she/her. twenty-six. mdni. black ooc.

She was born beneath a waning moon that breathed like a bellows—drawn in, let out—over the silver forests of Lúnaria. The midwives swore they felt the light thicken around the cradle, as if the night were listening. A hush settled on the birthing bower when she first cried. It wasn’t loud. It was bright. And every dew-beaded petal on the rafters turned its face toward her.

They named her Celestia, but the first thing the elders wrote beside her name was not a blessing—it was a question. Claimant? There should have been a vow-wreathed procession in the following weeks, a ritual binding to a patron house, a chorus of oaths and sigils and the soft chime of silver. For Echo-Born like her, the ceremony mattered. It told the old magics: this one belongs, this one is held.

No bells ever rang.

At five, Celestia learned what leaving means. The procession was small and ashamed: three elders, a ward-witch, and a huntsman who carried iron far enough from her to keep it from scarring. They walked to the border where Lúnaria thins into Mirewood Vale, a cusp-land of briar and bright rot, where moths look like torn lace and pools remember faces. The ward-witch opened a seam in the hedge with the slow patience of surgery. Wind rushed through from the other side—salt and smoke and metal and a thousand human voices, a smell so dense it made her eyes water. Her mother pressed a shell into her palm and shut her fingers around it.

“These are the things I cannot give you here,” her mother said, voice breaking on each word: “time, safety, and a future. You’ll have them there.”

A kiss to the brow. A rustle of leaves that sounded almost like cloth on a hospital bed. A seam closing, ivy knitting itself like a hurried seamstress. Lúnaria folded away. Celestia stood on a human road under a streetlamp, a small heartbeat in a world of engines.

The city received her like a cathedral receives a storm-sodden traveler—grand, echoing, indifferent. She learned its angles the way a drop learns the glass: by slipping. She slept first in the warm lap of a laundromat, stealing heat from dryers and listening to strangers’ laughter under fluorescent sanctity. She learned the shape of hunger, the way it turns the world transparent at the edges. And she learned that human kindness arrives without ritual: a cup of cocoa pressed into her hands by a woman with chipped nail polish; a sweater that smelled like cigarettes and rosemary.

But the realm did not consume her.

Celestia survived. Alone and unguided, she learned the Mirewood the way frost learns a window: by clinging, by mapping breath, by refusing to disappear. The Vale’s fracture—its wrong angles, its half-light, its bruised magic—should have swallowed a child whole. Instead, she adapted. She coaxed warmth from frozen soil, begged fire from damp tinder with whisper and will, and called light from shadow as if the dark were velvet she could lift. Her magic did not arrive like the structured blessings of the Claimed. It rose out of need—out of loneliness, longing, grief, and a small, relentless resilience that would not die.

And then came Angel.

Angel was not born a demon—he was made into one. Once human, he was carved by abandonment, betrayal, and spiritual fracture until the beauty of him became its own trap. Exploited, discarded, and reshaped, he broke and then reassembled as an incubus: a creature cursed to feed on desire, yet perpetually starved of intimacy. He walked for years through cities and spirit gates, slipping the seams between worlds, feeding enough to continue but never enough to belong.

On a night that tasted of iron rain, he felt a pull—a summoning with no name—and crossed a rupture in the veil. It led him to Mirewood Vale, where the air trembled like a mouth about to speak. There, in the splintered hush, he found a little girl with a shell in her fist and moonlight cupped under her ribs.

He did not leave.

likes ——— moonrise, pressed violets, rainy windows, marginalia, sea-salt caramels, velvet ribbons, mirrored light, slow dances, wine, pink, her friends, boba tea, reading, singing, helping others

dislikes ——— cold iron, raised voices, being rushed, being talked down to, abandonment, forced intimacy, love-bombing, meta that ignores her celibacy, fake friends, spiders, blue cheese

abilities:

• Glamourweaving:


Celestia can subtly shift her appearance, surroundings, or emotional aura through subconscious glamours. These illusions manifest in response to her desire to be accepted or adored. Her delicate appearance is often a reflection of how she wants to be perceived—safe, harmless, inviting.

• Lustlight:


In moments of heightened emotion—particularly arousal, praise, or deep connection—Celestia exudes a magical pheromonal field that draws others to her. This is not an intentional form of manipulation but a byproduct of emotional resonance.

• Moonbloom:


Her presence causes bioluminescent flora to bloom—flowers, mosses, vines—but only when she feels seen or wanted. Emotional rejection causes these blooms to decay or wilt.

• Etherstep:


A teleportation ability triggered by proximity to light reflections. When emotionally overwhelmed, she can slip through mirrors, moonlight, or water surfaces to reappear elsewhere. The ability is protective, not combative.

• Touch of Echo:


Celestia can absorb and reflect emotional energy through skin contact. Affection energizes her, while cruelty dampens or destabilizes her magic. Prolonged exposure can overwhelm her unless properly shielded.

drawbacks:

• Glamourweaving:


 - Truth Fracture: Strong emotions or direct confrontation can shatter a glamour, revealing her raw state and stunning her for a heartbeat.

- Mirror-Test: Reflective surfaces, cameras, or keen-eyed predators notice lag or shimmer; elders and warded spaces pierce it.

- Identity Drift: Sustained false fronts erode self-perception, inviting compulsions to “perform” safety; leads to dissociation and weaker casting.

- Iron “Snag”: Cold iron nearby catches and distorts the glamour—edges blur, colors desaturate.

• Lustlight:


 - Unintended Enchantment: It’s not deliberate, but recipients may experience fixation, possessiveness, or reverence. This can escalate to stalking or violence.

- Predator Magnet: Vampires and incubi feel it as a feeding bell. In crowds, she risks swarm dynamics.

- Backfire on Shame: If she’s shamed or frightened mid-flare, Lustlight can invert into a panic pulse that overwhelms her and dysregulates others.

• Moonbloom:


 - Mood-Mapped: Blooms are truth-tellers. Wilting exposes rejection, lies, or emotional neglect around her—socially dangerous.

- Trackable Signatures: Bioluminescent pollen and sap are alchemically traceable for days. Hunters can follow the trail.

- Wither Shock: Sudden betrayal causes immediate flora collapse, creating a psychic sting that stuns or drops her to a knee.

• Etherstep:


 - Line-of-Light Requirement: Needs viable reflection (moonlight, water, glass). Heavy cloud cover, soot, or warded glass blocks jumps.

- Misplacement Risk: Overwhelmed jumps can land her too short, too far, or inside warded choke-points; worst case: rebound concussion.

- Shatter Blowback: Stepping through a mirror as it breaks slices her with fae-glass cuts that bleed bright and lure vampires.

- Cooldown: Multiple rapid jumps cause vertigo and memory fog; three in a minute risks blackout.

• Touch of Echo:


 - Emotional Overload: Prolonged or high-intensity contact floods her with foreign emotion, causing syncope, sobbing fits, or rage spikes.

- Contamination: Malice and despair stick; she carries residual moods that alter her aura and degrade spell precision.

- Amplification Spiral: Touching a distressed or obsessed vampire can amplify their state to catastrophic levels.

- Shield Requirement: Without a personal ward, she must break contact or risk personality bleed and compulsion echoes.

• celeste’s middle name is amor.

• she hates the number 7.

• she’s been often compared to a bunny.

• celeste avoids dealing with her own problems.

• her current nicknames are cel, celly, celi & cece

• her nose bleeds when she’s too excited.

• celeste cannot handle being complimented too much.