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[KaminThrowsPebbles]

♥ ♣ ♦ ♠ ♥ ♣ ♦ ♠

♥:: Stella Cadens Llewellyn ♠...

...♣ "Ohh, five, six, seven, eight minus nine lives, and I know that you will fight for the duration."::♦

♥ Name :.
.: Stella/Stel.
♣ Age :.
.: Seventeen years old.
♦ Gender :.
.: Female.
♠ Character Class :.
.: Channeller.
♥ Relationship Status :.
.: Single.
♣ Bio :.
.: One could use many a word to describe Stella Cadens Llewellyn, but no matter how you see her, at her heart, she is a protector. Now, who she chooses to protect? That's another thing.
The biggest example of this is Stella's younger cousin, Felicia Alys Lepus. The girls' mothers had been sisters, both very close. This had extended toward their girls, and they visited each other often. It was during one such visit that an attack by the Rebellion left Felicia an orphan, and after a bustle of activity that Stella hadn't completely understood at the time, Felicia became a permanent fixture of the Llewellyn house.
For a long time, Stella hadn't been entirely sure what changed. What it was exactly that made her want to look out for Fel, help her stay afloat so that she wouldn't drown in her grief. She was kind of detached in that way. She'd never been a particularly mean-spirited girl, and though she had a mischievous streak a mile wide, she was generally pretty polite to people, going so far as trying to be friendly. And yet there it was, and Stella gave into it. Later on, she'd come to call this change the act of truly caring. Caring for the girl that she considered her kid sister, by all rights.
Despite the change in Stella's demeanor toward Fel, she still kept that sort of odd factor to her personality as she grew up. The detachment that tended to psych people out a bit. This was reflected in her eyes, one blue and the other green, going so far as to dilate as if she were a cat when a light was passed over them. A Channeller to Fel's Hopper.
Though, as she got older, she did happen to pick up a bit of snark along the way.
♦ Theme Song :.
.: Panic Station - Muse.
♠ Anything Else...? :.
.: I didn't mention this so much in her bio, but Stel has a big issue with being a Channeller while Felicia is a Hopper. In the way that she can't really physically help Fel in any Wonderland, even though she knows that Fel is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She's pretty displeased about it. This doesn't stop her from doing her best in her scouting and exploring of said Wonderlands, though, as she would rather her Alices don't die horribly.

...♥ ♣ Very well, then; let's carry on now, shall we, Miss KaminThrowsPebbles...? ::♦ ♠

♥ ♣ ♦ ♠ ♥ ♣ ♦ ♠

♥:: Seth Sable ♠...

...♣ "I didn't come here to try to hurt you- you hurt me." ::♦

♥ Name :.
.: Seth. Don't address him as Captain. He'll just bug you about it until you agree to drop the formalities.
♣ Age :.
.: Twenty-seven years old.
♦ Gender :.
.: Male.
♠ Character Class :.
.: Card.
♥ Relationship Status :.
.: Single.
♣ Bio :.
.: Seth isn't exactly what might come to mind when thinking of the captain of the Cards. It probably has something to do with his immense cheer. Yes, he takes his duties seriously, but that doesn't stop him from defaulting to a friendly smile whenever someone approaches him.
Once upon a time, he was a small, not too tough fourteen year old kid who had a bit of a nervous hitch to his step, and his heart tended to beat a bit faster than most did. A Hopper, come to find. He lived his days at Hearts Castle, making friends with most, sometimes forcing that friendship if he had to. The years went by and his powers faded, leaving him a Card of the Castle, one day to be its captain.
You might call Seth easygoing. Or, well, that's what it tends to look like. Sometimes people might look at him and see his smile a sad one, rather than one of welcoming, but once he catches your eye it'll change- just like that. You might wonder how happy a guy he really is.
But oh, no, he'll assure you that everything is fine and well, and, for the most part, it really is. It's just that every now and then he finds himself thinking of the Alices he couldn't save, or the friends who've died when he wasn't quite looking.
♦ Theme Song :.
.: Dawn of the Dead - Does It Offend You, Yeah?
♠ Anything Else...? :.
.: A thing of note is that Seth has some serious sleeping issues. He tends to stay up quite late, and when he does fall asleep he'll snap back into consciousness after an hour or two. He does usually look a little worse for wear. Still, he manages. He also has a bit of a liking for carrying seemingly strange things around. Like boxes of matches or a set of magnifying glasses. Regardless, he's quick to confirm that he's sure this stuff will come in handy at some point.
And of course there's the thing about how he likes to dye his hair blue. But that's not so odd, is it?

...♥ ♣ Very well, then; let's carry on now, shall we, Miss KaminThrowsPebbles...? ::♦ ♠

[Stray Dog]

{(Update from Hearts Castle - check the News Feed!)}

[Brittle]

ill try together my form up soon...doe sit have to be an anime character?

[iva wolf]

[I know you said not to OOC here, but BUMB! When do we start? -_-" ]

EDIT: Moved my second character here.

♥:: Ingale Night ♠...

...♣ "I look at the world with two pairs of eyes, one at the light of the past and one at the darkness of the future." ::♦

♥Name:.
.: Ingale (for his 'brighter' side); Night (for his 'other' side)


♣ Age:.
.: Two hundred and thirty one years and seven months old. His current looks give off the impression of a young man in the middle of his twenties.


♦ Gender :.
.: Male (orientation under question)


♠ Character Class :.
.: Corruptor


♥ Relationship Status :.
.: Single


♣ Bio :.
.: One can be said with certainty about Ingale: he is not one to keep to one type.
This can firstly be derived from the man's appearance. A figure standing at about 182 cm, with long white hair, the ends of which are as if dipped in darkness with their black, his eyes are a striking mixture of green and brown. The lad's usual attire consists of a thistle vest with black and silver buttons, underneath of which he wears a white shirt with a few frills and a 'lock' around the neck with a golden button, a black flower decorating it. Over himself he has a bistre brown coat, reaching to the middle of his hip, the right sleeve of which is shortened to the middle of the biceps, due to having a great part of the cloth burnt away in an 'accident'. As for his bottom and footwear, he prefers to match the so far described with dark brown trousers and white shoes with black laces. What is most notable here is that, despite the gentleman look, Ingale almost always has a conical Asian hat atop his head, from the ends of which dangle a few treads with small colourful crystals, some of them being star or moon shaped. A very odd sight to uphold he truly is. Moreover, this isn't his only style of dressing.
In "the moments" everything completely changes. The other side of this coin wears a lose dark red shirt with glimmering blue buttons, rosewood red afgani pants with deep pockets, a long black scarf tied around his waist with torn ends, a black collar around his neck, the chain of which is made up of only seven links, and black boots with white laces. For his hatwear, he has a rosewood red casket with a golden chain as a decoration, pinned on his right side, from there to the middle of the back of the hat. It also has a few golden squares on the left side. The only similarity is that the coat stays the same.

The path from a normal occupant of the lower levels of society to the high position of a corruptor was long and treacherous. Somewhere on this twisted road many things were lost, such as friends, family and mainly this person’s own ‘self’. It is unknown whether or not the current Ingale is ‘himself’ or not. This problem occurred quite a long time ago, when the lad was only 10 years of age.
At the time, the child was in a 'state of silence'. In such a way was described the unwillingness of youngsters to communicate with others or in specific situations through speech, despite being capable of doings so. Usually, it only meant that the person was either shy or embarrassed and would pass as the child got older and more open towards others. In Ingale’s case at the time, he spoke normally with a few of the neighborhood’s children and with his father, yet was silent with his mother, grandparents, teachers and most adults in general. Nothing uncommon, as most kids often had preferences such as these when so young. This was taken well by his parents and both were patient and helpful. However, the murmuring of the locals soon made the woman more insistent on hearing her son’s voice, even going so far as slapping him on the face for not hearing any response. While some took this behavior, the unwillingness to utter a word, as defiance, insolence or stubbornness, the truth was that the youngster truly loved his mother, yet often felt so happy and awed by seeing her that the anxiety and shyness built up so rapidly that he was left wordless. It was easy to explain it to his dad and he fully understood him, but when the man attempted to persuade his wife, her reaction was always directed against him. Her mind was weak against the mental attacks of the rest of her acquaintances, who pitied and mocked her for giving birth to such a broken creature. They caused deeper wounds than an axe would if it was to strike her back and slowly drove her to a pit of despair and madness. One late afternoon, when his father was out on business, the boy was playing with his friends on the street, laughing and telling jokes like every other youngster would. His companions did not have stained thoughts about him, simply because they did not see anything wrong in this normal, black-haired peer of theirs, who was always so cheerful and smiling around them. Seeing this from the window, his mum once more contemplated on the matter of why her firstborn and only did not wish to talk to her. At first her thoughts circled around his shyness around older people and how modest he was, yet eventually steered away to blaming herself for not being a good parent. When Ingale returned home, he found the lady in her deepest depression, yet could not understand why she seemed so saddened. But as the lad tried to go to his room, she stopped him and began asking questions. They were casual in the beginning, about what they played today, how the studying was going, what would be nice for dinner, yet abruptly changed to why he only spoke to his father, why was it that he was so loud outside and quiet indoors, if she was making him uncomfortable and if she was pushing him too much. Not one of those was given an answer. This made something within the grown woman snap. Her heart and mind had had enough for this silence. It hurt. The fact that her most treasured person didn’t want to speak to her had caused her instability to reach its peak. In a moment of a consciousness clouded by misery, she grabbed her cooking knife and slashed at her own son. Wide-eyed in disbelief, the ten-year-old tried to flee but his own nervousness and fear was in the way and made him trip and fall. His mother chasing him, there was no other option but to roll away from her second attack. With a bleeding left hand, his heart was pounding rapidly. To him, it was as if it would explode every second while he was trying to find another exit. However, the horror caused his mind to be deluded. Thinking straight wasn’t possible. All the time Ingale was running, he could not believe his mother was trying to hurt him. She had always seemed so carefree and gentle, yet now she was holding a weapon and trying to stab him. Was it out of love? Or was it punishment? Either way it was, the boy had not a minute to spare thinking about such nonsense. He went to his room, thinking that maybe jumping out of there and into the nearby tree would give him a safe route. The plan was to go there and, since he was on the second floor, climb onto the branches nearest his window. Although it wasn’t certain, it didn’t cross his mind if his mother could climb trees or not, but he supposed that an adult woman wouldn’t do something so undignified. Locking the door, he ran for the window, but suddenly found himself shivering. Climbing trees had never been a problem, nor was scraping a leg or getting a bruise, but to jump from the second floor suddenly felt like an awfully long distance, even though the branches of the tree weren’t far. To stand on the edge and fall only break a leg flashed quickly before his eyes. The thought made him terrified and even more did the fact that his mother would come for him moments after and he would not be able to escape. Hearing the scratching and breaking of wood made the lad spin around to observe how small holes were being carved out in his door form the other side. It was scary, more so than any ghost story, because it was real. His legs were as if cut away and he couldn’t move a muscle. With shivers going down his spine, his gaze traveled around the room, searching for something, anything that could offer any sort of help. There were three options: the first- to follow the original plan, but the shock he was currently in didn’t allow him to; the second- to stall for time until his father’s return, yet it would still take him an hour or so; and the third- to find a way to calm his mother down. The method that should be used in the third was obvious. If he spoke to her, she would instantly be relieved. However, if before he couldn’t speak to her out of anxiety or nervousness, now the boy was too scared to murmur even the slightest sound. The cries and yawls from the other side of the door were loud and the stabbing off wood was thunder in his ears. Finally, his sight fell upon an oil lantern, one which was given to him in case of emergencies. This was an emergency, although a very different sort when compared to the one it was meant for. Turning the wick raiser knob, the flame inside was set alight. The light was dim, yet blazing within with a strong force. In Ingale’s thoughts was the idea that perhaps his mother would think twice before going for him with a knife while a burning lantern was between them. It hurt a bit while holding it, since he was left-handed and blood was dripping slowly down his left shoulder, staining the floor below. In just a few seconds time after getting the item, his mother entered the room, huffing and puffing after all the trouble of destroying the door. She had a strange twisted smile and tears were rolling down her cheeks. The words she uttered were not understandable. There was so much she wished to say that all the thoughts got jumbled up and her speech only sounded like a frog chorus. As she stepped forward, the back of his hair stood up. Each step of hers was more confident than the last and made his heartbeat quicken. In the end, she began repeating the same phrase over and over again. “Speak to me. Speak to me. Speak to me. Speak to me. Speak to me!”. Seeing that the woman had no intention of stopping, he finally shouted out “No!” and threw the lantern at her. It dropped and broke on the floor, setting the space around his mum ablaze. Everything got on fire. The youngster was stunned in place as he watched his mother burn. Her face was twisted as she screamed, her beautiful flower dress slowly disappeared and her skin darkened. The entire room became a living hell as flames consumed everything. This scene was unbearable, yet he watched and watched until he somehow fell out of the window. It was due to the fact that the wood was breaking away and standing there would have no longer been possible.
When he opened his eyes again, Ingale found himself at the hospital. His father came and hugged him. He explained that his mother had died in the fire and their house had burnt to ashes. Luckily, they had been offered to stay at the facility until they found a proper place to live. The grandparents from the wife’s side did not want them, while the man’s parents had died a long time ago. Eventually they settled down at a friend of his. The accident left permanent scars in the boy’s soul and it was then that his hair slowly began losing its colour. The doctors explained it as a result from the amount of stress that was experienced during the fire. However, much more damage was done than the change is his hair. From that point on, his inner fears grew stronger and stronger. He developed a great disliking for the sound of cracking and screeching wood, as well as for sentences in speech containing the same word or combination of words which repeat themselves over and over. The reaction to such sounds triggered only the memory of what happened at first, yet later he not only remembered but also gave off sharp comments of annoyance and irritation when hearing the mentioned. For the following few years, the lad could not get the memory to leave his mind. There was no way to suppress it either. All he could do is stop thinking, but that was next to impossible as well. Each and every day, the scenes repeated themselves in front of his eyes. The most frightening was the moment with the lantern. He had thrown it towards his mother. She had burned because of that action. If he had simply dodged or spoken properly at the time, none of the following events would have happened. But what truly haunted him was the thought that he had liked seeing his own mother burn in the flames. It made him fear himself, wondering what was it that he really was. Many times, the boy told himself that only the cruel would enjoy observing such a sight. Yet, when he could rewind the memory in his mind, emotions clashed within him. On one side, he felt pleasure. That person, who had denied the explanation and had insisted on hearing him speak, was gone. What sort of parent was she if she resorted to using violence as an answer? Taking a knife at him would have only resulted in his own death. That was clear as daylight to him. This was the reasoning he gave himself, the way he calmed himself down. However, at the same time, another flow of thoughts would come. That if he had done something about it before or while it was happening, the result would have been different; if he had just said a word to her; if he had simply jumped out of the window; that only devils burnt their mothers in flames; that he had intentionally thrown it on the ground to burn her. It was horrifying. A part of him screamed in terror of the memory and another simply accepted the fact that she was gone and nothing could be done about it. One wanted to move forward, the other couldn’t get over the sadness. Slowly, but steadily, two personalities were forming within him.
When the boy reached the age of 13, things at his new home were calm and peaceful. His father worked along with his friend, a young man, whose wife had died of illness. They lived at the friend’s house, along with his own two children, a bright pair of a boy and a girl, twins only 5 years younger than Ingale. The lad’s friends had not abandoned him, yet most people strayed away from him more than before. Still, times of laughter were plentiful. He was no longer 'mute' and could converse freely with everyone. When around his classmates and friends, the boy always smiled and acted casually, yet was notably more kind and careful than most boys his age, who attempted to act cool. A few days after his thirteenth birthday, something strange happened. At first, he thought it was only an optical illusion, but he could swear there was often something dark visible with the corner of his eyes. A dark shapeless shadow that seemed to follow him. In the beginning, he didn’t pay it much mind, but as time progressed, he feared he was being stalked. Getting through every day became bothersome as he often turned around and went in circles around the town, searching for the person who was following him. Yet to no avail. No one was there. Not a single soul. It made the ones around him concerned, but he told them he was confident in the fact that there was somebody there. This ‘hide and seek alone’ was like pressing the wrong keys on a piano while playing a song. It was disturbing, strange, unacceptable. He felt even more afraid. It wasn’t enough that he still had quarrels with himself about what had happened three years ago from time to time, but now there was someone out to get him. His hair, which had grown long and silver by then, was getting whiter by the day. The amount of stress made it even hard to breathe at times. It was a rainy night, when the two other children were asleep and he was all alone in his room, that was when Ingale first encountered ‘him’.

It began like an ordinary dream. A long corridor with white and purple checkered walls, a black floor and a silver ceiling, was the first thing to appear. There was no telling how long he walked through it, because everything looked the same and the end was always further and further away. At some point, the repeating got the better of him and the boy said “I’m tired of this game.” To his surprise, the moment he finished, the colours switched places. The ground became a glimmering silver, while the ceiling a jet black, and the white and purple changed in the squares around him. Another voice spoke then:
“Are you?”
It was odd, yet he continued on the only way which was in front of him. Weird as it seemed, his gaze moved from the front to what was on the side. Following the pattern on the wall, suddenly he saw two white squares, divided by a thin purple line. Wondering what this meant, he stopped and examined them. They were the same, only painted four-angle shapes. Seeing as there was nothing else to do, he put his left hand on the left square and pushed it.
The very moment he did so, the lad’s eyes flashed open. Awake in the big bed, situated near the window of the first floor room, daylight barely entered through the clear clean glass. It was early morning and the rooster of the strange animal-lover next door was signaling the day’s beginning. From the point of getting up until his going back to bed, the memory of the dream could not leave his mind. It was strange somehow. There was something about this that made a shiver run down his spine, like a snake sliding on a smooth surface. Sharing this with his companions did not make a difference. They simply said it was those weird glimpses one would get from time to time of places unknown and yet to be seen. If it truly was so, the boy didn’t think his near future was going to be to his liking. The following night there was yet another peculiar dream.
The situation unfolded in a place, which was clearly mean to be a vast meadow, with long lush grass and a few trees placed here and there, giving shade to the creatures below. Dragonflies darted in the air like arrows, while butterflies gently skipped from flower to flower. What was notably different from the normal was that the land was bright blue, whilst the sky was brown, orange cream clouds floating slowly, much like old men who were walking but did not know where they were going. A sight bizarre and interesting to observe. While walking around with curiosity burning in his heart, Ingale heard the loud cries of a child. Looking around from side to side, his gaze fell upon a little fawn. It was small, probably not even a week old, standing uncertainly as if it were on high heels. There was a thick brown collar on the animal’s neck, a heavy chain bounding it to the tree it was next to. Wondering how was it that a deer could sound like a human, the youngster ran over to inspect what was exactly going on. To his surprise, the fawn could also speak, although it uttered only a few childish words before crying again. What could be understood was that a hunter had chained it there in order to go and get a cage in which to place it in, however, the man had fallen in a trap-hole he himself had made and a loud cracking noise had been made. There was no sight of him since then. This made little sense to the boy, but he didn’t want to leave the poor creature like that, thus he decided to free it. Pulling and ripping did not do much. The leather was of good quality and the chains were far too large. For a long time he tried desperately, but nothing came out of all the work that was done. Yet despite not seeing any end to this, he didn’t lose hope and continued trying different methods. During this time, the young animal told him about its time in the great blue meadow and about its mother. Its father it had rarely seen, but its mother was always by its side, protecting it from danger and showing it all sorts of wonders. Hearing how attached doe and fawn were, despairing was not an option anymore. Eventually, the collar split and the little one was free. It thanked him from the bottom of its little heart and ran off. Following it with his eyes, it came to the lad’s attention that there was a doe within sight. The fawn was running towards her joyfully, but just as she walked forwards to meet it, the female deer suddenly went on two feet and waved her front in the air. A display of a threat. Puzzled, the small animal attempted to come closer once more, but was only given a loud yell and got chased away. Staying at a distance, when she moved, it moved as well. Following her for only a few seconds, suddenly a long howl sounded through the air. The deer’s ears went up and she dashed away, leaving the little fawn behind. Without protection around, it was attacked and stripped to pieces by the wolves who came shortly after the doe’s departure. Watching all of this in silence, the smile Ingale had had vanished quickly when everything happened.
“Huh…But…Wait…How come…” were the only words he murmured.
“What? It got your scent, idiot. The stupid animal no longer recognized it as its own.” A rude voice explained
“But….She was the mother….A mother would never…”
“This is reality, you loser. Abandoning what is unneeded is normal. But, hey, at least the wolf pups get to live, hehe.”
With that mocking laughed ringing in his heard, the lad awoke in his chambers. The time was the same as yesterday’s and he was on his back in his chambers. Yet he did not give in to his inner trembling. That was a dream and nothing more. The morning went on without him saying anything at breakfast, which the twins found very odd and nagged about it all the way to school, but he didn’t tell them anything. Anyone would have laughed if he explained his reason for feeling gloomy. This behavior didn’t change during classes either and made the teachers wonder why their student wasn’t as enthusiastic as always. The friends he met up with that day all agreed that he wasn’t looking all too well and that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to be up and about. His reaction was normal. Brushing it off with a laugh, the youngster reassured them that everything was fine. Was it so, only he could tell and he knew that the answer wasn’t certain.
Many days passed and each dream he had made him either tremble or render him speechless. The third was of a garden of flowers that walked and talked like people. They were around two meters tall and had the courtesy to speak politely. Inviting him to their party, at first all seemed well until lunch was served. What was placed in the dishes were live snakes which hissed and spewed poison. Ingale got away from it by explaining he was not quite up to eating today, but nevertheless asked why the flowers were consuming live snakes. The answer was given as simple as that:
“Because someone once said that our tongues would become longer and sharper if we eat snakes.”
And so it was. They could not speak properly before beginning these fearsome feasts. Next came the dances, which were jolly and merry, yet when they got out the knives and started throwing them in the air like a juggler does with oranges, it scared the ghost out of the boy. Saying that he might be catching something, with the right words, the lad managed to get himself to the safety of his chair. As he observed the skilled plants at work, suddenly one accidentally stabbed another. Grave silence filled the garden and everyone stared at the misfortune that had happened. Then out of the blue someone said “Oh, so that is how the dance must be done.” and they all began stabbing each other to death. Petrified by this scene of green blood massacre, the human turned and ran. Passing countless of shrubs, somehow he entered a labyrinth of fine trimmed hedges. It was then that that familiar voice spoke once more.
“Where do you think you’re going, coward? Even impostors like you can’t run away from ‘the dance’.”
“I can! I can because this is my dream!” was his answer as he continued running.
But he quickly held to a stop when in front of him appeared a figure. It had the exact same shape as him, yet it was black. What it resembled was his shadow, with undefined lines and only black in colour. Everything became blurry when he appeared and only the two eyes which opened, staring sharply with a bright greenish colour, were clearly visible.
“Who says this is a dream?” he asked.
At that point, Ingale woke upon his bed. His covers were messy and his pillows-on the ground. The window had been broken and when he went to the kitchen and talked to his father, he learned that all the windows of their house and in the neighborhood had suffered the same fate. Rumors spread like wildfire and made the atmosphere tense, just like the way he was feeling on the inside. Going to school became frightening. People would give him stares worse than before, but his friends were there to support him, thus he still kept his calm.
However, after that one more were to come. A labyrinth full of traps and riddles. A city of a thousand staircases which lead to new residential areas high in the sky. A circus of freaks where a boy had only half a face, a man had a wolf’s eyes, hair like that of a lion’s main and a tail like that of a horse, and a woman with the feet of a lizard, a sharp set of teeth and could easily breathe fire in and out. Every dream was different, but what was similar was that one person always appeared and gave him misfortune.
They had a personality almost opposite to Ingale’s. Loud, restless, inconsiderate, cruel and with a love for the extreme, that guy had the same appearance as he did, only his eyes seemed sharper and a grin almost always appeared at the end of his sentences. He explained that Ingale was a fake, someone that shouldn’t be there in the first place. The boy called himself Night and complained how boring Ingale’s name was compared to his. Whenever he appeared before his eyes, he told him to give up already and drown in his sadness. There were times where the lad truly felt like he could do so, since he was constantly reminded of the way most of society saw him, as a killer and murderer, of the incident 3 years ago, of his mother’s sadness and loneliness. It was his fault. That was a fact. However, each time he reminded himself to keep going, hanging to the small tread of hope that he had a family and friends who loved him and cared for him. When he thought that he could finally close Night’s mouth with a direct confrontation, about what he believes and about the past already meaning nothing to him, his ‘twin’ only grinned as he always did and asked:
“Oh? Really? Can you truly believe such a lie?”
And so went on the nightly routine of having nightmare after nightmare. Beginning beautifully, but ending in horror as something so real was shown to his eyes, these dreams slowly drove him off the rails. But there was no way for this to be shown. Firstly, he never liked making others worry about him, thus he kept his inner fears secret from everybody he knew. Secondly, the lad still believed there was power within him to fight back the terror that knocked on his chamber door every night. One must note that it was quite a troublesome task, to stay sane when uncontrollable things occurred once closing the eyes. Moreover, they weren’t the only frightening events. Each time he awoke, some sort of unexplainable disaster would have happened. The cellar would become flooded or the ground would shake. Cracks would appear on the doors or the walls. Flowers would wither and die. The mentioned did not only happen in his house, but in many others around them. Locals eventually started to move away to other areas and by the time he was 14 years old, there were only very few that would live nearby. The combined family couldn’t afford a change of residence. Of course, the building had lost many of its former features, but was close to both the men’s workplaces and the school. Just like 4 years ago, the murmuring of the people swayed a heart, but it was the father’s friend’s this time. Whenever he had the chance, he made remarks about things Ingale did. In the beginning, they were with good intentions and had phrase in them as well, yet day after they, his comments became sharper until they were flat out edgeucational rules. Along with this ‘helpful advise’ he added more chores and work on the boy’s shoulders while relieving his own children from any duties whatsoever. The lad’s father couldn’t truly say much on the matter. “His house, his rules.” Was what he told his son. In truth, it was the right thing to do. Go against him too much and you would seem ungrateful for all the support that was given and could lead to being kicked out. At the time, the youngster was furious with his father. The only parent he had was giving up on protecting or at least standing behind him. It was the same as treason. Scared of what will welcome him when he returns and what will embrace him once asleep, one day he went to school darker than ever before. It was a moment he simply wanted to be alone. The ones who were usually close to him flinched when he gave then a cold shoulder. He wasn’t even listening during class. His mind was both blank and full of thoughts. At some point, after constantly think over and over the situation he was in, he made a wish in his anger.
‘I wish that house would just burn to the ground.’
It was out of fury. What he was going through during the night combined with the hard stares he was sometimes given weren’t enough, he just had to be tortured by someone who thought he was the reason for breaking the house. It was insane. How could he do such a thing? He was asleep the entire time, besides, destruction at such a scale if done by a human, was only possible in fairy tales. Everything was so tiresome. Every single day there was not a proper moment of rest other than those times when he went out with his friends and those had become an uncommon occurrence ever since his chores tripled. During one of the classes that day, the loss of energy, both mental and physical, got the better of him and he fell asleep on his test.
The dream which followed did not begin as usual. He found himself inside a museum of pure white an on top of one of the pillars stood Night. Looking down at him with a smile, he asked:
“Are you having fun out there?”
Sighing, the lad gave him an answer:
“More than you are in here.”
It obviously ticked his ‘twin’ off. Despite going through all this suffering, Ingale knew he had something more than him. That was his freedom, the friends he had and the family that still liked him. Their conversation wasn’t long this time and he felt relieved. Repeating his statements over and over again, that he wouldn’t fall into despair that easily and that he would not give up on those whom he trusted, would have been a bothersome task. Instead, he was lead by Night to a spacious room where there was only one giant painting. Stepping away from it, he told him to view it carefully. The boy was confused, since all there was in front of him was a pitch black canvas. But as he looked closer, a flash suddenly blinded his eyes. The next moment, he was in front of his house, standing there so casually. The building was burning and so was everything else. Two children were visible, knocking on the windows of the second floor, screaming unhearable words. Staring with wide eyes, Ingale could not understand. Just now, he was inside a museum. Was this another part of the dream? Looking around, he saw two of his friends at the corner of the street, heavily burnt and collapsed. There were distant shouts, echoes that came so faintly. When he blinked, he was back in the museum. Asking what was it that he just saw, he was answered with a laugh.
“That was reality, you idiot. Were you that dumbfounded?”
Awakening that very instant, the youngster bolted up from his seat. There was no one in the classroom. The cleaning lady told him that regardless of how much his friends had tried, he wouldn’t budge. Even the nurse had been called, but she had simply suggested to leave him there as he was. School had ended around half an hour ago. Grabbing his bag, he dashed out and ran towards his home. It couldn’t be real. There was no possible way for it to be. Suddenly, he held to a stop in the middle of the street. Where exactly was he going? There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Those scenes were no reality, but were they something he truly wished for? The boy couldn’t say. Looking behind himself, it was as if Night was there. What was even more startling was that he could hear him now and this wasn’t a dream. With a smirk, that person who sounded exactly like himself explained how much he actually loathed the people he called friends. He went on a rant, how, while Ingale was playing ignorant, he saw through all those facades they were putting up. All of them had been frightened by him when the accident occurred and had wanted to stay away. However, courtesy did not allow such a thing, plus they felt sorry for this creature, whose hair was going white from the pain. They stuck to him as support, even though they didn’t really want to. There were signs of them wanting to leave, due to hassles caused by being friends with him, yet Ingale hadn’t noticed. Pointing them out one by one, that other self showed him how much those people cared for him. One or two had genuine feelings, yet they were born from the pity and sorrow they felt. It made him sick. Ingale wanted to deny it, to throw away everything that he had seen. All those memories, all those feelings of worry, fear and uncertainty. They were unneeded, yet he still felt them. The more Night whispered in his ear, the more he felt like everything around him was growing dark, just like the painting he had seen. In the very last moment he managed to snap out, due to a scream he heard. Once the haze completely vanished from his eyes, he found himself in front of his house. He couldn’t remember how he got there, but everything was exactly how he had seen it in the artwork. A burning house with the two children up on the second floor. No one could get in. The fire was too wild. A few of the abandoned houses nearby had also caught this spreading disease and flames were making the last remains crumble away. As he stared at this all, somehow, he couldn’t feel a thing. Perhaps it was because he had seen it all once that the scenery did not touch him. Blank as a blackboard, he didn’t say a word neither as he watched the two children vanish from the window, nor when their father suddenly came running from the nearby corner and asked what was going on. The fire died down with time, but Ingale still hadn’t taken a single step. His own father had come to the scene, but was too busy collecting the possessions which had survived to even bare witness to what followed. Full of sadness over the loss of his two children, the other man decided to take out his rage on the boy. He hit him where he was, kicked and beat him. People came flocking over. Some laughed, others whispered how right this was. There were those who looked with disdain, whilst there were those who wanted to stop this, yet with the majority being for this one-sided fight, no one dared to raise a hand against it. Enduring hit after hit, the lad still couldn’t believe any of this. He was completely out of it. On the inside he continued asking himself the question, but it was when the man began asking it out loud that it actually bothered him.
“Why? Why? Why?”
It was normal to be asking himself, but when someone continuously asked it to his face, it became annoying. Very annoying. Finally taking a good look at the spectators while he was on the ground, he saw the people whom he called friends. Pity. Only pity and refrain. Was he supposed to be their dog? A pet that could be treated in such a way. In the end, Ingale couldn’t take it. As much as he had tried to preserve himself, he finally snapped.
By the time he woke up, the boy was inside one of the chambers of the hospital. It was a shock at first, not only for him but for the attendants as well, because he could not recall what had happened at all. They told him the entire story. That day, he had started a fire out of thin air and burnt the entire area. Not a single person was left alive. As frightening as it sounded, he didn’t feel it. There was nothing specific he felt. Perhaps it was because it was like a dream? Everything from that point on felt like a dream. He was told that during the fire he had laughed hard and loud, so much it had made him look insane. Judging by that and the capabilities he later showed when asked, it was hard evidence he was a Corrupter. There was no other way but to Hearts Castle.
The first few nights, he had awful dreams, in which he thought about all the times he played with those people as a child. For some reason, they had become faceless figures. Strangers. Unknown entities, who could care less about him. Strangely enough, the feeling was mutual. In the dream, he could also not bring himself to feel anything for those beings. They were shadows, unnecessary and unneeded to him.
In the last dream of that sort, 7 days after his awakening, he heard ‘his’ voice:
“You finally understood. It’s too late though, but who cares.”
Although it was supposedly hard to get back to normal routines, Ingale had no trouble adapting to life within the castle. Of course, everything was so big and spacious that it was difficult to remember which way was to his room and which to the dinning hall. The entire residence was so finely decorated, the boy, who had not been raised in luxury, feared he might break something if he just touched it. That wasn’t too far off from the truth. There were times when things simply broke by being near him, yet it only happened when he remembered something or when sinking into a dark corner in his mind. It was quite troublesome, yet as time went on, he learned self-control. During the first year of his stay, there were nightmares from time to time, yet they were not filled with murder or torture. They were simply Night’s attempts to mock and push him into another state of weakness, in order to come to possess him body again. This time, however, it didn’t work. His stay at Hearts Castle wasn’t only for keeping the rest of the world safe from his unstable self, it also offered ways of keeping him sane. The more he practiced to stay under control, the stronger he got. That other side suddenly cut off any communication whatsoever after the first year. What followed were moments of peace for his mental health. No one tortured him and there was no fear before falling asleep.
The first time he was told to enter a Wonderland was in a case with a woman quite over the average age. She was 23, yet had fallen into her own little world, despite this being quite childish of her. Seeing as there was a possibility of it being too dangerous for a Hopper to access the world, the youngster had to do the job. Back then his aging proses had already slowed down to a halt and he appeared like a man near her age, which wasn’t too far away from his actual years. Upon walking through the ‘door’, the land he found himself in was intriguing. A carnival city, with countless of rides on every side, a parade constantly taking place on the streets and confetti glittering in the sky like stars. Musicians played merry songs in the background and children’s laughter could always be heard. A place where everyone was happy. That was the young lady’s wish. After searching for her by following the few instructions a Channeler had given him, they met and it became clear that she was unwilling to leave. He didn’t know how many days passed by as he tried to persuade her, but regardless of his persistence, he always got dragged along on some ride. It wasn’t true that he wasn’t enjoying himself. Truth be told, it was very fun and if it were real, he would have never wanted to leave. Yet the fact that this was in fact simply someone’s imagination kept him from being mesmerized by the dimension’s charm. The girl didn’t mind his company and teased him for being so stubborn. She was already losing her memory of the world she used to live in. When telling him this, she also explained that she didn’t mind. Reality was something that had bothered her for a very long time. People were rarely honest. They hid behind masks and facades. Only children had the courage to laugh and smile, but they would grow up to be as gloomy as their parents. The burdens of becoming older were far too great. In her opinion, ‘outside’ people would lose sight of the true beauty of life. Fearing that she would lose her way as well, she had made a wish to run away, far away, to a place no one could take away her happiness. After hearing that again and again, Ingale had to stop and think. It was not a lie, yet he also believed that staying in your own Wonderland wasn’t right. The last time she gave him that speech, the young man couldn’t help but ask her what “happiness” actually meant to her. Hearing such a question, she laughed. She laughed from her heart. Telling him how silly that sounded, the woman stated loud and clear her long list. Playing in the fields, walking down a calm street, listening to all sorts of music, talking with her friends, joking around, watching animals, reading books, helping out anyone who needed assistance and so much more. Living itself was her happiness, yet others ruined it by acting coldly and ignorantly. That was why it was best to stay in the fabricated world. It had become real enough, now that replicas of her friends had taken residence there. Everything was finely detailed and could easily replace the ‘other reality’. But in Ingale’s eyes, this was just how someone ran away from their fears. It was clear to him as broad daylight that she was scared of the high possibility of changing, of experiencing harsh treatment and meeting others who did not share her optimistic views. There was no doubt he could relate to how she felt, but he nevertheless tried to change her mind. But she always changed the subject and made him go on the latest ride with her or buy candy and eat together. It was getting on his nerves. At some point, he felt like he was losing it himself. The anger was bubbling up inside him. Why couldn’t he just enter one of these when he was younger? It would have been a relief. But he snapped himself out of that dangerous spiral of thoughts, knowing it was meaningless to follow the tread of the possible past. Instead, he continued his quest for getting the Alice out of her Wonderland. But there more he went on and was rejected, the more he saw that familiar shadow. The same that once creeped behind him when he was young. He had panicked over it before, but now he knew exactly who was sneaking up behind him. Night was lurking above the surface once more. He had gone in his subconsciousness but decided he had enough rest. With him murmuring in his ear, it became harder to stay concentrated on guarding the young lady from harm’s way. Her Nightmade came from time to time, testing the water and preparing to strike. It was his first job and his level of alert was high, yet his ‘twin’ did not leave him alone.
“Give it up. She’s a lost cause.” Is what he often told him.
When he was still having his nightmares as a child, Night had always made it worse. Now, his mere appearance lured in misfortune. After the latest lecture, she had strolled off, changing the subject of the conversation again. Ingale felt like returning to Hearts Castle at the time. He had heard of Alices who refused to go back and remained in their imaginary world. If she so much wanted to, perhaps allowing her to stay wasn’t a bad idea. Just then, the Nightmare attacked. It was strange. It was stronger than before and with much more defined attacks and steadier defense. Figuring out a quick escape route, he got the girl to safety. They had managed to get away by the skin of their teeth. At that point, the lad directly asked her how long was she planning to play this game. Her simple answer was “forever”. It made him twitch with irritation. There was no other choice but to tell her bluntly that he wouldn’t remain to protect her until forever, that the people who were around were not her real friends, that if she didn’t wake up, all the people who cared about her would either despair or abandon her. The last he figured he should not have said, but it was the truth. If they heard she could no longer awaken, her friends would feel sad, but would move on without her. That was their right. Their own life did not depend soluly on one close acquaintance’s existence. Someone had once said: “Bitter truths are better than sweet lies”. If it was truly so, well, that person had never been in such a situation. Facing the truth was hard and hit her like an arrow through her heart. There was no way to deny it. Everything was made up by her, it was unreal, something she had wished for. All the images were her own. In the end, she was all alone in this little world of hers. At the time, Night’s voice laughed in his head.
“I was right, there was no point at all.”
Suddenly, the shadow below the girl grew large. A strong wind blew, throwing Ingale to the side, away from the woman who had fallen to her knees. Darkness spread from underneath her, like roots up an old tree. It made her feet as black as night and the colour went up her body. It small black freckles forming on her face, she looked at the young man who was looking at her with a confused look. She smiled and told him:
“I’m sorry…for troubling you. In the end, I couldn’t…admit it.”
Becoming dark like a shadow, the shape shattered like a mirror into a million pieces that resembled tears.
When he woke up, Ingale found himself in his bed. The girl had died in her sleep, like any other that had been devoured by her Nightmare. Somehow, he couldn’t comprehend it. Nightmares were supposed to consume their Alices in vicious ways while the children ran in panic. She hadn’t struggled at the time. Merely accepting her corrupting self, the lass hadn’t even screamed. It was odd in his opinion. For days he couldn’t sleep. What kept him awake was the disgust of his own self. He felt nothing. There was no sadness from all the death.
This incident had reminded him of the time he learned of what happened because of his insanity. On the inside he was crying even now, but on the outside it was not visible, and the reason he teared up was not from mourning, but from the incapability to properly mourn for those who were supposed to be his closest or simply for that girl with whom he had become friends with in that little world of hers where happiness was never lost.
It was ever since then that Night began appearing. Slowly but steadily, he made himself known. Measures were taken against him taking control of the body, however, Ingale wasn’t certain if it was even a good idea not to allow it. He had reached a point where he couldn’t tell if he was the real one or not. It could have been that he was a personality, created only to keep a front for the rest of society, a polite and kind person, who would feel regret and sadness, while the true personality was a realist, someone who accepted the facts as they were and moved on, so unlike normal people, who always seemed to stumble over themselves in moments when they had to move forward. Yet, as much as a realist he was, Night was also a pyroman. He liked setting things on fire and making the ones he disliked burn in a hell of flames. That dangerous and aggression-prone side gave Ingale reason to keep the ‘himself’ he was in control and not to allow Night to completely erase him.
It did not take long for daily life to get back to normal and for Ingale to get back his cheerful mood, but things would never be entirely the same. Both personalities began truly living together in one body. Two who were so unlike each other, one side being calm and cheerful, while the other was loud and rude, they often had quarrels in their dreaming state. Still, each did their best not to stay behind the other. Although they haven’t reached a consensus yet, they have found a way to cooperate most of the time. Still, Night likes to forcefully take over from time to time only for his own entertainment or because of something he wants.


♦Theme Song :.
.: "iNSaNiTY" [Frost Remix] - CheezItsAreYummy's cover on YouTube (the translation lyrics are also by them) - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhdIu-oDHVU


♠ Anything Else...? :.
.: Current diagnose: a person suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder. The original personality is unknown, due to a proses of depersonalization that has begun. One of the sides also suffers from Pyromania, whilst the other- occasional Oneirophrenia and Misophonia for cracking and screeching wood, as well as for repetitious sentences in speech. During the switch of the two, each endures Lacunar Amnesia.

Ingale likes warm foods and hot drinks, such as tea and cocoa, while Night, who likes spicy foods, prefers his meals to be cold and his liquid-cool.

Ingale can pull an all-nighter if needed, but Night, as ironic as it sounds, likes sleeping a lot. However, Ingale is hard to get out of bed when compared to Night, who eagerly jumps out.

Each of them sees eye to eye, but they also have a general mistrust and disliking towards each other. It’s a love-hate relationship, I guess.

Concerning orientation, Ingale is 100% certain that he is heterosexual, but Night seems to have other intentions…He says that gender doesn’t really matter to him. As long as it gives a thrill, the relationship can be with anyone.

...♥ ♣ Very well, then; let's carry on now, shall we, Master Iva Wolf...? ::♦ ♠

[Stray Dog]

{(Yo, so, just waiting for one of our members to be all sorted out before starting. What a small - yet hopefully close! - family we are starting here! I feel honoured to have you all on board. <3)}

[iva wolf]

[ I'm glad that we will be starting soon ^^ Can't wait to create a story with you all =D Also, I just wanted to post this for fun. Ever since I saw the pets you get from the 4 fireflies trade, I instantly knew how I was going to use two of them. I got them both a while ago, but I decided to show them now.

White one's Ingale and the black one is Night XD
Has anyone else done similarly with theirs?]