Agnes Wayte
morbid | theatrical | insecure
If she'd been born into our century Agnes would wear too much eyeliner and fishnet sleeves, listen to dirge metal, and post her artsy "photoshoots" set in cemeteries to Flickr.
As it is she's obsessed with death (or at least she thinks she is), and goes to great lengths to maintain the appearance of a romantically consumptive character forever roaming cold moors in filmy nightgowns. Stifling the rosiness of her 19-year-old complexion with layers of thick powder and draping the slightly-plump contours of her stubbornly-healthy body in gauzy dresses, she forever attempts to project a facade of boredom and dignity. Sometimes she even succeeds.
Her Choosing took her by surprise but was suitably romantic to be amenable to her tastes. Her parents' wealth permitted her a decent horse to ride, but she insisted on dressing inappropriately in silk slippers and lavish curls and a ghostly white gown, thinking that if someone spotted her in a location as scenic as the Wardwood that she could not bear to fail to live up to the expectations of that sighting.
By the time she reached the Wardtree she was limping on bleeding feet, her hair plastered to her neck with sweat and her rosebud mouth forming rich little curses at the way the Universe never seemed to line up with her intentions. As she wandered among the low-hanging branches seeking her calling she bitterly assumed she'd be given some cheery spotted creature, passing each piebald, brightly-marked totem with resignation.
She shouldn't have bothered: when she found her hands approaching one of the little stone-seeming deer, it was, in defiance of everything her life had thus far doled out, the perfect creature to win Agnes' morbid heart.
