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personality

counting all different ideas drifting away

people tend think philomela's heart is frozen. no matter how hard someone tries to encourage a conversation, all she does is stare in silence. no matter the warmth shown, no matter the pity given, no matter the greetings spoken, philomela does not give anything more than simply her name. [break][break]

they see a girl who sits alone, no one to keep her company other than her precious bird. someone who refuses to open up to anyone. who denies any offer of friendship, no matter how earnest or sincere. nobody has seen her laugh or cry or smile, as if she was simply a robot in a girl's body. no emotion. no empathy. nothing.[break][break]

only those who truly pay attention will hear her under her favorite tree on a nice windy day, the music of her flute flowing around her. witness her crack a smile whenever she watches someone in the cafe make a fool of themselves or crack a joke. the way her eyes sparkle whenever she drinks hot chocolate, or water when faced with spicy foods, or droop when the snow starts to fall. the way she suddenly becomes nervous whenever the topic of conversation turns towards her.[break][break]

it isn't that philomela is a timid teenager. she's not meek in any sense of the word. however, she has little to no self-esteem, her view of herself not even a blip on the radar. she was raised to believe of her own inevitable failure. of how she wasn't worth anything to anyone. and that anyone who said differently was a liar. so when people come to her, asking for her friendship and love, she sees them as liars. those who want to hurt her. it's a mistake to call philomela shy. she simply does not think herself worthy enough to talk to others.[break][break]

mela fears pain most of all. not on a physical sense, but emotionally the witch is a frail girl. insults cut deep, even if she denies that they do. even if her face is as impassive as ever. every single biting word strikes philomela to her very core and it takes awhile for it to stop bleeding. so rather than facing the risk of heartbreak, she prevents herself from growing too close to anyone. a few slip past her defenses, but her walls are still extremely difficult to tear down.[break][break]

any achievement she receives, any skill that she has, they are all viewed as unimpressive. she could have done more. she could have done better. mela's sense of modesty is far to extreme to ever view it as a positive, turning into self-deprecation at the blink of an eye.[break][break]

but just underneath her insecurities is an honestly sweet girl. one who sees sick and injured birds and takes them home with her to nurse them back to health. gives spare change to the homeless. tries her hardest to help when and where she can, even if she's not brave enough to actually communicate with those she's assisting. it's weird to see how such a seemingly cold and apathetic witch is so shockingly kind.[break][break]

but do not mistake philomela for a pure individual. she is just like everyone else. she has her own vices.[break][break]

while mela hates herself quite thoroughly, she hates others with a more vivid intensity. the man who calls himself her father. the helios knights for turning a blind eye to her struggles for all those years just because father was rich. she is unforgiving when crossed, cynical of the world around her, and loathes those who think themselves gods. the rich who control. the masterminds who puppeteer behind the scenes. those who belittle people just because they themselves have money. [break][break]

her morals are also rather confused as well. some of the time, she's aware of right and wrong. but due to her later upbringing, it's easy for her to get confused. with some things twisted in ways they should not be. it's also extremely difficult for philomela to express herself with words, not knowing how to formulate the sentences. not knowing what she herself is feeling most of the time. when speaking fails her, music does not. if she really wants to communicate with someone, they better be able to recognize the tones of her flute. it's almost as if she's made an entire language using nothing but her instrument.[break][break]

philomela is a kind and patient girl, but within the depths of her heart is something much darker and sinister. a pure, unadulterated fury that has built up to such a monumental pressure that it's not a matter of if the little witch will explode-[break][break]

it's a matter of when.[break][break]

history

past and present they don’t matter

the little girl didn't remember what came before the streets. hugging the shadows of the alleyways, hungry eyes calculating and wary as they pick out the victims to her sneaky fingers. the rumbling stomach that roared and snarled and groaned and never seemed to shut up. the frozen winters and blistering summers. her little box between the two tall concrete buildings.[break][break]

but every now and then, there are flashes of the past. of a time when things were better.[break][break]

a woman's laugh.[break][break]

soft brown eyes.[break][break]

a man's warm, calloused hands.[break][break]

a lion's soft mane, and a butterfly's gentle kisses.[break][break]

the sound of a flute.[break][break]

there was always a tightness in her chest whenever the flashes appeared. a sharp pain in her head. the whisper of 'run' echoing in her ears. [break][break]

she remembers waking up in the box. she remembers how to pick pockets and snatch wallets. she remembers doing it countless times before with the ease of breathing.[break][break]

but for some reason her muscles didn't seem to share the recollection. her fingers were clumsy for a month, much to the girl's confusion and annoyance. and yet they could pick up the hollow metal pipe that had appeared one day- [break][break]

a tune playing laughter brown eyes calloused hands guiding showing teaching taught-[break][break]

the headaches were painful whenever she played the beautiful songs that came from nowhere, her hands acting on their own as the tube sang gorgeous melodies. but she couldn't stop playing. the pain was nothing compared to the feeling of home. even though she had obviously never had such a thing before. a home.[break][break]

for all the little girl could remember were the streets.[break][break]

not even her name.[break][break]

the man came when she was playing her beloved hollow pipe. his hair greased back. suit fitted. dark glasses shielding his eyes from view. he looked classy and rich.[break][break]

he felt like sludge, his aura as black and thick as tar. a white snake curled around his arm. she had a bad feeling, her mind whispered 'run!', and her little legs desperately moved. but it was all for naught.[break][break]

the little nameless girl was in a room. dark. cold. hard. the ground was concrete. the walls were concrete. there was no warmth in the tiny little cell for the tiny little girl.[break][break]

"philomela." the dark man's voice echoed as he entered the room.[break][break]

ah. so that was her name. there was a tug in her mind, a key clicking into a lock and turning. and philomela remembered.[break][break]

her mama's laughter as mela sang and danced around, the blond woman clapping along to the tune.[break][break]

the soft brown eyes of her mama as she tucked philomela in at night.[break][break]

her papa's warm, calloused hands as he lifted her into a swing before pushing.[break][break]

a lion's soft mane, and a butterfly's gentle kisses. the two familiars of her parents that had always protected her.[break][break]

the sound of her papa's flute as he taught her their heritage.[break][break]

the fancy balls and galas, stiff dresses, an uncomfortable atmosphere. her papa arguing with someone who wore a sun and wore a snake.[break][break]

a crashing fight in front of their home. his papa's familiar roaring as they battled together. her mama, desperate as she held philomela in the backyard.[break][break]

"it's alright, my darling mela. they won't never think to look for you in the slums. i hope you will learn to forgive me."[break][break]

a sad kiss on her forehead. tears landing on her cheeks. a butterfly touching on her temple. a thick haze overtaking her mind, her memories.[break][break]

waking up inside of a box in the familiarly unfamiliar dark alleyway.[break][break]

she had a family. she had a home. she had a name.[break][break]

the dark man proclaimed himself to be philomela's new father, better than the previous trash. she called him a liar and demanded to be let out.[break][break]

she was punished.[break][break]

mela refused to call him father.[break][break]

she was punished.[break][break]

philomela bent to his rules. followed his orders. called him 'father'.[break][break]

she was moved to a new room. one with windows, pretty wallpaper, a soft bed, warm blankets.[break][break]

father told her that papa used to be his business partner. how their company was flourishing, not due to papa's honest policies but because of father's dark deals. father told her that papa was going to betray him. rat him out. tell the knights they served that a snake was among them.[break][break]

and now they were dead. killed by some rotten leviathan, apparently. but mela saw father's smile. the glint in his dark eyes. she knew better.[break][break]

her abilities were valuable, and so father trained her. he put forth all that effort into finding her, after all. why waste the opportunity?[break][break]

harsh. cruel. effective. it wasn't long before philomela was allowed to shadow her father within the knights coven.[break][break]

she tried to tell somewhat what had happened. begging for freedom. father stopped her just in time, laughing her half-finished plea off as just a typical rebellious phase.[break][break]

philomela couldn't sing anymore, after that. it hurt to talk. so she didn't. her wings were clipped.[break][break]

it wasn't until she was fifteen years old that mela caught her break. the heavens smiled upon the teenager as father was finally arrested for his various crimes. she was finally free.[break][break]

but mela was lost. for the longest time, father's house was all she had known. her memories of her past life were still hazy, her time in the slums hardly counted, so really these past few years were all she truly had to hold on to.[break][break]

she joined the jesters den, desperate to get away from her past.[break][break]

she found a new home. and even though she is damaged, she's not beyond repair.[break][break]

ect.

now the future’s sorted out

• philomela is not mute. it just hurts her to speak.
• she's terrified of wasps. whenever she sees one, she runs like there's no tomorrow.
• mela is slowly healing thanks to the efforts of her coven. it's easier for her to crack a smile, no matter how small.