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Description

""What did burning flowers smell like? Something terrible, something holy?""

tracker ✹ currency ✹ playlist ✹ moodboard

Midnight Dove, why do you wander on through clouded skies? There must be a glimpse of hope in sight
✹General
Name: Calliope
Nickname(s): Dove, Calla, Io
Age: 2 years
Gender: Female
Pronouns: she/her
Orientation: Pansexual

Species: Dog
Breed: Sheltie [Shetland Sheepdog, with Australian Shepherd and Rough Collie throughout her lineage]
Height: 15"
Weight: 25 lbs

Build Description: Thick, wispy fur. Small body with short legs (squatty QUEEN). Slender, narrow muzzle and big, moony eyes.

Calliope is an ivory dove; her thick fur more like pale alabaster clouds along a small, delicate frame. Her vanilla fur is scattered with patches of silvery-oak merle, though the majority of her is pale with peachy skin. She bears a slender muzzle and silken, droopy cheek fur that fans out on either side of her face. Calliope has a soft yet piercing demeanor; knowing, yet unassuming. Her eyes are captivating pools of opaline - sightless, wide, and surprisingly cold. While the rest of her mirrors the mien of an angel, it is her eyes that freeze like winter ice. They know more than her whimsical demeanor lets on.
Scent: Honey and alba rose
Mutation: Double Merle
[She was born blind with eyes heavily sensitive to light, leaving her prone to head aches and frequent dizziness. The best she can see is blurry lights and colors, though in darkness her vision is marginally improved.]
Pack: Kensington
✧ Task: None [Soon-to-be steward or fetcher]
✧ Rank: 0

✹Relationships
[ Relationship Tracker tba ]

Family: [Open to familial connections, just dm ♥]
✧ Parents: Amaris [Mother; deceased], ?? [Father; alive]
✧ Siblings: ?? [Half-sister; alive], ?? [Half-brother; alive]
✧ Extended Family: ?? [Has many, does not know them well]

Mate: none
Offspring: none

I keep on losing feathers, I keep forgetting

✹Personality

Graceful | Soft-hearted | Insightful | Whimsical | Eccentric | Inquisitive

Repressed | Detached | Melancholy | Sheltered | Capricious | Envious

Serene and Soft-hearted, Calliope wears a veil of captivating whimsy. Behind it sleeps a caged bird; gilded with grace, burdened by melancholy, and stitched together with shreds of reverie. Hesitant but longing, she's a dreamer, ardent heart full of fairy tales, poetry, and stars - childish things, perhaps, but she covets them regardless.

To the world, she reflects herself as a lady of mystery - never one to make her presence outwardly known. In truth, the sheltie is painfully awkward yet blissfully oblivious of it. She's rarely socialized throughout her life, but makes up for it with an endearing eccentricity and strange allure. Her voice is no more than a flutter of a dove's wing, her gaze empty yet all-knowing, and effused with a sense of ghostly grace. Reserved yet curious, Calliope finds herself intrigued by a world she knows so little of. Most of her life has been one sheltered and shut away as a coveted treasure, a trapped dove. Naivety clings to her like moss, evident in every soft blink of sightless opalescent eyes and gentle smile. Her lack of experience in this world is a blessing, and a curse.

Calliope is unabashedly eccentric - years of seclusion has left her distant and dreamy. She talks to herself, she speaks in poetry on a whim, she offers no explanation should it suit her. Whatever puzzle her mind is picking at, she's likely not to share. You're simply along for the ride, where her inclination for the mystical marks her quite an outcast amongst the harbor. It would be easy to write the girl off as clueless and detached from the world with all of these quirks, but hidden past that is a keen, insightful dog who keeps true thoughts to herself. Not jaded, but simply reticent.

Much of her melancholy is tied and tangled to her feelings of guilt, of which she carries with her like cobwebs. She's truthfully a lonely creature, often craving fellowship and company of others, but unsure how to grasp it. She prefers to ignore these darker thoughts, better left unspoken. There is always something better to focus on, yes? A new song, a new story, whatever it may be. She will hoard them all, plucking tales and wonder for her growing collection. You can sit and listen, if you'd like..

Why are you lonely, dove? It's just the morning, love

✹Backstory
Overview ✧

Kensington's little ivory dove, Calliope doesn't so much as live in the harbor as she does haunt it. Like a siren, she is often heard singing across the rolling mists born from sea froth. As a recent arrival to Kensington, her appearance made quite a stir when she reunited with her estranged Shetland family, as her mother had been banished from the city walls when Calliope was still in the womb. Ever still, Calliope herself is a collector of stories, trinkets, and songs - voracious she is, with an appetite for the unknown that knows no satisfaction. Whispers from others mark the blind sheltie as... eccentric. A screw loose - a head in the clouds - born different - just like her nutty mother, all with hues of pity and judgment. Any who'd want to find the outcast girl would have better luck roaming the haunted shipyards of all places, plucking through the wreckage to find her clandestine nook she's taken to - a beached ship overgrown with vegetation, trees, and streams of water. Simply listen for the siren's song and the trail of rose petals, you will find her.

History ✧

pup -

Calliope has never been alone.

Born under winter moonlight, she remembers first the warm woolen blankets that cradled her fragile body, the smell of wild alba roses sweet yet cloying, and the gentle wooden creak of a windmill. From birth, Calliope's prism pale gaze spurned the harsh isle sun. Sensitive and sightless as she was, it was only in the comfort of darkness did the pup find any true respite. The sun was pain, the sun was dread, the sun was the unknown. From her first breath, these were the truths of her world.

Because of this, Calliope's mother raised her isolated from the Isle, deep within a vastly overgrown garden of roses and brambles where an abandoned towermill stood sentinel, looking down over rolling hills and forests below. The tangled gnarl of thorns, left to grow for decades, protected them from a dangerous and ungrateful world. Those were echoes of her mother's words, hissed anytime Calliope dared ask why she could not leave their tower. The older dog carried a bitter and jaded miasma about her, glimpsed in dark eyes and hateful snarls whenever the outside world came up. She was quick to scorn, and even quicker to shield her daughter from it all. Mother knew best. Instead, she taught Calliope lessons of spirits and fate, nature and ritual, curses and blessings; all had balance in this world. Her words wove tales of mysticism and superstition into a tapestry she draped upon Calliope's little shoulders, burdensome and heavy. "There are those who refuse to understand," She had sighed once, heavy and piteous, "those who will oust you for it, just like they did to me. They will never accept someone like you, my little dove."

Mother loved her pup, coveted her, as one would a fragile, glassen flower. To say Calliope was sheltered was a vast, vast understatement. She simply accepted this way of life for she knew no other. The sightless pup would whittle her days away at the tower, finding passion in stories and song. She'd memorize every word by heart, like adding patches to a quilt - stitching each one to her soul, piece by painful piece. She'd imagine herself in these magical tales, falling asleep every night with the comfort of adventure warm like hearthfire in her chest. And in the morning, she'd sit at the highest window singing with the birdsong and mistral winds. Her only friends were the crows who would perch upon her balcony, sharing their strange scraps of knowledge from a world she was never apart of. Even when Mother left onto her trips into the unknown, the crows would always visit. Calliope has never been alone.

adolescence -

As she began to mature, Calliope's curiosity grew with her. It yawned in her chest, up her throat, until it was impossible to swallow back down. The same songs, the same stories, the same was not enough. Her adolescence brought questions and yearning. She wanted to see the world, she needed it. Her dissatisfaction curdled what she had thought was an idyllic childhood to nothing more than cages. The roses became too sweet, the windmill's creak needled into her head, the walls she spent hours painting now sat mockingly. Past these cracks - or perhaps because of them - Calliope began to realize... Four little words that changed the course of her fate. I want to leave.

It all speared to a moment of truth, when Calliope overheard her mother yelling in anger at the crows. She wasn't supposed to hear it, she wasn't supposed to leave the tower... but she did anyway, clinging onto fables in her heart that reminded her to be brave. There she had snuck upon Mother, uttering words that sounded like madness and desperation to a grim, sickle moon. Deliverance, damnation, devotion and derangement. The young girl didn't understand, but it was enough to put winter in her veins and in her heart: Blood of the daughter... Salvation through sacrifice. Clumsy with a growing fear, she turned to flee, only to freeze when a twig snapped underneath her little paw.

Mother caught her, red-handed, but instead of an expected anger there was only a gentle, sad smile. "Just in time, my little dove..." She had crooned, sugar-sweet and holding her daughter close. Nestled this close in her mother's fur, Calliope realized for the first time what she smelled upon the witch's coat: death. "My dearest blessing. I knew the gods had gifted me something great when they put stars in your eyes. Do you think they put stars in your blood too?"

Calliope's throat choked on fearful silence. What should she say? How does she fix this? Moons spent honing the art of verse and still words failed her when she needed them most. The moment was lost, and everything changed with a single blink. When she felt teeth wrap around her throat, she could only think how it felt like thorns, piercing into her skin. It was the prick of a plant, as Mother taught her how to avoid the rose's barbs. It was the sting of Calliope's first winter, asking why the cold hurt, answered by Mother laughing like bells. It was tea drinken too hot on her tongue as Mother told her to slow down, be careful. It was.. it was...

A moment - a blink - a pulse.

She realized that it wasn't the thundering of her panicked heartbeat she could hear, but a frenzied cacophony of crows cawing all around them like a cloud of shadows (her friends, her only friends, Calliope knew she was not alone). It was enough of a distraction (Mother staring skyward, eyes widened, crimson on her jaw, etched with divine revelation) for Calliope to pull herself free, and run.

For the first time, Calliope stepped foot on the outside world. Adrenaline pushed her forward, weaving through the overgrown brambles that surrounded their tower. Thorns snagged on her skin - sweet rose petals, sweet copper blood, too sweet - and freedom had never felt so doomed. She had no time to appreciate the smear of forest blurring past her - the open sky, the open world, it was too big, it was too much. Mother was behind her, she could not stop. It was only panic that guided her paws that cursed night, unable to see where she was going. Foliage tangled in her fur, rocks tripped her step. Eventually the young sheltie was cornered, just barely slipping off the cliff's edge, as Mother loomed over her.

The earth beneath them crumbled, and sent the two plunging down, down, down, into a cold shock of water. With a bolt of agonizing clarity, Calliope knew the moment her mother hit the waters limp and lifeless, that she was well and truly alone. Weak and small as she was, she could not fight the current that sunk her to watery depths.

adult -

By miracle or luck, a group of Kensington dogs found the washed-up dove unconscious on their shores. They took mercy on her, welcoming Calliope into their harbor with equal parts wariness and worry. When she awoke, it was to a brand new world, foreign and overwhelming. So many sounds, so many smells, so many people - and all of them were expecting answers from her. It is staggeringly too much for her faint heart, like the water that pulled her down again, only this time no one could tell.

Calliope learned a great many things in quick, quick succession.

Most shocking, however, was the revelation that these strangers had known her mother. A mother who kept many secrets - a mother who apparently been banished from Kensington, leaving behind a family. The revelation rippled through the harbor, gossip churning in hushed whispers (Poor Shetland family, clinging onto the glory days, close to greatness but fallen to failure, ruined by their traitorous witch, now stuck with a useless daughter.) And worse, nobody would tell her why her mother was banished, awkwardly avoiding the subject or claiming ignorance. So Calliope pushed onwards, tried to connect to this estranged family of hers - a father! She had a father... and half-siblings, grandparents, all and more. They were eager to welcome her into their home, though Calliope felt the excitement putter out when they saw her eyes, empty crystalline depths. She would not save their legacy, would never be what they wanted.

Instead she found herself drawn to the quieter, darker nooks of Kensington - where things were not quite so overwhelming.

The haunted shipyard became her nest, and she did not care if it meant the others judged her, thought her strange. She felt closer to home here, closer to the spirits and stars. Though she had a home with her estranged family, Calliope much preferred what she found: an ivy-ridden boat, beached and abandoned, impaled with the winding tree growing out of its back. Her life has changed so fast, Calliope had barely a chance to mull over this new chapter of hers... This was it. This was the world she yearned for, wanted to be apart of. Spurred on by intrigue and curiosity, she became a bit of a collector, hoarding up odd little trinkets in her boat like a magpie, and her song could be heard across the foggy shipyard like a siren's melody. She didn't want to face the pain, and realized she didn't have to. It was snuffed somewhere deep inside her, bottled and sealed with rosen wax. The girl grew detached, dreamy, aloof with a head in the clouds. She was content to be a narrator, a spectator, of the stories unfolding before her.

Sometimes, she could still smell mother's roses on the wind - haunting her, reminding her of her one solitary truth: Calliope has never been alone.

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope, It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat

✹In-Game History
✧ - tba

✹Miscellaneous

Trivia:
✧ Loves to sing and dictate prose. Her singing voice is lovely.
✧ Has a deep fear of water after nearly drowning.
✧ Calliope can only vaguely see blurry shapes and colors, like a soft and hazy kaleidoscope. Her vision is better when in the dark.
✧ Firmly believes she's haunted. Very superstitious.
✧ Has started a teeny rose garden in Kensington. She gifts flowers to only her favorite folk.
✧ Doesn't quite understand the social politics of the Harbor, and is too afraid to ask at this point.
✧ Fascinated by the crows of Isleveil, often leaves them little offerings, gifts and food.
✧ Obsessed with collecting things, whether it be stories, songs, trinkets, or such. Bit of a hoarder.
✧ Enjoys jewelry, decorations, and adornments.
✧ Has an extremely sensitive sense of hearing.
✧ Has a vast knowledge of herbs and plants from her Mother's teachings.
✧ Spends most of her time within a beached plant-ridden boat at the haunted shipyard within Kensington's walls, much to the chagrin of just about everyone in her life.

Voiceclaim: Holly Henry

Description

""What did burning flowers smell like? Something terrible, something holy?""

tracker ✹ currency ✹ playlist ✹ moodboard

Midnight Dove, why do you wander on through clouded skies? There must be a glimpse of hope in sight
✹General
Name: Calliope
Nickname(s): Dove, Calla, Io
Age: 2 years
Gender: Female
Pronouns: she/her
Orientation: Pansexual

Species: Dog
Breed: Sheltie [Shetland Sheepdog, with Australian Shepherd and Rough Collie throughout her lineage]
Height: 15"
Weight: 25 lbs

Build Description: Thick, wispy fur. Small body with short legs (squatty QUEEN). Slender, narrow muzzle and big, moony eyes.

Calliope is an ivory dove; her thick fur more like pale alabaster clouds along a small, delicate frame. Her vanilla fur is scattered with patches of silvery-oak merle, though the majority of her is pale with peachy skin. She bears a slender muzzle and silken, droopy cheek fur that fans out on either side of her face. Calliope has a soft yet piercing demeanor; knowing, yet unassuming. Her eyes are captivating pools of opaline - sightless, wide, and surprisingly cold. While the rest of her mirrors the mien of an angel, it is her eyes that freeze like winter ice. They know more than her whimsical demeanor lets on.
Scent: Honey and alba rose
Mutation: Double Merle
[She was born blind with eyes heavily sensitive to light, leaving her prone to head aches and frequent dizziness. The best she can see is blurry lights and colors, though in darkness her vision is marginally improved.]
Pack: Kensington
✧ Task: None [Soon-to-be steward or fetcher]
✧ Rank: 0

✹Relationships
[ Relationship Tracker tba ]

Family: [Open to familial connections, just dm ♥]
✧ Parents: Amaris [Mother; deceased], ?? [Father; alive]
✧ Siblings: ?? [Half-sister; alive], ?? [Half-brother; alive]
✧ Extended Family: ?? [Has many, does not know them well]

Mate: none
Offspring: none

I keep on losing feathers, I keep forgetting

✹Personality

Graceful | Soft-hearted | Insightful | Whimsical | Eccentric | Inquisitive

Repressed | Detached | Melancholy | Sheltered | Capricious | Envious

Serene and Soft-hearted, Calliope wears a veil of captivating whimsy. Behind it sleeps a caged bird; gilded with grace, burdened by melancholy, and stitched together with shreds of reverie. Hesitant but longing, she's a dreamer, ardent heart full of fairy tales, poetry, and stars - childish things, perhaps, but she covets them regardless.

To the world, she reflects herself as a lady of mystery - never one to make her presence outwardly known. In truth, the sheltie is painfully awkward yet blissfully oblivious of it. She's rarely socialized throughout her life, but makes up for it with an endearing eccentricity and strange allure. Her voice is no more than a flutter of a dove's wing, her gaze empty yet all-knowing, and effused with a sense of ghostly grace. Reserved yet curious, Calliope finds herself intrigued by a world she knows so little of. Most of her life has been one sheltered and shut away as a coveted treasure, a trapped dove. Naivety clings to her like moss, evident in every soft blink of sightless opalescent eyes and gentle smile. Her lack of experience in this world is a blessing, and a curse.

Calliope is unabashedly eccentric - years of seclusion has left her distant and dreamy. She talks to herself, she speaks in poetry on a whim, she offers no explanation should it suit her. Whatever puzzle her mind is picking at, she's likely not to share. You're simply along for the ride, where her inclination for the mystical marks her quite an outcast amongst the harbor. It would be easy to write the girl off as clueless and detached from the world with all of these quirks, but hidden past that is a keen, insightful dog who keeps true thoughts to herself. Not jaded, but simply reticent.

Much of her melancholy is tied and tangled to her feelings of guilt, of which she carries with her like cobwebs. She's truthfully a lonely creature, often craving fellowship and company of others, but unsure how to grasp it. She prefers to ignore these darker thoughts, better left unspoken. There is always something better to focus on, yes? A new song, a new story, whatever it may be. She will hoard them all, plucking tales and wonder for her growing collection. You can sit and listen, if you'd like..

Why are you lonely, dove? It's just the morning, love

✹Backstory
Overview ✧

Kensington's little ivory dove, Calliope doesn't so much as live in the harbor as she does haunt it. Like a siren, she is often heard singing across the rolling mists born from sea froth. As a recent arrival to Kensington, her appearance made quite a stir when she reunited with her estranged Shetland family, as her mother had been banished from the city walls when Calliope was still in the womb. Ever still, Calliope herself is a collector of stories, trinkets, and songs - voracious she is, with an appetite for the unknown that knows no satisfaction. Whispers from others mark the blind sheltie as... eccentric. A screw loose - a head in the clouds - born different - just like her nutty mother, all with hues of pity and judgment. Any who'd want to find the outcast girl would have better luck roaming the haunted shipyards of all places, plucking through the wreckage to find her clandestine nook she's taken to - a beached ship overgrown with vegetation, trees, and streams of water. Simply listen for the siren's song and the trail of rose petals, you will find her.

History ✧

pup -

Calliope has never been alone.

Born under winter moonlight, she remembers first the warm woolen blankets that cradled her fragile body, the smell of wild alba roses sweet yet cloying, and the gentle wooden creak of a windmill. From birth, Calliope's prism pale gaze spurned the harsh isle sun. Sensitive and sightless as she was, it was only in the comfort of darkness did the pup find any true respite. The sun was pain, the sun was dread, the sun was the unknown. From her first breath, these were the truths of her world.

Because of this, Calliope's mother raised her isolated from the Isle, deep within a vastly overgrown garden of roses and brambles where an abandoned towermill stood sentinel, looking down over rolling hills and forests below. The tangled gnarl of thorns, left to grow for decades, protected them from a dangerous and ungrateful world. Those were echoes of her mother's words, hissed anytime Calliope dared ask why she could not leave their tower. The older dog carried a bitter and jaded miasma about her, glimpsed in dark eyes and hateful snarls whenever the outside world came up. She was quick to scorn, and even quicker to shield her daughter from it all. Mother knew best. Instead, she taught Calliope lessons of spirits and fate, nature and ritual, curses and blessings; all had balance in this world. Her words wove tales of mysticism and superstition into a tapestry she draped upon Calliope's little shoulders, burdensome and heavy. "There are those who refuse to understand," She had sighed once, heavy and piteous, "those who will oust you for it, just like they did to me. They will never accept someone like you, my little dove."

Mother loved her pup, coveted her, as one would a fragile, glassen flower. To say Calliope was sheltered was a vast, vast understatement. She simply accepted this way of life for she knew no other. The sightless pup would whittle her days away at the tower, finding passion in stories and song. She'd memorize every word by heart, like adding patches to a quilt - stitching each one to her soul, piece by painful piece. She'd imagine herself in these magical tales, falling asleep every night with the comfort of adventure warm like hearthfire in her chest. And in the morning, she'd sit at the highest window singing with the birdsong and mistral winds. Her only friends were the crows who would perch upon her balcony, sharing their strange scraps of knowledge from a world she was never apart of. Even when Mother left onto her trips into the unknown, the crows would always visit. Calliope has never been alone.

adolescence -

As she began to mature, Calliope's curiosity grew with her. It yawned in her chest, up her throat, until it was impossible to swallow back down. The same songs, the same stories, the same was not enough. Her adolescence brought questions and yearning. She wanted to see the world, she needed it. Her dissatisfaction curdled what she had thought was an idyllic childhood to nothing more than cages. The roses became too sweet, the windmill's creak needled into her head, the walls she spent hours painting now sat mockingly. Past these cracks - or perhaps because of them - Calliope began to realize... Four little words that changed the course of her fate. I want to leave.

It all speared to a moment of truth, when Calliope overheard her mother yelling in anger at the crows. She wasn't supposed to hear it, she wasn't supposed to leave the tower... but she did anyway, clinging onto fables in her heart that reminded her to be brave. There she had snuck upon Mother, uttering words that sounded like madness and desperation to a grim, sickle moon. Deliverance, damnation, devotion and derangement. The young girl didn't understand, but it was enough to put winter in her veins and in her heart: Blood of the daughter... Salvation through sacrifice. Clumsy with a growing fear, she turned to flee, only to freeze when a twig snapped underneath her little paw.

Mother caught her, red-handed, but instead of an expected anger there was only a gentle, sad smile. "Just in time, my little dove..." She had crooned, sugar-sweet and holding her daughter close. Nestled this close in her mother's fur, Calliope realized for the first time what she smelled upon the witch's coat: death. "My dearest blessing. I knew the gods had gifted me something great when they put stars in your eyes. Do you think they put stars in your blood too?"

Calliope's throat choked on fearful silence. What should she say? How does she fix this? Moons spent honing the art of verse and still words failed her when she needed them most. The moment was lost, and everything changed with a single blink. When she felt teeth wrap around her throat, she could only think how it felt like thorns, piercing into her skin. It was the prick of a plant, as Mother taught her how to avoid the rose's barbs. It was the sting of Calliope's first winter, asking why the cold hurt, answered by Mother laughing like bells. It was tea drinken too hot on her tongue as Mother told her to slow down, be careful. It was.. it was...

A moment - a blink - a pulse.

She realized that it wasn't the thundering of her panicked heartbeat she could hear, but a frenzied cacophony of crows cawing all around them like a cloud of shadows (her friends, her only friends, Calliope knew she was not alone). It was enough of a distraction (Mother staring skyward, eyes widened, crimson on her jaw, etched with divine revelation) for Calliope to pull herself free, and run.

For the first time, Calliope stepped foot on the outside world. Adrenaline pushed her forward, weaving through the overgrown brambles that surrounded their tower. Thorns snagged on her skin - sweet rose petals, sweet copper blood, too sweet - and freedom had never felt so doomed. She had no time to appreciate the smear of forest blurring past her - the open sky, the open world, it was too big, it was too much. Mother was behind her, she could not stop. It was only panic that guided her paws that cursed night, unable to see where she was going. Foliage tangled in her fur, rocks tripped her step. Eventually the young sheltie was cornered, just barely slipping off the cliff's edge, as Mother loomed over her.

The earth beneath them crumbled, and sent the two plunging down, down, down, into a cold shock of water. With a bolt of agonizing clarity, Calliope knew the moment her mother hit the waters limp and lifeless, that she was well and truly alone. Weak and small as she was, she could not fight the current that sunk her to watery depths.

adult -

By miracle or luck, a group of Kensington dogs found the washed-up dove unconscious on their shores. They took mercy on her, welcoming Calliope into their harbor with equal parts wariness and worry. When she awoke, it was to a brand new world, foreign and overwhelming. So many sounds, so many smells, so many people - and all of them were expecting answers from her. It is staggeringly too much for her faint heart, like the water that pulled her down again, only this time no one could tell.

Calliope learned a great many things in quick, quick succession.

Most shocking, however, was the revelation that these strangers had known her mother. A mother who kept many secrets - a mother who apparently been banished from Kensington, leaving behind a family. The revelation rippled through the harbor, gossip churning in hushed whispers (Poor Shetland family, clinging onto the glory days, close to greatness but fallen to failure, ruined by their traitorous witch, now stuck with a useless daughter.) And worse, nobody would tell her why her mother was banished, awkwardly avoiding the subject or claiming ignorance. So Calliope pushed onwards, tried to connect to this estranged family of hers - a father! She had a father... and half-siblings, grandparents, all and more. They were eager to welcome her into their home, though Calliope felt the excitement putter out when they saw her eyes, empty crystalline depths. She would not save their legacy, would never be what they wanted.

Instead she found herself drawn to the quieter, darker nooks of Kensington - where things were not quite so overwhelming.

The haunted shipyard became her nest, and she did not care if it meant the others judged her, thought her strange. She felt closer to home here, closer to the spirits and stars. Though she had a home with her estranged family, Calliope much preferred what she found: an ivy-ridden boat, beached and abandoned, impaled with the winding tree growing out of its back. Her life has changed so fast, Calliope had barely a chance to mull over this new chapter of hers... This was it. This was the world she yearned for, wanted to be apart of. Spurred on by intrigue and curiosity, she became a bit of a collector, hoarding up odd little trinkets in her boat like a magpie, and her song could be heard across the foggy shipyard like a siren's melody. She didn't want to face the pain, and realized she didn't have to. It was snuffed somewhere deep inside her, bottled and sealed with rosen wax. The girl grew detached, dreamy, aloof with a head in the clouds. She was content to be a narrator, a spectator, of the stories unfolding before her.

Sometimes, she could still smell mother's roses on the wind - haunting her, reminding her of her one solitary truth: Calliope has never been alone.

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope, It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat

✹In-Game History
✧ - tba

✹Miscellaneous

Trivia:
✧ Loves to sing and dictate prose. Her singing voice is lovely.
✧ Has a deep fear of water after nearly drowning.
✧ Calliope can only vaguely see blurry shapes and colors, like a soft and hazy kaleidoscope. Her vision is better when in the dark.
✧ Firmly believes she's haunted. Very superstitious.
✧ Has started a teeny rose garden in Kensington. She gifts flowers to only her favorite folk.
✧ Doesn't quite understand the social politics of the Harbor, and is too afraid to ask at this point.
✧ Fascinated by the crows of Isleveil, often leaves them little offerings, gifts and food.
✧ Obsessed with collecting things, whether it be stories, songs, trinkets, or such. Bit of a hoarder.
✧ Enjoys jewelry, decorations, and adornments.
✧ Has an extremely sensitive sense of hearing.
✧ Has a vast knowledge of herbs and plants from her Mother's teachings.
✧ Spends most of her time within a beached plant-ridden boat at the haunted shipyard within Kensington's walls, much to the chagrin of just about everyone in her life.

Voiceclaim: Holly Henry