Meet FLÒRAIDH BLÀRACH. They are THREE HUNDRED and FIFTY-ONE years old and hail from NORTH BERWICK, SCOTLAND. TBD embodies the stars, PROCYONE and the moon, AMALTHEA. They use she/her pronouns. Their faceclaim is GINA BECK.
Procyone reminds me of the age-old shakespeare: though she be but little, she is fierce. the way the warmth of home envelops you as you step inside. the restorative properties of delicately scented candles. birdsong in the morning through an open window. being underappreciated and under-loved. smiling nonetheless.
When Berwick burned its women for witchcraft in 1597, it was widely considered to be the end of the matter of magic in Scotland. Except it wasn’t, and in the shadow of the monarchy’s restoration the girl then-named Cordelia – after Lear’s youngest; the fair and the truthful – grew freely and truly. She started messing around in nearby fields and singing to the daisies, and with that inevitably came injury.
And so it was instinctive, at first, like realising doc leaves heal the skin stinging nettles brushed up against; or that cold water and muslin helps reduce inflammation. These remedies were brushed off as something she could learn from her mother, or the wise women in the village. Patching herself and her friends up if anything went awry with their adventures, or cheering them up after an unpleasant day.
But natural remedies soon become a caring palm, pressed against a cut, or a bruise, or an ache, and Berwick is enveloped in hate again. Continued to be, as Flòraidh turned her back, her name, and her mark on the land of her birth and hasn’t been back since. She hopes it’s a happy place to live, and she wishes she could heal some of the scars of its history.
Perhaps she attended Polaris when she was too young, a few decades into life after her parents resettled ( for the umpteenth time ) among the locals in Oulu, Finland, and perhaps her real-life experiences were too narrow, with compassion and instinct getting her thus far. It was a reality check, though at least Polaris never burned like Berwick did. The singed ends of the tartan rag she’d appropriated into a ribbon for her hair was a testament to that.
So life wasn’t really something Flòraidh desired, or experienced, until she stepped ( read: fell face first, heavily misjudged, and maybe lied about pursuing it ) back into the world after finishing her training. Under normal circumstances, she’d recommend Paris in the late-19th century, with a city hell-bent on nurturing its elements previously lost in Revolution.
For a while, the only thing that burned was the fireplace in her apartment and the candles of the Palais Garnier. Most would brag about inspiring a novel, or a musical, but there was no phantom beyond her own past in its quest to linger on the edges of her memory, uninvited, and there was no romantic gesture atop the roof, or a life-saving Viscount with whom she’d get a happily ever after. All that remained after words were exchanged in the snow with a city beneath them was their broken heart. The one thing Flòraidh just couldn’t fix.
Few could blame her for doing what she does best: fleeing from flames, acutely aware of her limits and faults and the immeasurable pain left in her wake. Because if she couldn’t fix it, she needed to fix herself – it said as much on her TA application.
( She doesn’t talk about any of it & tries to keep herself to herself. She doesn’t sing anymore. )
Procyon is two stars, with one considered to be ‘dead’. It’s a characteristic one might compare to Romeo and Juliet, these star-crossed lovers so, but it never wishes to divulge this fact to its sponsors. Thus it’s a heavy-handed realisation when it eventually comes, and unsurprising that its witches and wizards often turn to healing as a means of coping. So damning is it that those Procyon sponsors are often lacking in defensive magical ability no matter how hard they study, leaving them vulnerable to both Earthly and supernatural ambushes. They can, in short, never win.
Star-Crossed Lovers: The person whose heart was broken at Flòraidh’s hand, who she hasn’t quite managed to get over. They can fight, they can make up, but mostly they just need to talk. Because feelings can fester for a century and-a-bit. ( Can be slow-burn, angst, unhappy ending, or anything in between. )
Platonis Gal Pals: Someone Flòraidh can open up to with trust that it stays between them.Ideally with a large helping of platonic cuddles and shared ownership of a bunny. Flòraidh would drop everything to help this person.
Succulent Society: (open to multiple) Whilst she isn’t amazing at Herbalism, Flòraidh is a bloody good plant mum if she is provided with plants. She’s always willing to help someone who is wondering why their rubber plant is shrivelled up ( hint: plants need water ) or to repot a growing calathea white star.
