headcanon : rosalind was never good at keeping plants alive , and much prefers collecting & preserving dead things like insects , but she fills her apartment with plants and watches youtube tutorials on how to take care of them bc it’s what her late wife loved to do uwu
𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒖 has been spotted in the streets of st. diablo . many say she is a 𝚗𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚖 that arrived 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒈𝒐 . the 𝟹𝟸 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚕𝚍 works as a 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒏 in st. diablo . people say that they remind them of a whisper of displaced divinity carved into your bone marrow , the feminine atlas crumbling under the weight of the heavens and the embrace of mortality shrouding your being — the kiss of life choking tongues that cry out to the immaculate . corpses lie in your wake now , their hollow ribs hold your prayers , their graves will be your altar .
* ⌢ 𝑰. stats :
given name : rosalind mei liu .
birth date : march 3 1989 .
birth place : san fransisco , ca .
gender : cis female .
rientation : pansexual .
species : nephilim .
zodiac sign : pisces .
occupation : mortician .
education : college graduate — bachelor of medical science ( forensic mortuary practice )
spoken languages : english , mandarin , broken latin .
notable things : a distant gaze , ghosting utterances to herself , a finger tangled in strands of hair , mismatched antique jewellery , a rapid bounce of the leg while sitting , the jangle of clutter resounding with each step , misplaced reading glasses , the smell of incense clinging to her blouse , a frazzled demeanour at the slight tap on the shoulder , antiquated maximalism , a penchant for moth taxidermy — or anything dead really , a bible buried in the grave of her work .
* ⌢ 𝑰𝑰. biography :
you are not holy . you came out of your mother’s womb wailing , decorated in red , as if crying out to the divine spirits who displaced you . you are neither human nor saintly , born into a world that was not meant for you . your mother cradles you in her arms , gently rocking back and forth as she mutters a small prayer within the small hours . her prayer is not meant for you or her ; she asks for forgiveness , a solemn testimony for a sin she couldn’t possibly begin to perceive .
you can feel your own mortality pressing down on your spine , weighed down by generational trauma nurtured into your family : a festering wound , a deep rooted weed of mental illness . you watch your mother sink into herself during her grey days . depression and anxiety in your family remains silent , yet never dormant . your lǎo lao fills each grey day in your mother’s place , the smell of her ointments and herbal remedies curl into each room . in another life she could have been a doctor , but you don’t inherit her skill to treat the living :
as a child you are a grave digger of sorts , unearthing carcasses of insects and birds , the sound of bones clattering in your pocket as you walk . you wish to treat the dead , sanctifying their bodies so their spirits can return to heaven : you know what you are , and that you will never see god’s land . so you dedicate your life’s work to ensure that others do instead .
you meet your last love in your first year of college . amal is the opposite of you : she lives her life for the living , and she wants you to do the same . the first time you meet her you notice the golden hint in her eye and the smell of jasmine wrapped in her hair . you start to have less grey days after you meet her .
at twenty seven , st. diablo is no more a new home than a cemetery . you look at amal spread on the embalming table : cold , lifeless . she doesn’t smell of jasmine , she smells of formaldehyde and methanol . you refuse to let anyone else prepare her for burial . they tell you it was an animal attack , but you digress — the rest of your days here will be spent uncovering the truth . the grey days start to come back , and you choke out cries of anguish to the heavens : not for taking her , but because you know you’ll never be able to join her . you are a monster , an ungodly creation — and you know that seeing her in her coffin will be the last reunion the two of you shall ever have .
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