“I was the girl you tried to forget. I am the burden you cannot bury.”
Known Epithets
The Ember Vessel
The Cost
The Consequence
The Accidental Sage
The Burden You Cannot Bury
Little Red
Backstory & Mythic Role
Born last, loved least. Meant to be the sacrifice.
Not the chosen child—the cost.
A vessel sculpted by love turned investment, innocence twisted into inevitability. Meant to be unmade, she became more.
Evangeline’s childhood was a glamour: a mother who smiled with knives in her teeth, a father who watched like an empty altar, a sister who loved too much, and a brother who said nothing when he should have screamed.
Growing up she was radiant and reckless, still believing that love could heal. At fifteen, she was offered to the Rite—her blood the key, her soul the hearthstone. But Daylen broke the ritual, and the Veil did not close.
Instead, it named her. Bound her. Marked her.
Evangeline became the one who remained.
Now, she is a haunted vessel carrying the fragmented echoes of her siblings:
Alice – wisdom lost
Daylen – power broken
Herself – silence that remains
She is not a prophet. Not a priestess. She is what’s left when the prayer isn’t answered
Age at the time of the Rite: 15
Current Age: 20
Status: Liminal. Veil-touched. Part living, part unmade. Not dead, not whole. The one who wasn't supposed to walk away, yet did.
"There is a difference between missing the dead and missing the living version of yourself that died with them."
Evangeline is ethereal in the most fragile and unsettling way, an embodiment of desire, danger, and discovery. Her skin is soft like candle wax, pallid as moonlight left too long in the cold. By her own sheer will and defiance against the parts of her unraveled, her skin has whispers of rosy tones with a sun-kissed embrace. Vivid crimson curls and coils fall wind-tousled and wild to her shoulder blades, often tangled with dream debris or coiffed in patterns by hands no one remembers. Her eyes shimmer honey gold when she is calm—sunlight filtered through sorrow—but when the dead stir, when the Veil stares back through her, they shift to green: haunted, unnatural, and undeniably hers.
Her presence disturbs reflection. Mirrors lie in her wake. Shadows hesitate. Ghosts follow. Time folds quietly around her like old paper.
The air cools in her presence when the Veil stirs. Candles flicker. Mirrors delay. Spirits gather like a second skin. She walks as if followed by fog and whispers. Her body is warm, but it radiates the kind of warmth that fades the moment it’s gone—a transient, haunted heat.
Eyes: Golden like firelight—bright, defiant, almost too alive. But when her power stirs or the dead whisper, they shift to green—feral, haunting, and not entirely her own.
Hair: Red, wild and wind-tousled, a tangle of curls and coils that seem to defy taming yet remain alluringly inviting.
Aura: Smoke and memory. Animals flinch. Ghosts linger. Mirrors lie in her presence.
Presence: A beautiful contradiction—sensual but unreachable, grounded but unreal. Flame wrapped in fog. The air cools in her presence when the Veil stirs.
"I want the truth, even if it breaks me."
Veil Proximity Sensitivity: Heightened awareness near death, storms, twilight, and sacred places. Can read auras, detect murder, or sense soul-fractures.
Memory-Perception: She can draw the past into the present, touching objects, spaces, or people and coaxing forth echoes like blood from stone. Risks emotional bleed or identity confusion with prolonged exposure.
Ghost-Sensitivity: Spirits are drawn to her. But not just the dead—the unrealized, the nearlys, the almosts. Can be overwhelmed with the amount of spirits that converge around her.
Spirit Manipulation: Can tether or dispel ghosts. Spirits recognize her authority, especially those who died near her. With focus, she can make them briefly able to interact with the physical realm. This takes a greater toll on her than most of her other abilities.
Dream-Weaving and Walking: Her dreams bleed into reality. She sometimes wakes with soil on her hands, or someone else's grief under her nails. She is able to enter and manipulate dreams. Can extract memory fragments or influence perception. Most powerful when the dreamer yearns for her subconsciously. Can be a double-edged sword if the mind of the dreamer is more powerful than hers.
The Tether: She is unknowingly incapable of dying through conventional means. She cannot die. Not truly. The Veil won’t let her. She is bound to it like a sentinel at the edge of worlds.
Accelerated Healing: Minor wounds close quickly. Bruises and cuts formed deep will fade over time. The only scar she cannot heal is the cut made by her brother Daylen on her inner left thigh, binding them together irrevocably.
Tattooed Light sigil on lower mid-back: Magical ink fortified with her own blood channels protective white light, feeding off of energy from spirits, ghosts and specters. Provides minor healing in addition to her current ability, emotional regulation and shielding from physical attacks. Will not function well if there are no spirits to draw from near her.
“If you have a monster in you, at least I know what language to speak.”
Kindness and Beguiling Worn Like Armor: Hard-earned and deliberate. Not naive—stubborn.
Weary, But Watchful: She sees everything. Remembers too much.
Haunted, Not Broken: Her trauma lives inside her, but it does not define her. She’s made an unsteady cease-fire with the wound. She just hasn’t stopped bleeding.
Psychological Profile
Flirtatious, sharp-tongued, mischievous. Deflects pain with sass and sweetness. Lonely. Guarded. Intuitive. Constantly watching for signs of betrayal. Desires to be seen clearly and not consumed. To belong without dissolving. Leverages wit, manipulation, sensuality. She plays with fire, even as it scars.
DAYLEN ALTIR
Age: 17 at the Rite (appears ~25 now)
He is her ruin and her reflection. The axis of her undoing.
Part of her still aches for the boy he was—the boy who once looked at her like she mattered. The brother who broke her so thoroughly that part of him still lives inside her.
ALICE ALTIR (Deceased)
Age: 19 at the Rite
Always warm, even if just out of reach. Alice was hushed grace laced with fear, lullabies with sharp edges. She loved Alice- but that love now tastes like metal.
An older sister that Evangeline wanted to be: beautiful, clever, and composed. And most of all, close to Daylen.
NAADIR NASIMOV
A man with a darkness that echoed her own with calloused hands and flesh hewn with black eldritch script. He was danger wrapped in devotion, and the thing inside him, Anaithnid, played with her like a predator amused by another cursed thing. She loved him. She feared him. She saw herself in him. He was not the salvation, the lullaby, nor the answer she had hoped for, even if her longing paints her fragmented dreams.
Her Relationship to Power and The Veil
Evangeline is bound to the Veil—but she does not fully know it.
Her memory of the ritual that bound her to her brother and tied her to the veil is painfully visceral, yet each moment lives as a fragment of experience she has coalesced to form her own truth.
She has both unease and trepidation about what her powers mean, denies their source, and resists the truths whispered. She doesn’t trust it. Not because she is afraid to wield it—but because she knows its cost.
She is powerful. But she is still haunted. And she hides the deepest wound behind her teeth. Part of her still aches with the betrayal that only someone who once loved you completely can deliver.
This place is a dream. Only a sleeper considers it real. Then death comes like dawn, and you wake up laughing at what you thought was your grief.
Memento Mori
A strand of auburn hair from her brother bound in leather.
A golden hairpin in the shape of a bird’s feather, from a long-forgotten lover.
A necklace with three gems eerily echoing the triad of the rite, held as the last memory of a great warrior.
A small rum bottle with an unsent letter inside to the man she thought could save her.
A vermillion scarf embroidered in heavy stitch with the epithet ‘Eva the Red’ from her absent protector and tormentor.
