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Charakter ProfilDelfina De'Puy
Ist zur Zeit offline Beschreibung des CharaktersKeine deutsche Fassung vorhanden  elfina De’Puy carries herself with effortless poise, her every step deliberate, her posture unbending, her figure sculpted and graceful. Her complexion is a warm, even tan, smooth and luminous. Golden-hazel eyes, almond-shaped and slightly upturned at the corners, study the world with an intelligent, measured gaze. They sit beneath finely arched brows, framing her expression with a touch of severity that softens only when she chooses. Long black lashes blink slowly, deliberately, each gesture intentional. Her nose is narrow and gently upturned, her cheekbones high and defined, and her lips full with a distinct cupid’s bow, often painted in soft rose or a muted calamine hue. Her hair, long, thick, and black as moonless velvet, is always meticulously styled, glossy and pinned with care. Not a strand dares fall out of place. Her nails, painted a deep carmine, tap thoughtfully against the silver amulet she always wears. That amulet, a family heirloom passed down from her grandmother Marie Dampierre, is not her only piece of jewelry, but it is the most striking. A deep amethyst wrapped in fine silver filigree, sharp and elegant, it seems to pulse faintly when she touches it. She often does, absently when thinking, purposefully when commanding the room. There’s refinement in all she wears: tailored fabrics in dark tones, sharp lines softened by graceful detail. She dresses like someone who never questions her place, and speaks in the same way, her voice low, warm, and deliberately sweet, edged with something sharper underneath.
Geschichte des CharaktersKeine deutsche Fassung vorhanden  he night breathed grief. It draped over the city like a velvet shroud, dense and suffocating, as if even the stars dared not shine too brightly. A pale moon hung low, casting a ghostly sheen over the cobblestones that led to the town square - a place that, on any other night, might echo with laughter or the chatter of market stalls. But not tonight. At sixteen, Delfina stood still among the crowd, a pale blur of faces pressed together by fear and morbid fascination. Her fingers were cold. Her heart trembled in her chest like a bird beating its wings against the bars of a cage. She didn’t blink. She couldn’t. Up on the council’s raised platform stood her grandmother, Marie Dampierre, tall, proud, unflinching. Her hands were bound, but her spirit was not. Delfina’s eyes locked with hers for a fleeting second, and in that moment, it was as if time held its breath. A silence had fallen, an unnatural one. It wasn't peace. It was the kind of silence that came before ruin. Then, the council spoke. Voices cracked like whips, loud and brutal, laced with venom masked as righteousness. They painted her grandmother as a monster, a summoner of shadows, a threat to their world. Each word felt like a blade drawn across skin, merciless, deliberate. Delfina flinched with every accusation, every lie shouted as truth. Around her, whispers slithered like snakes through the crowd. Some turned their eyes away. Others stared too long. She could feel the weight of them, those who once called her family friends, now stricken with fear, shame, and silence. The name Du’Puy, once spoken with respect, now hung from mouths like a curse. Margaret, her mother, tightened her grip around Delfina’s arm, her fingers trembling. "Delfina," she whispered, so softly it barely touched the air. "Please… don’t speak. Don’t make this worse." But how could she not? Her throat burned. Her chest heaved with unshed sobs. And still... she said nothing. Until they gave the sentence. Until they said the words that would end a life. Then Delfina broke. Her cry tore through the night like thunder, raw, jagged, and unrestrained. Her voice cracked as if the sound alone could stop what was already set in motion. "You can’t do this!" she screamed, though somewhere deep inside, she already knew... they could. And they would. And they did. What followed was something she would never forget. The sounds. The gasps. The way the fire danced. The way her grandmother didn’t scream. And the unbearable truth that dug its claws into her soul: Delfina could have saved her. She had been the final piece. Her blood. Her will. The ritual her grandmother’s coven, Cercle de l’Éclipse, had whispered about for weeks. A way to turn fate on its head. But Delfina had hesitated. She had clung to safety. To silence. And that silence had cost a life. Her grandmother’s death wasn’t just a loss, it was a fracture. A ripping apart of everything Delfina thought she knew about love, loyalty, and fear. Guilt took root in her chest like a poison flower, blooming slowly, endlessly. Every heartbeat whispered: You let her die. That night etched itself into her bones. It was the night she stopped being a girl. The night she became a shadow of who she once was, forever chasing the echo of her grandmother’s last defiant gaze. The night that set her on a path not of revenge, but of atonement. For her family. For herself. For the blood she didn’t spill when it mattered most. She would never forget. And she would never forgive. Not them. Not herself. Not the world that watched her grandmother burn and called it justice.
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