“It’s a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.” camilla macaulay • twenty-one • student ✧･ﾟ: *
i will be around tomorrow, hopefully, but i am already being knocked tired, so this is my call to bed. don’t be afraid to message me, though, as i am open for plotting.
Standing still---her platforms heightening threat to the girl who was already tempting into the gothic realm---Camilla sends attention to the female with no emotion spreading the facet of the gem that lost every touch long ago. Once upon a time, Camilla shared a dorm with only her thoughts, but of course the administrators decided that shuffling a freshman into her room would be a lovely idea. She was bitter. How could they do such a thing? “It’s just another day.” At least---it has been for a while. Her grandmother only ever put a thin tree in the living room; the rest would be left blank. Before, she was very festive. The past continues to haunt. Camilla does not say another word to her roommate, but she does not hesitate to pull a cigarette for a smoke.
ribbons of CRIMSON RED dripped thick & viscous from the cold blue of the boy’s veined wrists; his nervous hands trembling —— chest heaving scattered, panicked breaths as an ocean of BLACK surged a lightless curtain over the gray of francis’ eyes. all his farewell letters: posted, the corners of his bedsheets: tucked, his last bottle of fine whiskey: drained, the love of his life: gone —— there was nothing left in the world for francis now but a loveless arranged marriage & the bitter taste of regrets. on days like this, everything was too harsh, too severe, too HARROWING; ‘forgive me, for all the things i did but mostly for the ones that i did not’ –— the words francis had posted to richard echoed relentlessly within the labyrinth of his mind as seeds of AGONY bloomed within the cage of his heart —— fast-draining blood & emptying arteries. breaths ragged, the blonde laboured a bitter, melancholic laugh as the world faded to black; … how TERRIBLE emotions were! despite the pain that oozed and cried from the wounds upon his wrist —— ebb then, flow now, red then, dead now —— no wound, no matter how fatal, seemed quite as horrifically painful as the pain that ached and screamed within francis’ own chest. there is no cure for a broken heart; save, for the body breaking with it. death.
and just when francis felt himself slipping away, the arms of peace enveloping his frail frame (warm, inviting, a numb sanctuary without feeling amidst this too cruel, painful place); the room around him began to shift, and the ground beneath him quaked and trembled with deliberate FEROCITY. were it not for the fact that he was quickly losing blood through the jagged lacerations upon his wrist, francis may have been seized by a PANIC, but instead he simply stood there motionless; watching with hazy confusion as the world grew faint. gray eyes rolled back into the embrace of their sockets; eyelids weakly fluttering shut.
( SILENCE, THEN NOTHING. )
BLUE … blue is the first thing francis sees. an impossible shade of blue. the sky is absent of even the faintest inkling of cloudy white; green blades of grass caress the side of the boy’s pale cheek —— wrists absent of the red that had flown from them just moments before.
“Mais, vrai, j'ai trop pleuré ! Les Aubes sont navrantes.
Toute lune est atroce et tout soleil amer :
L'âcre amour m'a gonflé de torpeurs enivrantes.
Ô que ma quille éclate ! Ô que j'aille à la mer !”
the recited words fell from francis’ lips; eyes fluttering shut tightly for the briefest moments before they snapped open expectantly, willing the too bright park out of existence (without any success). “if this is heaven, or hell, it is much too much like the mortal world for my comfort. i loathe it.”
postcards were all she could afford ( not really ). camilla, though, could not bring herself to purchase any other product when time stumbled to waste in a store. familiar eyes scoped her over----a frail, pale lady in dire need of assistance----&& they saw a northern stuck in a small, old money, brick-ridden town, a girl with a one way ticket and no way out. postcards. pictures of a town she has no choice but to reside in. postcards. pictures of a town of boastful colors of fall in which resembles nothing of her dull complexion when she falls.
camilla held close to her heart a letter---black ink scribbled in cursive. a letter from her own three months prior. why did she never send it? no one is aware, not even herself, but she is aware that tears cascade for each second a word from the letter is recited. one for each of HER boys. one for CHARLES. one for FRANCIS. one for HENRY. one for RICHARD. one for BUNNY. one for a boy she cannot live without; the symbiotic; the twin brother; the lad she is conflicted toward; the brother she loves and hates. one for a boy she cares about; the one she wants to protect; the one she falls with; the one she calls every so often; the cracked voice who understand another break. one for a boy she loved ( hell if loved was a word life would be easier because she continues to love ); the boy she lost; the boy she broke over; the boy she cried to stop--- “ please, don’t leave me ” --- the boy she lost. one for a boy who could have been; the new member; the boy who loved her; the one who proposed, but she declined; the boy she does love, but her heart is too fragile to take another lost; the boy who would have to compete for a ghost of a boy.
she no longer falls at the edge of a mattress owned by her grandmother. she sits stoic in a town. ARTRIDGE.
CONFUSION. it has darkened her heart---frozen over---&& it haunts her conscious. she was already broken. she already lost sleep; nights tossing && turning with the voice of a past lover taunting. yet, life played another round of cards on her. she sits in this town. she suffers in this town. here; she is lost furthermore. but, here, she is not clouded with reality. she has not lost HER boys...right ?? they have to be somewhere.
&& that was it. dark orbs traced over a patch. it must have been a dream. those lost nights of sleep are catching up. hallucinogenic. she must be under extreme influence as bad a midsummer night’s dream. warped in hectic C O N F U S I O N. there---not far from her stance---is the one && only francis abernathy. camilla dropped everything. her books. her bag. her breath. feet rushed. emotions flooded. she fell to weak knees. arms wrapped around. arms wrapped around one of HER boys. last she has seen of him he was lying in a bed at a hospital. she stood beside richard, and they hold him close. she squeezes his hand. here---here he is again.
hello everyone !!! i’m jocelyn && i’m the baby of the group, as it seems. i’m only sixteen, but in about twenty-five days i will be turning seventeen. junior year is killing me with loads of ap courses and theater productions; therefore, i decided to get to roleplaying in order to have something fun for myself to do. feel free to message me whenever as i seem to always be on mobile && i love to plot !!!
my sunshine !!! camilla is a bit of a two-face chara as alexander hamilton && andrew jackson were ( yes history geek aka apush enthusiast here ) as she inhibits the good and bad of any dimensional character. for example; she is this beautiful, ethereal figure – the diana of the world tbh. yet, she is actually manipulative and just a clever mistress who knows how to trick peeps – especially with her looks. she knows she’s pretty && isn’t afraid to use her body for benefits.
she adores her twin, okay ??? he’s the only one left as she did lose her parents in a car accident ( which is why camilla does not like driving && refuse to get her driver’s license ). but – as i am going to make this canon – when she began to see henry, charles became jealous ??? he could not lose his sister. with charles an alcoholic && being abusive toward her, camilla is now this scarred girl who is just heartbroken. her twin hurt her && she just loves him so much, but she cannot accept what happened. she lost henry because of charles. now, camilla has her walls built, protecting herself, and doesn’t really like people touching her in any way unless she trusts them.
camilla has a very stable aesthetic. her attire is victorian && hex girl like. a wannabe witch with her gothic dresses, dark makeup, and her confidence just radiating. she’s sexy, really. but then she also has this proper, formal, i’m gonna teach english appearance. it goes back and forth or it can be meshed. imagine short school girl skirt, black knee high socks, doc martin boots, and a sleeveless peter pan color top matched with black painted nails, a choker, bracelets, several rings, etc.
she’s a student at university && studying psychology with a minor in greek studies. she loves to read && write && she only ever writes with black bold ink pens as she hates using pencils.
she’s a tea person all the way. her favorite color is a deep maroon. she likes to dance in her room to crazy songs. she has a black leather journal. camilla allows her close friends to call her cam or cami. sitting under the stars is a past time hobby. wants to believe that she’s an actual witch at times. oversized sweaters and halter tops are two essentials. she has a collection of art socks.
as for plotting, these are some ideas that come to mind: a roommate, a gang of friends like this, a ride or die friend who can be bad with her, a friend she absolutely trusts for emotional moments, someone she enjoys to tease, && then i am open for anything else of course !!!
ellievsbear
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