" got a s e c r e t . . . can you k e e p it? s w e a r this one you'll s a v e , better lock it, in your p o c k e t ; taking this one to the g r a v e . . . "
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{мαяισиєттє;; α ρυρρєт ωσякє∂ fяσм αвσνє ву ѕтяιиgѕ αттαcнє∂ тσ ιтѕ ℓιмвѕ✒----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ｎａｍｅ;;
marionette
("little Mary" in French, but it also is a puppet controlled by strings)
ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ;;
jazzepi
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▀▀>> gєи∂єя <<
female ; feminine ; ♀▀▀▀▀▀▀
▀▀▀▀-- ✕ --
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Ｉ ｗｏｎ'ｔ ｃｒｙ ｆｏｒ ｙｏｕ;
Ｉ ｗｏｎ'ｔ ｃｒｕｃｉｆｙ ｔｈｅ ｔｈｉｎｇｓ ｙｏｕ ｄｏ . . . Ｉ ｗｏｎ'ｔ ｃｒｙ ｆｏｒ ｙｏｕ,
ｓｅｅ ｗｈｅｎ ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ ｇｏｎｅ Ｉ'ｌｌ ｓｔｉｌｌ ｂｅ . . .
в l o o d y м a r y
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▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀Ｗｅ ａｒｅ ｎｏｔ ｊｕｓｔ ａｒｔ ｆｏｒ Ｍｉｃｈｅｌａｎｇｅｌｏ
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ｔｏ ｃａｒｖｅ; ｈｅ ｃａｎ'ｔ ｒｅｗｒｉｔｅ ｔｈｅ ａｇｒｏ ｏｆ ｍｙ
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ｆｕｒｉｅｄ ｈｅａｒｔ,
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀Ｉ'ｌｌ ｗａｉｔ ｏｎ ｍｏｕｎｔａｉｎ ｔｏｐｓ ｉｎ Ｐａｒｉｓ ｃｏｌｄ . . .
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀Ｊ'ｖｅｕｘ ｐａｓ ｍｏｕｒｉｒ ｔｏｕｔｅ ｓｅｕｌｅ
▀▀┗ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀┛
>> ρєяѕσиαℓιту <<
☓ introverted
✗ sensitive
✖ morbid
✕ extreme
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ℳarionette has never been much a people person; rather, she tends to stay on the outskirts of the crowd, deep inside her own thoughts and daydreams. She often is caught up in her own little world, a world that no one but her understands, and that's really the way she likes it. Too much social interaction make her extremely uncomfortable and if she's exposed to strangers or large-numbers for too long, then it can even make her upset. You'll later find out that it is not a good thing at all for her to be upset. However, Mary does let a few, very select, people into her little world. If you're one of those people, than you are quite the lucky one indeed (although some could say that the word lucky, is up for debate).
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ℋer introversion affects many aspects of her life, but it certainly does not affect her sensitivity to others; their words, their emotions, their everything really. She's always been quite hypersensitive about things like that, and one could wonder whether or not it contributed to her introversion: if the fact that she always felt the people's emotions around her amplified, that they were too strong for her. But -as previously mentioned- she's not only sensitive about emotions and thoughts, but remarks as well. Little things that were said in a joking manner that most kias/people would take with a laugh and a grain of salt cut deep into her, and she often takes the words to heart.
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀The definition of morbid is "characterized by or appealing to an abnormal and unhealthy interest in disturbing and unpleasant subjects, esp. death and disease" (Dictionary.com). Death is actually one of her favorite things, followed closely by disease. Well.. Perhaps favorite isn't the best word. She doesn't enjoy the actual death itself -to that she is rather indifferent- but what does intrigue her is the transition to death, the soul leaving the body, and how empty the body is without it. For these reasons, she keeps a impressive collection of dead things. This hoard of hers consists of a wide array of corpses, many of which are at the many different levels of decomposition: fresh corpses, skeletons, and half-rotted.
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀In an average person's range of emotions, their feelings are rather level; balanced. In Marionette's world however, her emotions are extremely polar: not to mention they can fluctuate quite quickly. For example, she could get quite furious at something that the average kia would brush off with perhaps a slight huff, but then in the next minute or so, become elated, giggles galore! Many people find these changes to be annoying and confusing, which results in them avoiding her for the most part.
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▀▀▀▀▀══ ☠ ══
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▀Ｉ ｗａｎｔ ｙｏｕｒ ｂｌｏｏｄ;
▀Ｉ ｗａｎｔ ｉｔ ｉｎ ｍｙ ｈａｉｒ,
▀Ｉ ｗａｎｔ ｙｏｕｒ ｂｌｏｏｄ;
▀Ｉ ｗａｎｔ ｉｔ ｉｎ ｍｙ ｈａｉｒ . . .
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ｆａｖｏｕｒｉｔｅ ｐａｓｔｉｍｅ;;
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As with anyone, it would be hard for Marionette to choose just one of her.. shall we say, interesting hobbies. She enjoys everything and anything from the casual graveyard stroll to dabbling in the paranormal. But if I were to say that just one was her favorite, I think skeleton collection would most definitely be that. Do you remember when I said that she was rather morbid; simply fascinated with death and all it brings? Well, I suppose this is sort of branching off of that trait. She collects and reconstructs all types of skeletons of all types of creatures, from birds to frogs (it's even been rumoured that she found a kiamara skull at one point). If she trusts you enough, she might even show you her display that she's organized all of the bones in for safe keeping.
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» ｆａｖｏｕｒｉｔｅ ｔｏｙ «
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┏ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀┓
▀Ｒｉｎｇ ａｒｏｕｎｄ ｔｈｅ ｒｏｓｉｅ,
▀Ｔｈｉｓ ｅｖｉｌ ｔｈｉｎｇ, ｉｔ ｋｎｏｗｓ ｍｅ;
▀Ｌｏｓｔ ｇｈｏｓｔｓ ｓｕｒｒｏｕｎｄ ｍｅ,
▀Ｉ ｃａｎ'ｔ ｆａｌｌ ｄｏｗｎ. . .
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aтlaѕ - named after Atlas from BioShock Who is Atlas, you may ask. Well Atlas is Marionette's porcelain doll - who has quite a frightening appearance, to say the very least. It (I refrain from using a gender, because I really don't know which it would be, but if I were to guess I would guess a female) has the body of the very finest Victorian-age china doll, complete with what I would imagine was once silky and gorgeous dress (although now it is rather grimy and dusty from age not to mention wear and tear). On the top, however, it is not quite as lovely. Her head is a skull: that of a raven's to be more specific. And in one of those empty, souless sockets is a brown glass eye, a large and unwelcoming crack going right down the center and therefore the pupil as well.
Nobody knows how Marionette came to have this companion of her's, not even she knows the full story of how it came into her posession: she's has it as long as she can remember. It definitely shows in the doll's (if you can even call it that) condition.
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ρєσρℓє αяє тяαρρє∂ ιи нιѕтσяу, αи∂ нιѕтσяу ιѕ тяαρρє∂ ιи тнєм «
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нιѕтory;;
ℳarionette's life started out very simple. Very easy. Everything any child would or could ever want really - she had a loving mother, father, all the toys she could ever possibly crave for. In fact, the family was quite well off, since her father inherited half of his mother's estate, the other half going to his older sibling, otherwise known as Marionette's Aunt Euphemia. The little family lived life happily for a long time. That is, until a great plague was set upon the country: a horrible strain of the pneumonia virus quickly spread throughout the country, in a way that many compared to a wildfire of disease. Not many kiamaras were spared, and Marionette's parents were no exception: her father was the first to catch the sickness, and her mother soon followed. She was sent off to her Aunt's, her parent's fearing for her health and safety if she were to continue living with them, and therefore being more and more exposed to the deadly disease. So off she went, Atlas in paw, to Aunt Euphemia's manor. Tragically, her parent's died soon after she left, leaving their daughter most of what they owned. Although, Euphemia swept the news "under the rug" - claiming that in return for caring for her niece, it would only be fair for her to recieve her brother's money, house, and even highly prized, personal family posessions: "Raising a child is a truly difficult thing you know, it involves love and commitment." She would raise her paw up to her forehead rahter melodramaticly, "Things which I have given Marionette from the very first day she arrived here! It would only be fair for me to get a little something in return." Euphemia had always been quite the actress.
Marionette was never quite fond of her aunt, and her aunt was never shy to show her that the feeling was mutual. Euphemia claimed that she found her niece to be quite strange; "The child is simply not right in the head!" She would say, lips pursed, eyes narrowed in a dissaproving glare, gaze fixated on little Marionette. In return, Marionette would glare right back, her deep, amber eyes blazing defiantely as she continued on whatever she may have been doing at said time. But these sort of clashes were quite rare: Mary was usually off all by her lonesome. But I can't say I blame the girl. Euphemia was a rather abrasive character if she liked you, I don't think I could imagine what it would be like to be on her bad side, shall we say. Although, I suppose lonesome is a bad choice of a word - she was alone, but not quite lonely. Atlas was always there for her. Through thick and thin, she was right there beside her companion, ready to comfort and to protect the little kiamara. The two would explore every inch of her aunt's large, lavish mansion; the smooth, marble walls just called out to Marionette, whispering and hissing to come play.
As Marionette grew older, she began to get into hot water more frequently with her Aunt Euphemia. As a tot, her aunt said she was able to put up with her childish behaviour, "After all, what more could I have expected from such a foolish child? But now, at 12, you are a young lady. And I expect you to act as such. No more silly little games." Marionette would roll her eyes; it was likely she had been the victim of this lecture multiple times (her aunt was always known for being quite the "insufferable windbag", if I were to word it how Marionette had overheard the help had once when she caught them gossiping about her aunt on the job). "And so, I would expect that you need not have a use for this ghastly old thing any longer." Euphemia had snatched Atlas away from the child, and now held the toy gingerly with two fingers, a rather disgusted look on her face as she examined the doll from an arm's distance away.
This was the first of the many attempts to rid Marionette of Atlas, and when I say many, I do mean many. I dare say the old hag tried hundreds upon hundreds of times, each different and more creative than the last. their clashes and bickers grew in number as both Marionette grew older and began to think for herself (not to mention fight back, but we will discuss that later) and as whatever patience Euphemia had for the young kiamara shrunk and shrivelled.
"Give her back!" Marionette glowered angrily up at her aunt, eye's twinkling with sparks of anger, soon to be kindled into rage. Euphemia made an almost inaudible smug, little squeak. "No. You're far too old for this dreadful pile of rags." Her eyes blazed fiercely down at her niece, her unwavering gaze matching her kin's, "Besides, a young lady simply doesn't demand things that she doesn't deserve; a child with a temper such as yours just doesn't deserve to have the nice things that polite, well behaved children do." With that, the larger kiamara briskly trotted off. Atlas still in her wretched clutches as she probably silently snickered to herself in that horribly posh accent of hers, leaving Marionette quietly sniffling and sobbing; crying for her lost friend while surrounded by the cold, unwelcoming marble walls. This time, instead of begging to be explored, they glared and shunned the broken down kiamara.
That night, Marionette snuck into her aunt's room, quietly like the many mice she had seen scurrying about on her many adventures throughout the castle-like building. Except this time, she had a purpose. To regain what was rightfully hers. Once in the room, she realized that she needn't be as quiet as she had; her aunt snored like, well, I'm honestly not quite sure what to say what she snored like. I've never heard such a noise as I had emitted from a living thing. But at any rate, Euphemia's snoring was much too loud to worry about waking her with the quiet pitter patter of little paw pads on the floor.
Atlas could be found on the antique looking chair that was kept in the corner of the wallpapered room. She was sitting rather delicately, in fact, as if she was unshaken by this whole ordeal. Marionette smiled once she saw her faithful companion, quickly lunging forward for her: squeezing her tightly in her arms. So tight in fact, that Atlas's single glass eye threatened to pop out of it's dusty socket. After the brief reunion ended, Marionette quietly slipped back out of the room - like a ghost, almost.
She made her way back up to her room, and slipped quietly into bed, delicately laying Atlas on her back on the pillow next to her. It wouldn't take long for her to fall into the gentle, welcoming arms of sleep at this point, with such a both physically and emotionally exhausting day behind her. The young kiamara would wake to an unearthly screech. She and almost all of the help scurried either up, down or across the manor to see what had emitted such a loud and rather unkiamara-like noise, only to see the... "unfortunate" predicament Aunt Euphemia was in. Her glossy brown mane had been braided and knotted tightly up and around the different engravings on her headboard, creating almost a web pattern. Marionette stiffled a giggle, and as she glanced around at the bewildered faces of the staff around her, she could see that they were almost as amused as she was; many biting back grins and chuckles. Euphemia, of course, found none of this amusing in the least. When she saw that the kiamaras around her were entertained by her situation, she almost became blue in the face. "Would you all quite your laughing and HELP ME? I'll have you all FIRED." She screeched and lashed indignantly, this caused her nothing else other than more pain than she was already in. The idle kiamaras soon realized that they had better get to work detangling the mess or else their job was on the line, and began to shuffle awkwardly around their employer and her lavish bed. With one last glance, Marionette soon cleared out of there. She returned to her room, and with the door now safely shut, she burst into the biggest fit of giggles that you will ever see. She gripped her sides and howled, and you could almost imagine Atlas joining her, with a smile as smug as hers. Marionette never did find out who did that to her aunt, she knew that she certainly didn't. Mind you, she had pulled the nasty prank or two on Euphemia, but never had she done something so devious; nothing so intricate; so elaborate such as this one. But she, as well as everyone else had their suspicions. For example, I think that most of the staff believed it was she who made such a mess of her auntie's hair. After all, they all had witnessed their confrontation the afternoon before. But no, she can confirm that it was not her. Rather, she thought something different. Perhaps Atlas had gotten up in the night, and snuck downstairs on those agile little doll feet of hers. Perhaps she had slipped into Euphemia's room and pulled herself onto the bed. Perhaps she had been the one to spend all night tying and knotting her aunt's hair; exacting her revenge on the cruel, cruel woman for threatening to take her away from her friend, Marionette. Of course people think her mad for believing that such nonsense could be true, "Things like that only happen in fairy tales," they say, "You mustn't lie to yourself by saying such things." But we never will truly know what happened. But regardless of what may or may not have occurred that fateful night, what I do know is this: Marionette has and always will be seen as the mad child. The child whom parents shoo their own children from, whispering in hushed tones, "That girl simply isn't right in the head, I don't want you around her." And their children nodding compliantly, eyes wide, thinking to themselves, What's wrong with that girl? Has she gone mad?
But really, who are we to judge what or who is mad? After all, I believe that it was the cheshire cat who once said, "We're all a little mad here."
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❐ - - - - ѕиαρ α ριcтυяє fσя мє;;
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»ｉｎｓｉｄｅ ｔｈｅ
ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ ｇｌａｓｓ «
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" if i s h o w you then i k n o w you won't tell what i said ; 'cause two can keep a s e c r e t if one of them is d e a d . . . "
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