Name: Theodore Fox-Selwyn
Heâs always understood the fragility of life, and held a deep reverence for death. It was as though he was born with an innate understanding that many around him lacked. Whilst most boys, in all their youthful naivety, believed themselves to be invincible, immortal, old age and the passage of time a far-off impossibility, he always knew everything must come to an end. Perhaps it was the manner in which he was born, clutching at the heel of a stillborn twin, life and death intertwined as one. Heâs often thought about the child that never came to be, wondering what became of their soul. She was a girl, and that was all he knew, a girl with no name and no future. He named her Daisy, in his mind, but amongst the uncertainty, he was sure of one thing - she was not sad, wherever she was, for he bore the melancholy of two, his soul marked with so much sorrow that he was certain that he had absorbed all unhappiness from her in the waters of the womb. His parents spoke of her little - it was just one of those things, a sad but all too common statistic, but he was determined, in some way, to ensure that she was remembered.
But how could you preserve the memory of somebody who had never lived? There was nobody to speak of her with, nobody who felt the gaping hole she had left behind like he did. And so, he took to paper and ink, breathing life into his imaginings of who she could have been. Sometimes, she was bold and brash, a heroine clad in golden glory. In others, she was shy and pure, a blushing maiden in virginal white. He had no way of knowing who she would be, and so to him, she was everything all at once. He never expected that he would get any sort of attention for his little poems, but that was his own humility, underestimating the talents that was undeniably there for all to see. He was able to attend a prestigious university off of the back of it, although he never quite felt like he fit in - not until he met the two he would come to regard as siblings, The Believer and The Dandy. Though they brought a joy to his life he had never known, they were no replacement for his sister, the crutch he has always leaned on, and always would.
He integrated well into London society, even becoming something of a celebrity. His works are well-received, though he canât help but think that those who devour his every word are quite missing the point behind them - the biting edge, the dark wit, the social commentary that flies well over their heads. His words have become undeniably darker of late, less focused on immortalising his lost sibling. Heâs crafted a persona for himself, one of flamboyance and decadence, masking the pessimism and desolation within his mind. Lately, heâs been working on something new - a play, a twisted gothic tragedy designed to enchant and unnerve. It was in his research that he stumbled across the world of the occult, the mediums and psychics that dwell in the city, and to say he was fascinated is an understatement. If there was ever any chance to finally speak to the shadow that has loomed over his life, this is it, and heâs willing to grab it with both hands. But for now, heâs  watching and waiting, gathering all the information he can before making his move.
He has always felt it with them, but it is stronger  of late. They cling to his side, an invisible shadow, but he feels them there, and that is enough. Itâs the little things that they appreciate, the softly spoken words as he reads aloud to them, the fresh bunches of flowers on the side table despite the fact that they make him sneeze. For their part, they help him too, moving objects he needs directly into his reach, lighting candles in rooms before he enters, guiding him in the right direction when heâs searching for answers. Their fate and his are inexplicably entwined, and despite the fact he cannot see them, and they cannot speak to him, they have a deep understanding of one another
THE BELIEVER: They couldnât be more different to him, their head in the clouds whilst The Poetâs are firmly planted on the ground, but their friendship is a strong one, thriving on the balance that is drawn between them. Sometimes, he thinks they are naĂŻve, and they need him to remind them of the realities of the world. They take no pleasure in doing so, in seeing the disappointment flash over their eyes when they are reminded of just how cruel things can really be, but it is with their best interests at heart that he does it. He cannot deny the otherâs talent, either, and has tremendous respect for their professional works.
THE DANDY: He takes nothing seriously, and thatâs what The Poet needs. Nobody else can draw out his wild side quite like The Dandy. It is something he never knew he needed, and it is not uncommon to find the two of them causing trouble somewhere they shouldnât be, usually under some form of inebriation. The two can talk for hours, about everything and nothing at all, and he thrives on the unexpected adventures that they always seem to find themselves in the midst of.
THE DANCER: He first caught a glimpse of her on the stage, and from that moment on, he was enthralled. Her ability to utterly embody every emotion thatâs raging within him when she dances is remarkable, but it is the sadness, the hollow exhaustion that he sees upon her face when she is herself, that draws him in the most. It is not a romantic interest - but rather, a recognition, that the sorrow that lives inside of him dwells within her too. In his desperation to be understood, he hopes that she feels it too.
THE HATTER: Theyâre utterly unnerving - but The Poet doesnât mind. They frequent his shop, always with an apologetic look on his face for misplacing the last creation they purchased from him, and often share polite conversation. They seem to enjoy his humour, and his outlook on the world, without being as sycophantic as some of the people who flock to his side these days, and for The Poet, thatâs enough for him to enjoy their company.
THE POET IS PLAYED BY MADDIE.
