jane de leon. cis woman. she/her. 27/496. ⸻ king roberon cole welcomes GINEVRA VILLA to fabletown—or, as they were once known, GUINEVERE from ARTHURIAN LEGEND. before the magic mirror, they come glamoured in the mirage of a thousand flowers; a woman who is a meadow full of them; her presence, such a quiet feeling, like the light coming into a room; the golden crown upon her head, illuminating the ruins of the world. the tale from which they hail exalted their COURAGE and ALLURE, but decried their DECEPTIVENESS and TREACHERY in equal measure. no matter; this time, they shall write their own. in accordance with the fabletown compact, they are granted amnesty for any and all transgressions, even that which is little known: she did nothing to prevent the downfall of camelot.
¹.
FULL NAME . GINEVRA VILLA ALSO KNOWN AS . QUEEN GUINEVERE TITLE(S) . HIGH QUEEN OF BRITAIN AGE . CLOSE TO TWENTY-SEVEN IN APPERANCE , BUT IS HUNDREDS OF YEARS OLD GENDER + PRONOUNS . CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER BIRTHPLACE . CAMELIARD DATE OF BIRTH . MAY 19TH, CENTURIES LATER ON THE SAME DAY ANNE BOLEYN LOST HER HEAD CURRENT OCCUPATION PERFORMER / BURLESQUE DANCER @ PUDDING & PIE LANGUAGES BRYTHONIC, ENGLISH, FRENCH
².
a daughter first, then a princess, always a queen and always condemned. fair guinevere, salt upon their lips, it is dishonor that she brings. why hast thou been so cruel to your good lord father, your benevolent and well-loved king, and the people who worshipped the ground beneath your feet?
the misdeeds of one woman echo through generations, told over and over again, numbing lashing tongues with each retelling of her cardinal sins ⸻ they should've tied her to a stake and allowed the flames to have her. what a shame to let the realm crumble beneath the weight of one stray, unfaithful heart.
they'll never say how she loved, the knights, and the realm, and all her people. when she sat at the round table, it was not just arthur they had listened to, but her as well. appointed as the fair mother, the fey queen, the good lady judge, it was her they had beseeched for mercy, a fair trial, and last redemption. they never did give her the same in return ⸻ offering instead either a noose or fire.
so between her body and camelot ⸻ she chose to see only one in flames. for centuries to come she's reduced only to that ⸻ her body. denuded of her name and her gold, but never her jewels, she shines upon a stage, swathed in silk, camelot's last fallen star.
ᵇᵃˢⁱᶜˢ. once a daughter of king leodegrance, guin at times struggled with the notion of being the queen od camelot and by proximity arthur's wife. as an incredibly politically savvy individual, guinevere had been tasked with running camelot's judicial system, and was also greatly revered by the knights of the round the table. i'd like to believe that she had managed to inspire them in more ways than one, and greatly wished and fought for camelot's prosperity up until a certain point. after all, all rulers are eventually damned no matter how fair and justifiable their actions are. year after year, she had amassed certain dislike from the lesser nobles ( under the influence of mordrer or someone else ) who wished to witness her fall her grace. evidently, they played a role in her affair being exposed.
despite being generous and gracious, especially to those less fortunate, and anyone who had the fortune of running into her, guinevere also had a propensity for splendid selfishness, a selfishness of course that took on the form of desire. upon her affair being discovered, she was condemned to be executed, but since the fall of camelot is yet to be plotted, i'll leave this part ambiguous and note that she did not face her chargers. she was, however, aware of the potential destruction, but did nothing to prevent it.
for the most part, she reverently tries to forget and be oblivious to the past, wanting instead to escape it, even though she wishes she could attone for her sins. nonetheless, ginevra villa or queen guinevere remains a divisive figure in almost every way. to those fond of places such as pudding & pie, she's best known as an entertainer, though just how far that entertainment goes is disputable. in every life, or rather rendition, there are many arms and hands reaching out in reverence, only for different reasons. her performances are known to be extravagant and a show of its own, with additional lights, heady perfume, and gleaming glitter. during every performance, however, ginevra wears crystals about her head arranged in a circle, almost like a diadem, which is a silent nod to the crown she had once worn.
described by some as stubborn and attention-seeking, either out of jealousy, fear or even indifference, those closest to her know that there's something deeper under the vain and glimmering surface, a notion that is starkly confirmed by her willingness to privately play the role of a nurse for anyone who cannot or does not want to seek professional medics. it's an old habit, of course, as once upon a time, she had done the same for her king and realm.
#WOODFAE : PRIVATE MEDIUM-ACTIVITY RP BLOG FOR BEA LEROUX OF GRIMMERTALES. ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴍᴀᴅᴢ ( ₂⁵ . ₛₕₑ/ₕₑᵣ . ₑₛₜ )
¹. DOSSIER ². PINTEREST ³. PLAYLIST
name : blanchette 'bea' leroux.
age : twenty8.
zodiac : cancer.
sexuality : demisexual.
occupation : bartender at trip-trap.
title : little red riding hood.
reminiscent of : chelsea , the white lotus . natalie scatorccio ( young ) , yellowjackets . lydia martin , teen wolf . maysilee donner , sotr .
likes : black coffee , old films , vanilla & cherry , fresh baked bread , dolls , rainy days , ribbons & lace , classic literature , reapplying lipstick , scented candles , red roses , stolen touches , midnight .
dislikes : hot weather , texting , crowded rooms , being corrected , polyester , ’beating around the bush’ , the color yellow , oversleeping , milk chocolate , repeating herself , authoritative figures .
fears : autophobia , claustrophobia .
name. pleasance hargreaves. also known as. alice liddell. age. 27 (210). dob. 9 november, 1777. pob. oxford. story of origin. alice's adventures in wonderland; american mcgee's interpretation, specifically. occupation. bartender @ the trip trap. residence. a truly grim studio apartment on the crooked mile. furnishings are bare, wallpaper is peeling, refrigerator is always empty—that sort of vibe. gender. non-binary. pronouns. she/they. orientation. ??? traits. imaginative, empathetic, curious, quick-witted. reckless, obstinate, volatile, ruthless.
faceclaim. eve hewson. height. five foot exactly; she hasn't grown an inch since the age of eight. build. very slight, verging on frail. little to no curves. hair. a dark brown, so much so that it looks black in most light. shoulder-length. dull & lifeless. usually thrown up into a ponytail; sometimes brushed. eyes. grey-blue, steely. they truly are windows to her soul. style. grunge? often dark, often layered, often casual. they dress for comfort and utility, not for fashion. jewelry. notably, none at all. aesthetics. a broken bird of a girl, replete with bedraggled hair and bony limbs; dirt lodged firmly under your fingernails, poorly painted with chipping dark polish, and starkly contrasted against the sickly grey of your skin; being unable to stare down your reflection, even through grimy looking glasses that you avoid.
father. charles liddell †. mother. alexandra liddell, née hargreaves †. siblings. constance liddell, 10 years her senior †. pets. partial to felines. they had a black cat called dinah in her childhood.
SOME TRIGGERING CONTENT AHEAD (FIRES, FAMILY DEATH, INSTITUTIONALISATION.)
a human fable, alice was once—supposedly— no more than a little girl with an incredible (and powerful) imagination.
the daughter of the dean of a grand educational institution, she lived a comfortable and content life alongside her sister, her parents, their staff, and the family cat.
tragically, when she was barely eight years old, her family perished in a house fire. [for reference, this is the year that the remaining fables take a final stand against the adversary.]
she and dinah [the cat] were the only survivors. she had been in a deep sleep, away in wonderland, only roused by the mad hatter and the white rabbit alerting her to the smell of smoke that had suddenly interrupted their tea party. though she tried to run to both her parents' and her sister's rooms, the flames were relentless, and she acquired serious burns in the process. unsuccessful, she ultimately leapt from her bedroom window, dinah under one arm and her rabbit doll under the other. the thick blanket of snow outside may have cushioned her fall, but she was left badly burnt, and with a broken shoulder.
during this recovery process, they often spoke in slurred riddles, sentences poorly strung together, rambling on about a shadow in the hallway, cats and rabbits screaming at them, a swinging key. the prospects of their survival at the time were seen as virtually non-existent: a coffin was built for her, and the family's bodies left in an ice locker so that they may all be interred together. against all odds, however, and within the span of two years, alice eventually recovered from their physical injuries.
the mental ones, though? there was no escaping them. she fell into a state of catatonia, her memories of that night in the house blocked. she was transferred from the hospital to an asylum, where she would remain for the next sixteen years, fading in and out of lucidity, and subjected to countless cruel and futile 'treatments'. her trips to wonderland continued all the while, its condition directly linked to her psyche—every bout of electroconvulsive therapy brought havoc to the land, every ice bath plunging its inhabitants into dark depths.
alice was eventually released at the age of 26, though they struggled still with their past and the state of their mind. despite the sessions of therapy and hypnosis that she regularly received, she began to experience intense hallucinations, all to do with wonderland, all increasingly more horrifying than the last.
surprise surprise! the ever-deteriorating state of her sanity is reflected in the chaos and disorder in both wonderland and the wider homelands. confused and bewildered and just downright terrified, alice flees as fast as they can, boarding the last ship to cross into the mundane world without so much as a backward glance to any rabbits or hatters or door-mice.
though not a necessity, she decides a change of name cannot hurt. pleasance hargreaves—honouring her mother's maiden name is a sweet touch, one that brings forth emotions in her she would rather beat down. pleasance, however, is steeped in something more sinister: the admonishments hurled at her by asylum staff, a virtue she seemingly lacked. they always have been the type to keep picking at a scab, agitating a wound rather than letting it heal.
fabletown does not magically fix her problems. nothing ever has, and she doubts anything ever will. they spent a good few years in and out of knights of malta, a regular attendee of their psychiatric wing, no more advanced than the homelands equivalent.
it was difficult to acclimatise herself to this new city, the mundane world, and she was still haunted by wonderland—what haunted her more, though, was her inability to visit, her ignorance as to whether her friends are okay, her guilt at leaving them all behind. she never goes off in search of them, though, a rare facet of cowardice shining through in a girl usually so reckless.
they live a quiet and simple life: she works at the trip trap, throwing out drinks, muttering phrases that maybe kind of make sense to the patrons sat at the bar. she tries to keep a low profile, and mostly sticks to the crooked mile as far as the fabletown compound goes.
golshifteh farahani. cis woman. she/her. 38/900+. ⸻ king roberon cole welcomes sara mohaddis to fabletown—or, as they were once known, scheherazade from 1001 nights. before the magic mirror, they come glamoured in the mirage of vulnerability shifting into resolve, inhabiting grief with fierce tenderness; a gaze that oscillates between survivalism and fleeting empathy; stitching together a narrative as skilfully as a tapestry, colourful and multi-dimensional; a story stretched thin, subplots colliding until edges blur. the tale from which they hail exalted their perseverance and resourcefulness, but decried their guile and defiance in equal measure. no matter; this time, they shall write their own. in accordance with the fabletown compact, they are granted amnesty for any and all transgressions, even that which is little known: her stories were literally a form of magic, capable of altering the listener’s mind and their senses, with the potential of altering reality as an extreme form of manifestation—the longer she told the story, the more powerful and all-encompassing the spell.
cis woman. she/her. 42. ⸻ king roberon cole welcomes yvonne robertson to fabletown—or, as they were once known, lady macbeth from macbeth. before the magic mirror, they come glamoured in the mirage of a padlock upon a door lock to keep herself within, silk slip night dresses, one in black and one in white, interchangeable with a day and night wardrobe, a box of keepsakes secured on the top shelf of a wardrobe, sharp shoulder pad fashion pieces, a lipstick stain on her hand from smudging makeup, unable to fight an eyeroll when faced with statements deemed without merit. the tale from which they hail exalted their ambitious and decisive, but decried their hypocrisy and volatility in equal measure. no matter; this time, they shall write their own. in accordance with the fabletown compact, they are granted amnesty for any and all transgressions, even that which is little known: that her marriage was indeed a convenient arrangement to gain control.
it had all been an arrangement - two rather ambitious individuals wanting to rise up together. yvonne was hardly going to be able to do it on her own and the quicker she accepted it, the better off they'd be. the two would rise through their ranks and after several years, that thrill she felt would coincide with the attraction she felt for her husband. of course, she was more attracted to him when he was using his head and wasn't moping about but she'd grown to be slightly more accepting of his sensitive side. they were a good team.
societal pressures would always eat away at her. her own mother wanted nothing more than to have a grandchild, a grandson to succeed his father. she wasn't so sure of it - was she cut out to be a mother? every time she saw a child, lady macbeth wanted to run in the opposite direction. had she an aversion to them or was it because she wanted to get as far away from her 'rightful place', if possible... she'd managed to avoid the prospect for so long but inevitably, she fell pregnant. it was something that made her more worried than anything, when her gentlewoman made a comment that she was glowing, that she must be with child. her husband was elated with the prospect of a child, particularly a son - she shared this outlook as women couldn't get anywhere, not really. she was by his side but she was now more an accessory.
a week after their son is born, her husband has to go fight a war, bravely, willingly but that meant it took him away from the both of them. something was wrong. the child passed and he wasn't there. just when she had accustomed herself to taking a feminine role, to accept it, it was all taken away from her. she had to write to him to inform him of the news, something that she shouldn't have had to do but he still had to fight if he wanted to get the crown in the future.
her staff attempted to support her but it wasn't enough. still, they held out on fetching her a doctor for her mind in order to preserve both her image but also the grief she was feeling. he needed him back - she felt incredibly let down by him for not being there and would never quite be able to move past it. of course, her husband was heartbroken upon return, he was sensitive, but it hurt him to also see her in that way. she did need to pull herself together so she'd tap into her masculinity during the day to try hide it all from others but especially him. however, she had no control over what happened when she was asleep.
the sleepwalking would start but be sporadic, her gentlewoman keeping a watchful eye over her to make sure that she was safe. it was clear that she was suffering from an illness of the mind but approaching her could have cost them heir job or worse. she had a temper and her husband would see that when she started to emasculate him, to push him into being king because it's what they both wanted. despite this, she still saw herself as weak because she could feel it, how ugly she was on the inside so she needed to lean into it, to accept it so that both of them could come out on top.
feeling stuck with nowhere else to go, yvonne focuses on the plan - to push him so hard that he'd actually do it and they would come out on top. she'd always thought of him as quite the p*ssy... she wasn't well but he hadn't been privy to that as he knew it was always inside her, or perhaps he was but he'd chosen to ignore it. people would say that it was the guilt that 'drove her to madness' but it was already there. she'd comfort him, knowing that he'd gone through with it but then more crimes would follow and she'd be left with blood on her hands.
things took a drastic turn for the both of them and they ended up in fabletown. neither of them would utter a word about what transpired. they would get her a doctor and leave it at that. it was what was unspoken that would eventually pull them apart. there was a hatred coming from her side and her issues had been far from resolved. there had been multiple instances where he'd wake up and she'd be gone, walking in the streets somewhere as she slept. kind people would help her when they saw her laying on the streets but it was a stark contrast to how she was in her position as mayoral secretary.
her ambition was something she leaned back into, what she aspired to be like once more before she had seemingly lost it. she made sure she was still close to the power. perhaps that wasn't a good idea but she was positive she could pull it off and gain the trust of the king and bluebeard - she just can't let things go... apart from her husband. recently, she'd just had enough, completely broke down and told him that she couldn't do it anymore, not right now anyways. they're separated and yvonne always felt like she'd feel liberated by not being an extension of him but that's not entirely translated in real life. it had always been the two of them and without him to pile all of her shortcomings on, she was forced to look in the mirror and see a shell of the woman she once was - a force of nature.
now that she's alone, she's taking extra care to lock herself in at night - no one's going to notice if she's out when she's not supposed to be. her struggles at night have got worse but she's trying to manage it the best she can. it is exhausting but she has to push through to carry on proving herself. she's a control freak - she always has been and she's trying to reclaim as much as she possibly can.
there is talk that she has dabbled in magic in the past and whispers say that she could have previously been in alliance with the witches, however, none of that has ever been proven.
Ceara Coveney. Cis-female. she/her. 27/500+. ⸻ king roberon cole welcomes Vasilisa Zima to fabletown—or, as they were once known, Vasilisa from Vasilisa the beautiful. before the magic mirror, they come glamoured in the mirage of a well loved doll, cherished from childhood, the last remains of mother whose face she barely remembers/ flowers wreathed in her hair, slowly decaying as she works endlessly, figures in the light of a lantern that she still sees after images of every time she closes her eyes. the tale from which they hail exalted their diligence and sincerity, but decried their bluntness and reserved in equal measure. no matter; this time, they shall write their own. in accordance with the fabletown compact, they are granted amnesty for any and all transgressions, even that which is little known: she did not bury the skull lantern gifted to her by Baba Yaga as she led everyone to believe. Whispers rang in her ears, claiming that she would have need of it once again. It is still with her to this day, she’s still unsure if it was a gift or a curse. ⸻ Rin, 27, cst, she/her.
What was
Vasilisa had been showered with love from the moment she was born. A fairer child could not be wished for. Oh she was as happy as could be in that little cottage with her parents. It all took a turn when her mother fell ill. In those final moments she gifted Vasilisa a doll, not just any doll but a magic one. ‘Care for it my child. Give it food and it will help you in your time of need.’ It quickly became her most cherished possession. After a few years her father remarried, a stepmother and stepsisters who liked to pretend she didn't exist. When her father was away all of the chores fell upon her and if she dared to speak up well her stepmother was not forgiving. Luckily she still had her mothers gift. ‘Help me little one. I fear I will never accomplish all this alone.’ She would whisper before giving it a bit of food as she had been instructed. Without fail every time it helped do what needed to be done. Eventually she was instructed to go deep into the forest, find Baba Yaga's hut and bring back fire. The journey was treacherous but the doll led the way. Soon enough she found herself at her destination, completing tasks for the old witch. When night fell once again she was given a skull filled with an unnatural light. It whispered to her, telling Vasilisa to not discard it as her instincts told her. When she returned to her cottage, the hatred and resentment she felt for her stepmother and stepsisters overwhelmed her. They were burned to the ash by the light of her lantern. That light would sear its way into her very being, she would never forget its righteous warmth as long as she lived. Vasilisa had intended to bury the damned thing before she left her home for the city for a new life, but she could not bring herself to do so. It was hidden away and she told not a soul she still had it. Meanwhile it whispers away, not ever letting her forget that it exists.
What is
When the adversary came Vasilisa was among some of the last to leave. Stubbornly believing that this too would pass as every hardship before. As it became clear that it would win, she made a hasty retreat from the homelands, trusting the doll to lead the way to safety. Now in fabletown with what little she owned she would start anew, she had done it once before she would do it again. Though it was made a little more difficult by the fact that there was a whole community of fables trying to do the same. Nevertheless she would find a way because if there was one thing that Vasilisa was good at, beautiful and fair as she was, it was putting her head down and doing what needed to be done.
