Between her parents and her elder sister, Emma was the only living survivor on one faithful night. A dark stormy night, which Emma tries to push from her memories.
Just like any other night, Emma had helped prepare the evening meal along with their serving woman Moya. They usually laughed and talked about such things young ladies spoke so often of. But, soon this night turned to a more subdued night when Emma’s father arrived home. He hadn’t been expected to arrive so early with the storms raging about over land and sea. But, just the same he was welcomed with opened arms and butterfly kisses from his young daughter.Throughout the evening they sat, ate and drank. They listened to tall tales by her father and yet Emma could sense something different about the man as the evening wore on. Shrugging it off as the labor of the sea, Emma soon retired for the night. Giving her family one last kiss and good wishes for well sleep before she made the ascension to her room.
Come morning, Emma awoke. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes to her horror she was swathed in blood. Her parents and sister both rendered dead and their bodies strewn in pieces about the large farmland. Needless to say word spread fast of the disaster and rumors began to boil and fester.
Emma carries a parchment tucked closed to her heart. A picture of her family. Only, there is a girl about her age that she had no idea her identity. Some clues have led her to believe she is a relative, possibly a cousin. She recalls having the portrait made but was never actually spoken about again since that day.
The chaos in her home was too much. There were times Emma’s very life was threatened by the ‘so-called’ childish pranks of others. Although wealthy she never played her money to gain position or buy one’s affections. And so she sat ouy with her only friend Lucian. The white and gray steed standing well over 18 hands high. Finding herself running from those that taunted her and attempted such harm would lead her into her next journey as she stumbles upon Castle Mordor.
Emma stands 5' not exactly an imposing figure, with faultless, alabaster skin that glows with a radiance that makes her appear somehow more alive, more vibrant. Her shyness is shadowed in her striking pallid cerulean eyes. Adding to this effect, color rises to her cheeks often to paint them a pale, dusky rose, which are usually caressed by long ringlets of auburn.
Upon entering the castle, Emma soon finds herself standing on the threshold, form silhouetted within the door. Perhaps dramatic with such an entrance, it was done silently betwixt a fluttering blink, unnoticed by most, she is just there, seemingly from nowhere, embraced by the soft folds of her rich white cloak, shifting just so around her small frame upon a whispery breeze, eerily prowling about her form, hissing it's breath like a snake coiling below.
Her full splendor and voluptuous physique are soon unveiled within a vision, seemingly so pure and lovely indeed as two hands lift to part the flanks of her cloak, cowl slipping from her auburn curls and pale cerulean eyes scan those within slowly. Most of this usually concealed by the long white cloak that flows majestically behind her, dragging the floor as it seems too lengthy for her small stature.
She moves forward, slow, lazy cadence bringing her away from the threshold further into the room. Soft whispering skirt sway to her feathery steps, delicate features reflecting a soft smile as to accentuate the tiny dimple in her cheek. She nods to those within faintly as her eyes pass over them, just before slipping gracefully into an overly large chair.
And so the story of Emma continues...
