ᗩᖇIᒪOᑌ
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Gᕮᑎᗪᕮᖇ:
Female
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ᑭᕮᖇᔕOᑎᗩᒪITY:
Being mute from birth, Arilou has been laid-back most of her life, allowing other kalon to take their sympathy for her to get what she wants. She will make a fuss if things aren't how she wants them to be, and she shows this through making loud, annoying sounds in her throat. Her parents could care less about her, for she was the eternal pain brought upon her family. She would have been exiled from the village if the mountain gods allowed it, yet they don't, therefore Arilou, the cursed child, must redeem the title of Lady of the Village in her near future. This is heartbreaking to her, yet she has always been told to hide her emotions, as just a single flash of fear over her face could bring the entire downfall of the village.
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ᗩᖇIᒪOᑌ'ᔕ ᔕTOᖇY:
A heavy fog surrounds the mountains that tower over a small village, so thick that one could only see the area surrounding in which they stand. Upon a ledge on the side of a mountain, a hut can be seen planted on the rocky terrain. Purple amethysts hang from the drapes of the roof, chiming a harmonious song in the occurrence of a small breeze.
Inside of the dim-lighted hut, a pale-furred kalon resides. Among her lightly stained fur belongs of white silk robes, said to be woven by ancient spiders' threads themselves. Fragile amethysts and soft feathers are carefully sewn onto the reams, some hanging only by single strands, but still persisting.
The kalon, Arilou, is propped up on a velvety divan, while a painter swipes long strokes of paint onto a canvas. A moan escapes from her jaws, as she is discomforted in the position that she is in, but knows better than to move. Her mother and father have long awaited the famous painter to draw her portrait, to be hung up on the wall when she is borne the title Lady of the Village.
After what must have been hours, the photographic painting is completed, and Arilou allows herself to move. Her joints are sore from being held in place for so long, and her parched tongue swipes over her jaws thirstily. The painter holds up wooden bowl up to Arilou's chin, and she politely laps up the honey-sweetened water.
Nodding her thanks, Arilou looks at her portrait. She looks to have magnificent desolation, yet feels like it to her, too. How can she ever live up to her title of Lady of the Village, when yet she is muted from nature's way of communication? The worst part of this all is that only her parents could be responsible for this.
Although they have never spoken to her of this, Arilou heard through the daily town gossip of what her parents had done. The gods of the village had spoken for her father, the Lord of the Village, to marry her mother. Before their ceremonial marriage, Arilou's mother had seen her father with another kalon. Angered by this, her mother had ran away to the mountain shrine, where she vowed eternal pain for her fiance.
Her mother had been in shock when she bore Arilou, who wouldn't ever cry or whine as a kit. She was defined as mute, and had never spoken still to this day. The eternal pain that was for the Lord of the Village had come, for it was long ago prophecied that her sole voice would cause the downfall of the village.
And so Arilou, who for the last time thinks of this, can not bare to go into the future's arms. With unsheathed claws, she scars the canvas, the wet paint staining her claws. She turns away and runs. Runs away from her home, from her village, past the purple-stained mountains, in fear that she will destroy it all.
So she runs and runs, until her lungs can take no more torture.
(WIP)