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 Hotaru Myeong, 11.30.2017

Hotaru Myeong


The sky is so beautiful. A graveyard of stars.


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Nov 30 2017, 11:09 AM   LINK Quote
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Name: Hotaru Myeong
Age: Sixteen
Year: Sixth
Bloodline: Half-Blood
Do you have more than one character? If yes, did you get permission to make this one, and from which admin?: Yes, Robin

Appearance:
Have you ever seen a pixie? One look at Hotaru’s height and petite frame, you’d think she was one with her large brown-black eyes and black-purple hair framing her small face a little past the chin.Full apricot colored lips rest just above her pointed chin, and a pronounced cupid’s bow sits beneath a rounded off thin nose.

Hotaru usually wears clothing in shades of black, gray and white with splashes of color here and there. Sometimes she can be seen with different colored chokers. Her favorite color is a deep, rich royal purple and lighter shades of the color as well.

One can always smell a soft floral scent of Jasmine, Cypress and Lavender as she walks by, the scent is subtle and comforting and seems to always permeate from her no matter the place or time.


Personality:
Inside the girl’s small body beats a heart that burns brightly, even if it is sometimes mournful for all that has transpired. Hotarue grew up around loud boisterous aunts but somehow still managed to maintain a soft and gentle voice. No one who has ever met Hotaru has heard the witch raise her voice above a conversational tone, because while she may be shy she is actually very decisive and firm. She has no difficulty expressing her opinions but is never imposing or threatening. Her mannerisms are gentle enough that they are never intrusive.

As far as blood purity is concerned – well with Hotaru that has never really been an issue since she was raised to choose and think for herself rather than put stock on the pureness of blood. She enjoys music and company as much as everyone else but her love lies with poetry. Her favorite poet is e.e. Cummings and she can usually be seen carrying around a small tattered book she received as a gift from a ghost.

One of Hotaru’s habits is to draw on her jeans or on her shoes, she’s been doing it since she was little. Sometimes she has been known to take markers and draw along her skin, creating her own tattoos along her arms or torso. She’s a quiet being who drifts through life the way a feather or leaves drifts through the wind, sometimes she’s got rocky landings and sometimes she soars and dances in its currents; but always she loves the feeling of flying even though falling is fatal. Hotaru’s always been a dreamer and a wisher. She’s wished to be someone better, someone less lonely and even someone worthy of everything she’s been given.

The girl radiates a self-possessed confidence that is strong but not boastful. Every movement is simply an extension of her soul and not always filled with purpose but made to satisfy herself. No one knows just who Hotaru is as sometimes she is bound to speak in riddles. There is a strong sense of wanderlust, and despite the fact that she can’t exert extreme amounts of physical energy she has been known to take long quiet walk either alone or with her familiar Salem at all hours of the day.

Studying is difficult for Hotaru sometimes, the monotony of it all makes her lose interest rather quickly and she can sometimes be found spacing out during class if the lecture is too boring. She likes to study in more creative ways, sometimes employing the help of her familiar to make things much more interesting. Yet she is not afraid to show how intelligent she is and finds it difficult to take people who swear every other word seriously. Although she isn’t prone to judging people based on first impressions or attitudes Hotaru does have a very strong sixth sense about people. Usually it takes her no more than one meeting to determine whether she will like a person or not. Even if she doesn’t like someone she’s not the type to go out of her way to be rude to them; although she will avoid them. This makes it difficult to understand whether Hotaru is just being Hotaru and wandering alone or whether she is actively trying to avoid people. Friends have been known to become confused.

Showing affection isn’t foreign to the young witch, she will show support and care for those she cares for and is not a stranger in coming to their rescue. Some might think that because she is quiet she is also easily managed but they would be surprised to find that the little witch has claws of her own. Usually if she deems something not worth responding to Hotaru will just look at someone with her fathomless large eyes.

Unlike many, Hotaru is not stubborn, pigheaded or headstrong. She has a strong sense of right and wrong and is simply unafraid to stand up for it. That being said, conflict can be rather difficult for her and she has never raised her hand, her voice or used her body in violence. That is not to say that Hotaru is not without flaws because for every person that tries to hurt her verbally, Hotaru will return the favor without a second thought. She can be a little petty and is prone to brood from time to time. She’s generally a nice person to hang out with, enigmatic and alluring. Hotaru’s affinity lies with healing, it is her desire to help and protect that strengthen her resolve and perhaps what bolsters her healing magic.

Some of her favorite pastimes include getting lost in stories, or exploring dark dank places. Hotaru loves crystals, she enjoys their reflective surfaces as much as she loves their clouded interiors. The sound of shattering glass is as equally appealing to the witch as the sound of glass tinkling together. A good quiet day could be as appealing to Hotaru as being around a loud boisterous cloud, it all just depends on her mood. Because of certain eccentricities or just her overall likes and dislikes, Hotaru can often feel like she doesn’t belong and is somehow set apart from the crowd instead of being able to fully integrate.


Character Background:

“There was a girl.

She was a story, not an epilogue.”


Before Hotaru came to live with her aunts she had been happy. Her mother was alive and her father – though cursed with no magic – was happy as well, nothing could bring her down. She could easily befriend her preschool classmates and though she had always been a little strange, it seemed that the innocence of the children around her meshed well with her own. Even after her father had been disowned by his family he still kept in touch with his sisters, and Hotaru grew up knowing her aunts and their crazy ways. Sakura Rin was a genius and a muggle, and her marriage to Jae-Sun Myeong had only caused further friction between her father and his family. Hotaru was fascinated by her mother’s studies, it was like being taken to a candy story and being allowed to pick all the candies her little arms could carry each time she was allowed to accompany Sakura to work.

She couldn’t have known that she was destined to destroy it all.

No one knew just how it happened, except for maybe Hotaru; but she was too small at the time to remember. There had been pretty vials with pretty colors, each one creating a pleasant ring as glass collided against glass. Fingers had reached out to touch the vibrant colors and something had been knocked over in the process. Sakura had come running, pulling Hotaru away from under her arms before the fire sprang up. Then there was smoke and screaming, and her lungs had been burning because she was choking on the dark clouds.

Jae-Sun is never the same again after Sakura’s funeral. He couldn’t bear to look down at his daughter and see nothing but his wife. It took one second for him to decide that she would be better off with other women, and so, he took her to his sisters in the middle of the night and left her at their doorstep. Hotaru had stood outside in the cool island air, hugging the little brown teddy bear she’d always slept with; a suitcase at her bare feet, her wide watering eyes staring off after her father’s car. He’d left her without as much as a farewell, never to be heard of again. Even then, at the age of seven she didn’t cry for him to come back; she didn’t give the disappearing taillights the pleasure of seeing her stumble and fall as she chased after them; but she did wonder if he ever looked into that rearview mirror and see her small frame growing smaller by the second. She hoped that he looked. At least once.

The three witches lived on an island; isolated from most of the world in their old Victorian styled home. It was an old house with creaking stairs and too many windows, yet some of rooms still managed to be bright. On the outside the house was framed by a white picket fence and a wraparound porch with a garden and gazebo in the front, both overlooking the water. The kitchen, conservatory and pantry were Hotaru’s favorite places to be.

Fog rushed up and over the grass, the house sitting ominously behind her in complete silence until the front door had creaked open. None of the sisters knew the first thing about caring for an eight year old. To them it was perfectly fine to feed chocolates dripping, whip cream laden French toast for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Adjusting had proven difficult for Hotaru, because while she knew her aunts they were still complete strangers. She often missed her mother and would find crawl spaces in the old house and hide for hours at a time; sending the three older witches into a frenzy as they tried to find her.

One day, as Hotaru was hiding in the library, she met Isabel Smith. Her hair was dark as night, her skin so ghostly white and transparent and her skirts voluminous. Isabel didn’t speak and Hotaru was terrified of seeing a ghost for the first time but since Isabel didn’t attack her, Hotaru didn’t bother screaming or running away. She could hear the aunts running around, their pounding footfalls sending the house into a frenzied state of wood groaning and moaning. Isabel Smith had been a pilgrim, she’d been stoned to death by the villagers after withstanding torture and maiming at their hands before dying. The Myeong sisters had allowed her to stay here, but even after death she couldn’t speak. Sometimes her features turned murderous and bloody, distorted to mirror the gruesome aftermath of her death but Hotaru had only been curious. Small as the little witch was, she understood compassion and never shied away from Isabel. Communicating was a problem but the two soon found a steady way to speak to one another. Isabel’s ghost loved poetry, Hotaru had seen her sitting at the cushioned window seat in her aunts’ library with scattered books of poetry on the floor and on the seat around her. The cats or the aunts were more than likely responsible for leaving them out for her.

Friendship grew into companionship between ghost and child until Isabel took to staying in Hotaru’s room, or accompanying her in the garden. Sometimes the two played in the conservatory and others they simply sat and watched the water from the gazebo. Being raised by a ghost and three aunts was enough to make a girl strange and even though sometimes she missed her father, she loved her four mothers and wouldn’t trade her situation for anything in the world.

“Her scapulae were delicate wings; her skull was a psalm to the elegant dancer waiting beneath the flesh of all who walked the earth.”


“The first time you came here the sea couldn’t have been angrier. There was a raging storm with howling winds and rain pelting against the shutters. We were soaking wet by the time we got inside with you. Mark my words Hotaru, it was fate at large.”

Twas the night before she’d leave for Hogwarts and Hotaru had been a wide eyed eleven year old even though she’d heard this story many times before. When the aunts told their tale she was transported back to that first night even though she couldn’t remember it. Hotaru had always suspected that the three old spinsters always cast a spell for her to see what they remembered, that most of the memories of the time she had arrived were theirs and not hers. They were all sitting around the small island in the kitchen, Akame as quiet as Isabel and frosting cupcakes with what she called “stardust” sugar, which changed colors like a mood ring depending on who picked it up and their current mood. Chocolate and peanut butter stuck to the roof of Hotaru’s mouth and Salem rumbled happily as Kimiko stroked his belly while he splayed in her lap. She couldn't reconcile the image they portrayed with the images of two red lights growing into small dots in the distance, or the quiet of the evening and the terror her body remembered feeling.

Everyone save for Isabel had been with her at Diagon Alley, buying her school supplies and arguing over broomsticks and whether they should tour Hogsmeade from there and get butter beers. Salem had padded along beside the wide eyed Hotaru as they walked the crowded streets behind the aunts. Only Isabel had stayed behind to guard the house. They spent their last night talking late into the evening, all of them hyped up on sugar and excitement. Eventually the aunts started drinking and it only became even more hilarious when Kimiko started shifting between her animal form and her witch form each time she hiccupped.

Before time was a concept and self-awareness was actualized a girl lay before a death god. She was a small and inconsequential in the greater scheme of things, her tiny baby limbs flailing, face purpled from her crying, and her little fists angry as they punched at the air above. The hall was immense, stretching up to dark starry infinity, plunging down below into the abyss. Footfalls resounded against the stone as others had come to stand before Him to await their judgment. The dog headed god waited, sleep and black; His high pointed ears focused forward, sitting back on His haunches as he stared down through seamless black eyes at the raging infant. Blue crystal walls and floors sang a song that washed through her, pushing away fear and pain as they always tended to do.

The souls of the dead rushed past, crystal draperies fluttering and sliding past the edge into the well of souls.


Sometime during the night the little witch had fallen asleep. Now she awoke with a start, following on the heels of the dream. Her bedroom was quiet and dark with Isabel standing at the opened double doors, leaning against the balcony and staring out into the water. The ghost had been in the island house since the aunts had moved in and had taken a liking to Hotaru as soon as the little girl discovered her moving silently throughout the house. Each time she awoke from the dream Hotaru remembered the story her aunts used to tell her. They said that her mother’s pregnancy had been a complicated one and had her squib father sought out their help instead of depending on Muggle technology, she might have lived. They didn’t realized how much pain saying such things to a child could cause. How much damage and pressure it created as Hotaru often sat, wondering if she had been the reason her mother had died.

Salem had been a little black ball of fur with moss green eyes and tender claws when he was given to Hotaru for her ninth birthday. Chiyoko – the seer of the sisters – had deemed her old enough to start caring for her new pet. Hotaru slept, bathed, played, and even smuggled Salem to school in her backpack every single day. If ever permanently separated, Hotaru imagined they would both suffer immense physical and emotional pain. The two had become inseparable but also remained strictly independent. Salem hunted mice that found their way into the house, but always seemed to leave the spiders and the rats alone. He was a curious cat who had seemed to show up out of nowhere. When she’d asked, all of her aunts were decisively mute on the subject of his origins. She suspected they’d stolen him from the local shelter, but no one came to arrest them or claim him, so she didn’t pursue it further. Hotaru, Isabel and Salem sat on the balcony railing of her bedroom watching the waves crash on the shore, the moon’s light glittering down against the surface of the water until the sun rose and they were forced to say goodbye.

The ghost of the pilgrimess had become such a precious existence to Hotaru that she didn’t want to leave her behind; yet begging her to go where other ghosts also roamed, to beg her to leave her home seemed like too much of a selfish request that she bit her lip and kept quiet instead. Salem would be with her, and that was enough to set the young witch’s heart at ease. Silently she’d sent out a prayer to that dog headed god of her dreams that he’d watch over her, and allow her to make friends.


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