#ilia lantsov

[czernyss]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐜?

i was tagged by the lovely @zoyazenik to take this uquiz for my ocs!! this was really fun and helped me get to the core of my characters. i’m tagging: @arrthurpendragon , @babyroblns , @fragilestorm , @prosemoireia , @hiddenqveendom​ , and anyone else who wants to take this quiz!!

frankensteins monster ⚰️

this plight is the simplest of them all: you did not ask for this. you were never given a choice. no part of yourself feels human, just a collection of traits you've picked up from mirroring anyone you could, even the people you meet through a television screen. it's alienating to live that way- yet someone has called you the alienating one. maybe too many people to count. maybe they treated you so uncomfortably inhuman that it's all you can understand now, or you've dug yourself into such a deep hole in an attempt to keep safe that you can't remember a person living in the home of your body at all. being alive is confusing and painful and lonely and loud but living is all there is to being human- you're already there. just take air into your lungs and breathe. close your eyes and picture a beautiful sky. you made that. you painted that yourself.

the one who opened the door 🕯️

you turn the door handle. you call out, “who’s there?” and the crowd has the audacity to groan, to get frustrated with you. as if the gift of hindsight was something you had. how the hell were you supposed to know you were born into a horror movie? no one bothered to tell you. say, if instead this was an action film, or a fantasy, would they still be telling you how silly of a mistake it was to press further on your quest? they would’ve commended you for your bravery. you thought you were going to be saving a princess in a tower, not getting stabbed in the back by a killer in the shadows. how is that fair? it isn’t, and none of that was ever your fault. it is not wrong to believe things are good. your trust, your optimism, it shouldn’t ever be mistaken for ignorance or stupidity. we need more people who open doors. how else are any of us gonna move forward?

the ghost 🪦

it’s an odd thing, to feel so far from grounded and yet trapped. tethered, unable to escape. there’s more you have to do! so why can’t you move? i’m sure you have an answer to that, at the very least in the back of your mind. people love to say that ghosts hold grudges or haunt for revenge but they always get it wrong; you’re stuck because something or someone chained you down and left you there. you try and reach out to all those bright people who pass through your life, but it rarely feels like it does much more than knock a cup off the table, blow some papers into the air. i need you to trust me- they see it. they’re listening. they’ll keep looking for you and, eventually, they’ll be able to see you too.

the harbringer 🧨

the harbringers have been through fire. you’ve got the scars to show for it. some people say that harbringers are jaded- scary, even, to people who don’t understand that the harbringer has seen the edge of the world and survived it. but being the harbringer means you’re cursed to watch younger, brighter eyes fall for the same traps you did. trying to help isn’t enough for you; you know what they’re getting themselves into, and you want to protect them the way no one ever protected you, so why won’t they just listen? it’s frustrating. it’s terrifying. no one should have to live through what you did, and i hope you know that you can’t protect everyone but it’s damn noble of you to try. it’s not your job to save the world but i hope you know you’ve already made a difference to everyone who has taken your words to heart. 

[czernyss]

THE NIGHT HOURS 🫀

 → ilia lantsov 

“She was born to die, and resurrected again, the Corpse Princess with a shadow in her stead.”

 The youngest heir to the Ravkan Royal Family, Ilia Lantsov should have had all the luxuries afforded to a royal child. With her eldest brother Vasily first in line for the throne, both her and her favourite brother Nikolai were allowed to do as they pleased, to live life as they so choosed. Nikolai did as he wanted, denouncing all responsibilities, sometimes gone from the palace months at a time. In her dreams, Ilia went with him, travelling the world with nothing but adventure and adrenaline at her side. 

But fate had other plans. Ilia Lantsov, precious daughter to the Queen Consort, was born a Grisha. 

Showing signs even before she was tested, it was announced early on that the Princess was Corporalki, a Healer, and tensions soon rose over whether she would be kept in the Little Palace with the others, or stay as Princess. Little was done to quell the rumours soon spreading across the land, and it seemed the King and Queen themselves were not sure what to do with their daughter. 

All that came to an end on her 10th birthday, when Ilia escaped the confines of the palace for a stroll in the woods. There she was set upon by a horde of Drüskelle. Beaten within an inch of her life, Ilia was saved by the leader of the Second Army himself, General Kirigan, and brought back to the palace. Her limp body was presented to her parents, blood coating so much of her it was hard to tell whether she still had a face. 

That day, in the throne room surrounded by nobles and Grisha alike, Ilia Lantsov died. 

But in their grief, the Royal Family refused to believe that was their child’s fate. One storming night, the Queen arrived on the Darklings doorstep, and pleaded that he bring back her precious daughter. The General warned Tatiana of what could come of such darkness, that Ilia might never return, and if she did, she would not be the same. But the Queen did not care, and so Kirigan set about resurrecting her child.

For three days the Darkling stayed with the corpse of Ilia Lantsov, and for three days all of Ravka seemed to hold it’s breath. On the fifth day the General emerged, his clothes sweat through, blood pumping from his nose. Inside the room, shadows seemed to dance, and a foul stench pooled at the edges of what was real and what was delusion. But there in the centre, on a bed of the deepest crimson, the Princess was reborn. 

[czernyss]

⎯ not yet corpses, still we rot

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