Emeiyenae Fonfala

[Medea Emeiyenae]

“I can fool death a bit, too, but it’s illicit to steal from such a creature.”

I think that I must be afraid of everything, a terrified little girl running rampart through the lives of many. I put my head down, cover my eyes, and bolt through their memories as quickly as I can, trying to dodge the needles of their existences and remaining terrified of brushing passed them. Like insects they crawl about my ankles and swarm at my face; like rats, the humans live not through their genius desperation but surviving alone through the multiplication of their numbers and their plethora of filthy children. They poise themselves like spiders over each others’ doors and prepare themselves to swoon upon anyone foolish enough to exit their nests by the direct exit, always standing by to prey on the thing that does not see the web that will entrap it. Because girls are often terrified of insects and spiders and rats, I see no reason why I cannot fear the human race. Each individual lives life a crack too short to cherish personally, in a flash of flickering light passing through the cracks of reality into the tombs of death. There is an expiry date stamped on their bodies; why not make use of the resource they provide me before they waste away into the mud they are made from?

The teardrops on this page still sting fresh in my eyes, scorning the trails of ink across the page and suddenly I am aware of my own terror. I have been isolated throughout my childhood so that, though I know my own story, I don’t know who exactly I was supposed to be. Consider me a changeling substitute for a dead child; I became Princess Fonfala and I am a monster that is not allowed to terrorize; it’s not what I was raised to do. A tame creature at the feet of my guardian, I watch my way of life being threatened and will to be inconsiderate to the potentials. At any moment I might be discovered and, creating dangers with forewarnings and premonitions I could barely understand, have designed a way for His Grace to leave me, too. There is nothing left but to scramble for the lessons I might have learned as what I am, trying to force into my mind the sadistic and bitter cruelty of that disgusting and most wretched race of murderers and hoping that I might somehow evolve to love it.

I have placed the one person I love in the greatest place of jeopardy.

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addressed as: medea emeiyenae.
gender: female.
marital status: unengaged.
announced clan: house fonfala.
apparent age: twenty-four years.
appears: sketchily about her age or guessed to be just below it.
height: between 5”4 and 5”5.
weight: 115 lbs.
eyes: observed to be glacial blue.
race: human.
position: youngest princess of Glendenvale, battlefield attendant of Hiraos Fonfala and impromptu priest over the decaying bodies of the war-time dead; holds the king’s scepter when engaging in conflicts and is present at all struggles to which he appears. also acts as a field-healer.
magic: seems to have developed a curious healing talent for battlefield purposes and has been testified capable of shadowing through surfaces; theorized to have other powers which have yet remained unidentified to the population, but often murmured about for potentially unacceptable powers. She is capable of healing anything that she begins with – scars, wounds, severed limbs, diseases. However, it appears to hold to a time-limit and, after a given period, whatever occurrence was erased spontaneously appears without warning at a later date. It is rumored she once attended to a decapitated general in this fashion, only for his head to fall, messily cut, from his throat after returning to Rokh Tzedek and his body to slump off of his war-horse mid-sentence.
weapons of choice: a strange sword which appears to be half made of crystal, somehow cut or charmed into shape and formed somehow around small ribs or veins of ivory matching the polished coating on one side and an alternately serrated and sharpened blade. Its maker is currently unknown. Also known to use a queer array of foreign-looking devices, projectile weaponry which don’t always use arrows, which function in someway in conjunction with gunpowder. She claims that “all [her] weapons are hand-me-downs”. in an uncharacteristic moment, she declared that hands were all a girl ever needed to be considered ‘armed’ – a riddling proclamation for a human woman of her age and ‘stature’.

A woman who still retains the doll-like description of her six-year-old age, her bangs, originally cut into a neat style across her forehead, have grown in length to mid-ear and are swept to the right side of her face and often held there by an ornately shaped and oversized metallic clip, often detailed with turquoise or coral stones. She keeps a mane of black hair, rather straight and sleek in type, into a loosely-waved horse-tail poised high on her head so that the ends just brush along the base of her neck. A long, satin pink ribbon (which replaced a red one which she lost at a young age, claiming an irresponsible tree-man was at fault for its absence) is often tied and pinned as a bow around her throat instead of any jewelry and she has a collection of thick and rather indelicate bracelets in a variety of colors and materials which she wears with an assortment of large-stoned rings and very slight ear ornaments. With a very well-defined facial structure in which nothing is incredibly angled or sharp but very softly made with hints of distinction in the cheekbones, slightly upturned nose, and smoothly discernable chin, the only likeness she plays to her claimed mother, the slaughtered smith-mage Tasandrae Orré, is the full set of lips often smiling blissfully unaware upon the girl’s lips. Painted a startlingly deep and slightly darker red as opposed to a brighter, less grave shade, rouge is artfully dusted over cheeks that leave contemptuous and better-deserving girls scorning her in envy; even with her escapades the complete absence of color in her face seems to mock the sun and some swear she only gets paler as time goes on. Her presence in person seems very withdrawn and, though she is not incredibly short in height, it makes her appear very tiny and fragile at all times.

The second princess smiles but never to expose her teeth; some imagine it must be because they are yellowed or crooked in some embarrassing way, making her expressions slightly awkward when she’s aware of someone watching. She seems as shy as a moth with everything to fear and trembles at almost everything outside of her father’s company, speaking audaciously with quick-moving lips which soon return to their carefully closed lips. Emeiyenae does not carry any particular air of arrogance, pride, or confidence, always keeping her chin tilted down toward her breast and gazing through loose wisps of her bangs, beneath the thick lashes that set off very wide innocent eyes whose naturally almond shape appears unnoticeably with the almost frightened stare she fixes people. Still, in the rare times where a natural smile lavishes her she seems positively sunny and often portrays a very simple taste: pretty things, cleanliness, innocence and the care of its victims, and the life of her father. The king seems to be the very air the child breathes and she seems without need for anything else and, in those rare times when she does not feel like his presence is wanted or he requires her to take leave, she is happiest speaking about him as though all the knowledge she has amassed pertains solely to his existence. She is an apparently contented with everything, apparently unperturbed by war as long as her father survives it and she survives to be alongside him, and yet portrays a keen determination for her own manpower.

Princess Fonfala seemingly reserves the majority of her wisdom – for, contrary to popular belief, she is not lacking in mind - for Hiraos’s company and acts as though she knows nothing of the motives of others, carefree of these ambitions and appearing not particularly driven towards any of her own. Thought a recluse by nature, not much is known about the innate nature of the Glendenvale princess. They call her ‘Medea Emeiyenae’ almost as a tease, using her middle name before her first because ‘Medea’ also means ‘cunning’, and people mock – sometimes sadly and sometimes bemusedly – that the girl has long since thrown a cunning trick over their eyes in hiding completely what she really might or might not be.

Known to have an unexplainable talent for tracking and is remarkably fast – almost superhumanly so – in the fashion of her father. Mentioned to have alarming power in her physical blows and strength of arm for her size and gender by Prince Faedyn of Silvanus, again in likeness to her sire, she is a curiosity of the human physical form. Unlike her well-versed sister Chantessa, war craft comes that much easier due to the young age at which the younger princess became accustomed to its training and her active experience in the field. Oddly, she seems well acquainted with bloodshed and death, being one of the very few women to attend to the burials and cremations of men and remaining silent during the procession. Known for her vastly innocent naiveté in common discourse her excuses and reasoning for the things she does, says or feels, often which would not be counted as sensible answers in any one else’s place, are often excused and dismissed. The assumption that she is still within herself a flighty and inappropriately-birthed girl who, having been raised in times of bloodshed with only the purpose of being at her father’s arm on the battlefield and acting as his safeguard attendant, can be excused for many of her indecencies and inability to compensate for her flaws.

The princess is vulnerable to having severe fits of what appears to be some sort of mental anxiety, headaches which roar into the intensity of almost life-threatening anguish which – while very rarely send her into violent screaming – often reduce her to writhing and whimpering tears and a chilling fever which she never handles effortlessly. A sickly child during her youth and often bedridden during the daylight hours, the woman is assumed to retain some life-long but yet unidentified illness as a bedfellow. In these times she is reduced to incoherence. The view of the people upon her is not one to envy, either; those nobles who tiredly try to retain their old selves comment on her improper behavior and her refusal to tie up her hair, her odd choice in cosmetics and clothing – which she claims to be modern against the mass’s better judgment – and her unladylike tendencies. She is not a being of tactical genius, being of a very straightforward and direct mentality, and – though bold in some ways – she becomes a deer-in-headlights in the presence of people outside of the lone company of King Fonfala and certain and exceptionally random members of the royal household. Emeiyenae well-suits the human title of ‘prey’, becoming very still in the presence of beings and things outside her list of acceptable individuals and bolting in terror at the first sign of reaction; something strangely unapparent when helmeted, made prominent and mounted during battle. Emeiyenae never leaves her fortress during the day as though saving her physical and mental strength for more important outings, though none can guess at why she cannot be convinced to even escape into the pleasure gardens without the presence of nightfall to better suit her shy nature and want of solitude.

The second daughter of Hiraos Fonfala, she was originally proclaimed as a child from his second marriage (which resulted in divorce and, as the mother was a mage, her later death in the mage crusades over twenty years ago). Recovered after her mother’s demise, Emeiyenae Medea Fonfala joined the duke’s household and was declared an obstinately pretty but unfortunately bedridden child and treated sympathetically as she seemed a sweet misfortunate. The girl would grow up as her father was coroneted and was reported to come with him on excursions in which her presence was a dangerous curiosity. It did not make sense, for example, that she should be a mere several rooms away when it came to the court of star chamber and its meetings, nor that she should be guarded on escapades into Noctivigan territory as the humans lashed out against the vampires. Nevertheless, Hiraos never quailed in being questioned about the wisdom of such things and, despite the growing risk of their escapades, Emeiyenae was always delighted with him; no malicious news could shake the basis of her adoration.

As she proceeded to get older her skittish, flighty nature came to light; Emeiyenae’s fashions became odd and flamboyant; the wear of her armor was daring and her nature unladylike. The girl was completely absorbed in her father and completely incompetent when it came to propriety in court and her older sister could do nothing of it and the king seemed disinclined to do anything for it. She denied suitors in her fixation to serve and instead took up the sword, let her hair down, and chattered endlessly her close-minded views on politics and her suggestions about how to handle situations. In times of pressure nobles tended to mutter that the king was obviously listening far too much to his younger daughter when it came to ruling, humoring her madness instead of being at fault himself. She became a consistent accessory to the battlefield and somehow never managed to die, though she was assaulted by arrows and hard blows and numerous life-threatening injuries while ensuring the king was safe from the worst. Mei’s official territory, Alkailla Orré, is often avoided by modern beings and she is rarely there, and any contributions she may have made toward human developments in present time have obviously remained without impact to the world at large – or, at least, society’s current Intel.

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In my position, ‘love’ is a sharp blade, because it is neither romantic, paternal, or child-like; it is everything from master to servant, parent to daughter, sister to wife. It is a complete love filled with everything, the adoration of only one figure in life and no other and, without comprehension for any other sort of relationship, a love in which everything is combined into one innocent emotion. A girl who has known no other person than her guardian only knows how to love like a daughter but combines the sheer force and strategy of all potential varieties into the one. I love him. His Grace is my everything, and so I will curtsy and call him king and adorn myself in all decorum and now, with his life threatened, teeter precariously on the edge of a purposeless existence. His single objective in creation is to protect me - and that is the only reason he has lived this long: to defend the little secret he raised masquerading as his own child. Soon, however…

Soon one of us may be discovered and, though I can easily dodge a blade with the simplicity of a smile, all eternity open to my traversing footsteps, I cannot always manage to take him with me. I am the one creature capable of traveling both backward and forward in time, and anyone else who tries their hand at the future is missed in the past. Assimilation is a nasty fate, one he has managed to avoid thus far but – for how long can we dance on the protections we use? Inevitably, one of us will be caught, and it will end His Grace all matters in Glendenvale will crumble for, in all the time we have waited for strength to succeed him, weakness was all that was available for the aspiring rulers of the land. None would survive. The only reason we did not demand Death’s accompaniment at its door when… it was done… was because no King prior, and none built up in my all-seeing eyes, could last so long with any sort of strength.

Loosing him would be the end of my life because… because in reality, though I know many other faces, I know no one else. His Grace may no longer be a Duke, and perhaps he may be called the King, but his divine right does truly come from a source beyond us and, in serving it, he has ensured no one else can serve it. His end would take everything from me, and he plays a dangerous game while I sit so beautifully in a glass casket. Still, he knows not the extent of the transgressors’ might while they sit with Xanthe Ezriska – am I the only one who can see it?

I am very afraid because these monsters are not like me, and they’ve grown and learned and I am not a God. The laws of life have not been breached and Divine Intervention remains denied to us. All the godsends can do is act – because isn’t that the essence of our being? To do whatever we want with this world of ours?

[Harliven Darkshine]

TheDecidingNote:___________________________________________________

This character and its consequent application has officially been declared -------->

[-i believe it's time to start the escapade-]
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