Isilmë Del has currently made 0 IC posts
white with grey accents || crescent moon || golden eyes, blind || petite »2'11" — 273 lbs.«
although our moon-kissed maiden is a fresh as newly fallen snow, having just crossed into her womanhood ( the years meant for learning and discovery ), isilmë is wise beyond her years — heartbreakingly, so. for her, there was no choice.
isilmë is torn between duty and desire — the call of her people, and the uncertainty that wages war within her heart. for within the constraints of her homelands, she is not a singular being — she is a gift from the goddess, a vessel chosen by the m o t h e r to serve as a bridge between the gods and their subjects. it is her duty to serve and advise, to minister to the people the mother's goodness and prepare them for her wrath. our ivory maiden is to be above the bounds of mortal life ( the whispers of desire and want but a lingering remnant of the lost child that once inhabited her frame ) ——
and yet, isilmë finds her soul to be at odds. she longs to live up to the calling placed upon her—to bear the honor of serving as the mother's voice to her beloved people—but, in the secret crevices of her heart, she also longs for more.
other blurb to include: oracle doesn’t necessarily have schizophrenia/another personality — but there’s definitely a voice that lurks within the back of her mind that is not quite her own. there are spans of time, growing increasingly longer, in which she remembers naught. she fears this darkness — this loss of self.
the culture believes the oracle is reborn — that, upon her death, her spirit finds sanctuary in a new vessel and lies dormant until her awakening.
bathed in the dying light of a full moon, their beloved oracle passed — her soul slipping free of her weathered vessel. a whisper of mourning rippled through the gathering crowd, but threaded throughout the silence, excitement moved. for where there is death, there is life — and the symphony of labor sang soft and low.
at long last, the mournful wail came — and the women rushed forth, springing into fervent action. from the darkness of the mother's den, their queen emerged; within her jaws, she cradled the still form of a newborn babe. the sea of gatherers parted, forming a guiding path to the moonlit water. into the shallows the queen waded, waiting as her wards bore the body of their beloved oracle forth. as they passed, murmurs of awe and adoration filled the air until, at last, they, too, reached the shallows.
with one last benediction, the oracle's body was given over to the waves — her earthen vessel returned to their great giver, the mother. in the wake that followed, the queen stepped forth into a circle of light and plunged the tiny body into the water. with a gasping wail, the cub emerged — the presence of life in the aftermath of death. joyous songs burst forth, filling the night — for though her earthly body had departed, the spirit of their beloved oracle remained, resting in deep slumber.
some junk in the middle about being brought up as the chosen vessel for the oracle's soul; that, though she does not remember her previous life now, she will. identity issues, blah blah blah
something—or someone—stirring within her breast. some unknown reason why she has departed her homelands.
and so, isilmë awakens — uncertain of where she had been, where she has landed or what it was that had brought her here, with only a whisper of spectral praise purling in her ear: "well done, my daughter. we are here."
» character design to me, pine
» reference lines to mistrel fox, of dA
» appearance image to eerien00dle
» avatar image to ark