Is that CEMRE BAYSEL? No, that’s just DUSK EIRLYS. They were born on 25/04/1690 and are a SNOW ELF/PHOENIX HYBRID living in Northknot Town. They work as a LIVE-IN NANNY. Some say they're PATIENT and PROTECTIVE, but I’ve heard others say they're AVOIDANT and VOLATILE. When you think of HER, don’t you think of SILENCE HEAVY WITH INTENTION, A HOME BUILT FROM PEOPLE & OLD SOULS LAUGHING SOFTLY AT NEW MISTAKES?
Name: Dusk Soleil Eirlys Pronunciation: duhsk soh-LAY EYEr-liss Nickname(s): Dusky, Soleil Birthday: April 25th, 1690 Age: 31 (335) Zodiac Sign: Taurus Sun, Scorpio Moon, Pisces Rising Gender: Cis-Female Pronouns: She/Her Species: Snow Elf/Phoenix Hybrid Orientation: Pansexual, Demiromantic Occupation: Live-In Nanny for Do-Hyun “June” Seong Faceclaim: Cemre Baysel
HEADCANONS
Dusk keeps star charts taped inside drawers like secrets
She falls asleep fastest under open skies or near windows
She never raises her voice when truly angry. If she’s quiet, run
She makes tiny glass animals for kids who’ve had nightmares and pretends it’s “scrap work”
Dusk hates sudden loud arguments—will leave the room instantly, no explanations
She has to consciously remind herself she’s allowed to rest
She's not big on casual touch—but very grounding when she initiates it
She automatically de-escalates conflict even when she’s not involved. Old survival reflex
Dusk puts a hand between someone and danger without thinking
She lets kids braid her hair or cling to her sleeves; adults don’t get that access
She is usually up before sunrise, last to sleep
Dusk swears creatively when stressed. poetically, even
She keeps journals from past lives, but doesn’t reread them often
On the anniversary of each of her deaths, she lights a candle and does nothing else. No work. No explanations
She would burn the world down for the remaining Marked Ones and then rebuild it with her bare hands
APPEARANCE
Dusk looks like fire taught itself restraint. Soft features sharpened by intention—large, expressive eyes that read a room before she ever speaks, lashes dark and heavy like they’re holding secrets. Her face carries warmth even when her expression doesn’t, all gentle angles and quiet strength, the kind of beauty that feels lived-in rather than polished. Dark hair falls thick and untamed around her shoulders, usually worn loose or half-forgotten, catching light like it remembers the sun. There’s an ease to her presence, an unforced elegance—gold looks natural on her, earth tones cling like loyalty, and she moves with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how much space she’s allowed to take and takes it anyway. She’s striking without trying, soft without being fragile, and when she smiles—rare, real—it feels like standing too close to a flame you don’t actually want to step away from
PERSONALITY
Dusk is quiet without being absent, guarded without being cold. She carries herself like someone who has survived long enough to stop proving it. Her patience is deliberate, almost dangerous—she lets things burn down to their truth before she ever raises her voice. Emotion still lives loud in her chest, but she’s learned how to hold it without letting it consume her; when she explodes now, it’s precise, intentional, and final. She is fiercely loyal, protective to the point of feral, and devastatingly gentle with those who are small, frightened, or hurting. Humor comes dark and dry, a pressure valve she trusts more than tears. She struggles to ask for help, often choosing endurance first, but she does ask—eventually—once she’s reminded herself she doesn’t have to earn her place by suffering. Above all, Dusk is someone who chose not to become what tried to break her, and that choice is the quiet fire at the center of everything she is
AESTHETIC
moonrise bleeding into open skies over the ranch - kiln heat fading into night air - glass still warm in her hands, catching firelight like trapped stars - soot-smudged fingers wrapped around a chipped mug of tea - the smell of ash, rain, and sun-warmed earth - constellations pinned in her mind like old promises - boots kicked off by the door, bare soles on weathered wood - a child’s forgotten jacket hanging from the rail - embers pulsing low in the hearth, never fully out - a quiet laugh swallowed by the dark, the kind that means she stayed - fireflies trapped briefly in glass jars, then set free - clay dust on her jeans and starlight in her hair - a cracked telescope angled toward nowhere in particular - silence that feels chosen, not lonely
CONNECTIONS
The One She Raised A child Dusk helped raise—past or present—who still sees her as home. She’d deny being a parent figure, but everyone else knows better. Soft loyalty, mutual protection, deep emotional grounding
Best Friend The one who knows when Dusk is about to implode and hands her tea instead of questions. They’ve seen her messy, exhausted, soft, and sharp—and stayed. Equal parts ride-or-die and emotional translator. They can call her out without getting burned
Ex (On Good Terms) A relationship that ended not because of betrayal, but timing, fear, or immortality complications. There’s respect, warmth, and the occasional what-if. No bitterness—just a quiet ache
Ex (On Bad Terms) Someone who pushed her too far—emotionally volatile, manipulative, or reckless. They didn’t deserve her patience, and they learned that the hard way. Tension still crackles if they cross paths
BIOGRAPHY
tw: domestic violence, child abuse & neglect, death & execution, violence & murder
“Between the idea and the reality; Between the motion and the act; Falls the Shadow.”
Dusk was born between sunset and nightfall—an in-between hour that foreshadowed everything she would become. Her father, a phoenix already embedded deep within the Faction, burned hot and loud, all impulse and violence wrapped in devotion. Her mother, a snow elf from Northknot, was cold in the way glaciers are cold—precise, distant, devastating if crossed. No one expected them to fall in love. They shouldn’t have. They did anyway. He first saw her mother during an attack. Came back for her under the cover of night. She believed in him, in the Faction, in the promise that love could be enough. She gave up her immortality to be with him. That choice haunted their household like a ghost that never slept.
Their home was volatile—fire meeting ice, passion followed by destruction, screaming followed by desperate, intoxicating reconciliations. When her mother refused to react, her father redirected his fury toward Dusk. She learned early how to make herself small, how to swallow pain whole, how to confuse love with survival. The makeups were passionate. The damage was permanent. Dusk spent as little time at home as she could, running not to escape forever, just long enough to breathe. When she was nine, everything burned down for good.
“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”
Her parents were executed along with the other Faction members, and their children were publicly marked as traitors. Dusk didn’t understand what they were guilty of—only that they were gone. Relief tangled with grief in ways a child shouldn’t have to sort through. She loved them. She feared them. She missed them. She didn’t miss the abuse. The truth came later, gently but honestly, from Aeris—fourteen, fire-and-shadow elf, newly orphaned herself. Aeris became Dusk’s anchor in a world that had already decided they were monsters.
They were placed with a foster family together who never raised a hand—but didn’t need to. Words cut deeper. Silence did worse. Their biological children were allowed to hurt the girls under the excuse of “roughhousing,” while Dusk and Aeris were punished for defending themselves. That imbalance taught Dusk how to detach, how to look unfazed even when everything inside her was screaming. She learned to let things go—until she couldn’t. Then she exploded. A pattern that would follow her across centuries.
“Still, there are moments when one can neither think nor feel. One can only endure.”
When Aeris aged out, she took Dusk with her. For the first time, Dusk belonged somewhere. She found family among the other Marked Ones. Though she died young—burnout, literal and emotional—protecting Aeris from someone who was trying to hurt her. Resurrection came slowly, painfully. Days turned to weeks. She wasn’t sure she deserved to come back. She did anyway, three-and-a-half weeks later.
She returned younger, late teens, memories intact but disoriented. Resurrection was messy, identity even messier. She stayed with the other Marked Ones for a little while. But then she left Northknot entirely. Claiming she needed to find herself. Eventually fell in love by accident. Married a mortal. Had children. Softened. Learned balance. Became the parent she needed as a child. Spent the rest of the 1700s with her new family. She died peacefully, old and loved, believing—truly—that life had finally given her everything it could. Resurrection took decades. She didn’t fight it. She accepted the end. Time just disagreed.
“Some things cannot be mended. They can only be carried.”
She came back young again, in the mid-1800s, and returned to Northknot. Rebuilt her life with the other Marked Ones on Xorin's ranch. Fell in love with someone who used her—someone immortal, vengeful, intent on destroying what little safety they had. He killed one of their own. He came for more. Dusk killed him in self-defense. That loss reshaped their home. Protections were placed. Boundaries hardened. Dusk learned—deep in her bones—that the other Marked Ones would always stand with her. And that sometimes survival meant leaving before the blood soaked too deep. She eventually died of pneumonia. Quietly. Bitterly amused by the irony.
She resurrected sometime in the mid-1900s in her twenties and chose to see the world. Dusk became a traveler, a chameleon. Diplomat’s companion. Patron of the arts. A whisper in royal courts. She learned languages, politics, restraint. Her fire became controlled—beautiful, lethal, unreadable. People wanted her. No one truly knew her. Eventually, she got tired of performing. She returned to Northknot, to her true family. Lived quietly. Loved deeply. Died of old age sometime in the 2010s, surrounded by those who had earned her trust.
“You do not have to be good. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”
Dusk is back now—older in soul, steadier in flame. She’s calm now. Not passive. Not numb. Just dangerously patient. She still explodes—she just chooses when. She feels everything, but she doesn’t drown anymore. She’s fiercely protective, borderline feral when it comes to her people. Dark humor is second nature. Yelling still shuts her down instantly. Kids get her softest edges. She struggles to ask for help. Usually waits until everything’s on fire. Eventually asks anyway. She’s learned she doesn’t have to become her parents to survive them. She still lives on Xorin's ranch with the remaining Marked Ones. She works as a live-in nanny. Shapes fire into glass, earth into ceramics—runs a pop-up and an online shop. Holds a degree in astronomy because she’s always been obsessed with things that burn quietly across impossible distances.
