#queue56 morana

[the-allay-lady]

I spawned late. Four days late, to be exact.

The world already feels like it’s halfway built without me, pride flags fluttering in the breeze, old alliances reforging, players walking paths I haven’t seen yet.

And then she found me.

Kaltain.

Bright-eyed. Sharp-tongued.

She looked at me like I’d already read her bedtime stories and taught her how to hold a potion bottle steady.

“You’re late, mom,” she said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I only got an hour with her. One hour with a daughter I haven’t raised yet. One hour to see the life I could have if I just make it long enough to deserve it.

Chronicle isn’t here. He doesn’t know I made it. Or maybe he does, and he just can’t reach me.

Aelita isn’t here either. I can feel her somewhere distant, like a star I haven’t seen rise yet.

And me?

I’m walking the beaches near spawn with wind in my ears. I’m not looking for new teammates. I’m looking for my people.

I want Nebula Squad. I want my family back.

I’m not broken. I’m just waiting. And I’ll keep waiting, wings spread, spellbook packed, heart aching gently in my chest, until I see one of them again.

[the-allay-lady]

She’s curled up in the dark, knees to her chest, bare feet pressed into nothingness.

The dream shifts around her like smoke — sometimes a garden, sometimes a battlefield, sometimes a home she barely remembers.

She doesn’t move from the spot. She just cries. Silently, endlessly. Tears falling into a floor that doesn’t exist.

Every so often, a shape appears. A familiar hand. A glowing smile. A voice that says “I missed you.” And every time, she reaches. She reaches with shaking fingers and soft whimpers, but they vanish when she touches them.

Sometimes they laugh as they disappear. Sometimes they say her name like it’s a curse. Sometimes they look like Aelita. Sometimes they sound like Chronicle. Once, it was Kaltain. That broke her worst.

She doesn’t scream anymore. She just clings to shadows, hoping they’ll hold her back. And the dream keeps going. Longer. Louder. Rotting at the edges.

She still thinks she can wake up. She just doesn’t know how.

[the-allay-lady]

She didn’t leave. Didn’t fight. Didn’t show up for the final challenge.

While the world shifted and prepared for whatever chaos would come next, Morana remained where she was — deep in the woods, far from spawn, far from noise, far from the eyes of anyone who might still remember her.

She stopped moving. Stopped waiting. And then, slowly, she stopped waking.

It wasn’t death. Not really. She simply… slept. As if the quiet finally claimed her, and she decided not to resist.

The forest didn’t question it. The vines grew around her, soft and slow, curling around her arms, her legs, her chest, not to trap her, but to hold her in place. Moss filled the spaces between her fingers. Flowers bloomed where she rested. Her hair grew long, untouched by wind or blade, and where it brushed the grass, the strands glowed faintly blue.

No one came looking.

Time passed. The world didn’t stop for her, and yet somehow… it made room.

She became part of the landscape. A forgotten soul sleeping through a cycle that left her behind. Not dead. Not gone. Just… paused. Stuck, maybe. Until something changed.

Until someone found her.

Until something finally reached her through all the silence she wrapped herself in.

But until then, she would stay like this.

Because in her sleep, she dreamed.

She dreamed of a future that never came. One where they were all together again — laughing, building, safe. Aelita smiled like nothing had ever happened. Chronicle giggled at something she said. Children were running around happily laughing and playing.

And Morana… Morana was happy. Not pretending to be. Not surviving. Just… happy.

And it was beautiful.

And it was enough.

So she stayed asleep. Because in the dream, no one left. No one forgot. No one broke her. And maybe, just maybe, if she stayed long enough, the dream would become the only world that mattered.

She didn’t wake. Because for once, she didn’t want to. Because this time, the dream was better than anything waiting outside it.

[the-allay-lady]

uh, hi-? I've been told I should try using this? I don't know what this is, but they said it's gonna be fun- Anyways, hi! I'm Morana, that one witch from The Queue, that apperantly died last cycle (cycle 5)? I don't know how it's possible, but alas, I'm here now.

[the-allay-lady]

✦ OOC INTRO ✦

Hi! You can call me Dana // Any pronouns // 20 // Artist + Writer

This is a Queue56 RP blog for Morana Astradei, a little allay witch character with multiverse lore and way too many emotional scars.

DMs are okay! Please read below before interacting 🩵

❄ About Morana:

Name: Morana Astradei

Alias: Dana, Vidalia

Age: 23

Pronouns: Any

Height: 5'9

Gender: Genderfluid

Orientation: Pansexual, Poly

Species: Pure Allay

Morana Astradei is an allay witch who’s been broken, rebuilt, and reborn across multiple cycles of Queue56. She is a spellcrafter, potion-maker, protector, and a survivor of things most people can’t name.

Started as a neutral witch in Cycle 1, aligned with Citrine team but mostly a loner. Hidden her identity as an elf, but during the final challange was turned into vex due to all of the negative emotions. Became the first ever champion of the Queue.

In Cycle 2, she was mind-controlled by Chronicle after losing a sparring match and chose to stay under his command, even as it hurt her. Realized her feeling for Aelita and gained a girlfriend before things went bad.

In Cycle 3, she regained her autonomy, began healing, and realized she had feelings for Chronicle too. Became a new leader of RWA.

Took on leadership of the Red Winter Alliance in Cycle 4 after Chronicle forgot. Was stabbed by Wolf (a version of Chronicle) with a decay trident, leaving her with decaying wound, which couldn't be healed.

Died in Cycle 5 from the decay injury during the final challenge.

Was reborn in Cycle 6 as Vidalia, a pure allay without memories. Regained her identity mid-cycle 6 thanks to Aelita and began carrying the weight of all her past selves.

In Cycle 7, she spawned late, met her future daughter Kaltain for one hour, and is now quietly searching for Nebula Squad.

She is polyamorous, currently in a relationship with Aelita, and has a crush on Chronicle. Morana is not “the broken one.” She’s the one who keeps going anyway. A soul fragment trying to stitch herself into someone whole.

🦋 Other Notes:

Feel free to send asks, headcanons, or incorrect quotes!

Art, moodboards, and little stuff that I write may appear

Queue lore is very important to me — I try to keep everything consistent across cycles

I’m chill but passionate. Expect occasional brainrot and angst :>

[the-allay-lady]

[written in different handwriting with purple ink and stardust]

In the forest down below lies the peaceful sleeping soul, worries shed, no more decay, tucked beneath the roots to stay.

Vines have wrapped her hands and knees, cradled soft by moss and trees. Blue now blooms at hair's long end, glowing where the shadows bend.

She does not stir, she does not speak, the days grow long, the world grows weak. She dreams of love, of warmth, of light, safe within the arms of night.

The stars have turned, the skies have spun, new cycles born, new stories begun. But she remains where silence grows, lost beneath the drifting snows.

No voices reach her hidden glade, no hand disturbs the bed she made. The forest keeps her gently there, a soul in sleep, too soft to bear.

And in her mind, the world is kind— no one forgets, no one stays blind. She smiles in dreams and sleeps away, not knowing she's been left to stay.

But dreams can twist beneath the skin, and something dark is creeping in. Where once was peace, there now is flame, and voices start to call her name.

The skies within her dream grow red, the gardens rot, the warmth has fled. She tries to scream, to run, to wake— but sleep holds tight, and won’t let break.

And so she lies in still decay, as distant echoes claw and fray. The dream is hers no longer now. Something else has made the vow...

[the-allay-lady]

I stopped calling out a while ago.

No one answered the first hundred times, and now my voice just echoes back like the world is trying to mock me for trying. I don’t think anyone’s here. I don’t think they ever were. Maybe this was always going to be my cycle to be forgotten.

I built a little shelter. It’s not much. Just enough to keep the rain off and the wind out. I haven’t touched my armor in days. Haven’t checked the comms. Haven’t looked at the sky long enough to count how close the end is.

I think I’ll just stay here.

I don’t have it in me to fight this time. Not when I’d be fighting for no one. Not when there’s no one on the other side of it.

Let the final challenge come. Let it scream and shake and burn through everything. I’ll stay right here in the corner of the world and sleep through it.

And if I wake up in the next one… Maybe then someone will notice I was gone.

Or maybe not.

And maybe that’ll be easier.

[the-allay-lady]

It’s so quiet out here. Like I’m the only being left. It doesn’t feel like the cycles anymore. It just feels like... nothing. I don’t know how long I’ve been out here, walking through the woods, waiting for something—anything—to happen. It’s starting to blur together. Days. Hours. I’m not even sure I’m counting them right.

She’s not here. He’s not here. I don’t know if anyone is. And the longer I go without seeing a single trace of them, the more I start to wonder... were they ever really here at all?

Was the way she looked at me real? That warmth, that safety, that deep, unwavering kind of love, I felt it. I swear I did. But now it feels like a story I told myself to survive. And him... was the pain he carried even real? The anger, the guilt, the control, I thought I understood it. I thought if I stayed close, maybe I could help carry some of it. Maybe I could help him, somehow. But now I don’t know.

Maybe none of it was real. Maybe I imagined it all. Maybe the love, the pain, the people... maybe they were just shadows in the dark and I was the only one who thought they meant something.