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A private rp in which the members are able to develop their characters with updates on their profiles, descriptions of their abilities, and extra chara. information.
✞ SUBJECTS - → best - Transfiguration & Flying → worst - Potions & History of Magic ✞ COLOR - Sunset Orange ✞ TRAITS - → one - Outgoing → two - Stubborn → three - Loud ✞ FOOD - Buttered Popcorn ✞ DRINK - Soda ✞ CREATURES - → pet - "Bollocks t' pets, can barely tend meself." → favourite - Chimaera ✞ HOBBIES - Skateboarding, Traveling ✞ MUSIC - Punk, Alternative Rock
Family & History
Mr and Mrs O'Dair of 37 Burmah Street, Ormeau Road believed their daughter could do no wrong. She was demure, obedient, always bent over her bed in prayer before sleep, palms reverently flushed together. Umbra was the perfect little cherub that every respectable Christian household could ever hope of having.
Well, until a few weeks ago.
It all started on a particularly beautiful Sunday afternoon, the promise of spring casting Umbra's outdoor Bible Study in a haze of muted green. The high Irish winds relaxed into a pleasant breeze - at least, that was what Umbra's teacher Ms. Shannon was telling Mrs. O'Dair over the phone. She could still clearly picture Umbra with her eyes following the wind, Bible verses forgotten. The harder her curly-haired student focused, the more shrill the air began to vaguely sing, a facsimile of choirlike soprano. When Ms. Shannon walked behind her and forcibly shoved her head back down to her pages, the singing stopped. Eyes pinched, she relayed the fanatic superstition into the receiver, telling Mrs. O'Dair she ought to keep her only child in check, lest she stray from the embrace of the Lord. Things only worsened as the week progressed. For her zealot of a teacher, the sight of the little O'Dair brat grew into a bad omen. Every time she was disciplined or given a strike behind the head with her Bible, Shannon suddenly found a pencil missing, a chill in the air, or even a cup of tea knocked over, shattering the china.
"Perhaps it was the wind?" Umbra supplied once questioned, leaving a frazzled Ms. Shannon to clutch the beads at her breast in prayer.
When Umbra had wheeled back to Ormeau Road, her parents were waiting in the kitchen, and once words like "Demon's getting inside you" and "Satan's power" got tossed around, Umbra clutched her skateboard with brimming tears, admitting that while she had no clue what was going on herself, it wasn't Satan; it was just her. From what Umbra understood, it almost felt like a gift.
"No, no, no, girl." Mrs. O'Dair hushed her, phone dangling limply at her hip. "Satan's clever! He doesn't let you know he's workin' through you."
"You must renounce this.. this evil Ms. Shannon speaks of," Mr. O'Dair said with disgust. "You must never use it, or you'll have to have it forced out of you."
"I can't stop it!" Umbra yelled, vision blurred as she felt her skateboard get ripped from her grasp. Her scalp started itching. She could only hear vague words regarding punishments and consequences before Mr. O'Dair lifted his knee, and when the sound of her board snapping in half pierced the air, so did something in her. With a wail, the kitchen lights flickered and her hair burned an intense orange.
Her mom pulled her by the ear to her room, forbidden to leave until she took her penance and asked to be forgiven.
Providence came in the form of an invitational letter. Finding her key out, she lied, telling her parents that she had recognized the darkness within and would attend a correctional boarding school. She didn't know if the fact they were too blinded by relief to have her gone, to the extent that they never even questioned it, made this easier or sadder.
