of high-school her mother had passed. Suicide as reported by the authorities...troubled, lost and without the comfort she needed to develop into womanhood her freshman year was...concerning. Often arriving to school late with bruises decorating her delicate flesh. Though no one seemed to bat an eye...her grades plummeted and she dropped out her second year...no one knows what happened to her...once a decorated student who used to shine so brightly, she took a dark turn somewhere along the rode. She stopped talking...and has not been heard in over five years. A girl who once wanted to sing and ignite fire in the world fell silent. But she did not fall far...she saw the children...those like her who also suffered...and extended her comforting grasp to them. She became a leader...a symbol for the young and abused. The head of a gang of troubled young women who seemed to strike fear into the hearts of other students and staff alike.

Yet, one day...her home was set aflame and her father perished within...her aunt, who did not wish to deal with such an unruly child sent her to Birchwood...born and raised in Paris France and suddenly ripped from her home and placed in a school for troubled youth...

How fitting.