#omg my ps keeps crashing so i was unable to make a cute lil intro graphic :'(

[ofmelodies]

🌙 — ALL ABOARD ! The HMS PROMETHEAN welcomes ISABELLE ARRYN to the expedition in their capacity of songbird. They are THIRTY-TWO & CISFEMALE and might be painted as AMANDA SEYFRIED. When you strike up an acquaintance, address them as she/her. Their deeds on land precede their arrival — people say they are charismatic, joyful and open-minded but melancholic, distant, and critical when the tide turns. Their purpose aboard the Promethean falls in line with self redemption, and coming to face with the biggest demon of all: rejection. 

ACT I : GOD’S GIFT

NO ONE TRULY knows how or when you appeared. A scrawny naked child caked with dirt from blonde head to pinky toe. You like to say, now that you know better than to divulge this information, that you were born on a sunny summer day, to a loving mother while your father was off to war. There was never a mother or a father. Just you, and the constant hunger and fear that envelops all of London’s street urchins. A golden voice that brings tears to the eyes of all that are lucky enough to hear, is your meal ticket. A tiny thing, singing with conviction of love and loss, hope and despair. 

ACT II : SAVIOR OR DEVIL ? 

IT IS ONLY a matter of time before someone with the entrepreneurial flair sniffs you out. Your vulnerability is too easy to take advantage of ---- the price for your voice too low. He coaxes you out of the streets, into a scalding bath. Maids rub you until you’re pink, and you lift your hands, truly seeing them for the first time. Blonde locks are combed, and you’re stuck in a scratchy dress that screams wealth. Then come the lessons. Voice lessons, history, reading and writing --- you do it all. When you’re finally done, you are a woman flowered, ready to take on the world, and provide the return on your savior’s investment. 

ACT III : A STAR IS BORN

THE FLU APPEARS as suddenly as it leaves. Your savior is bed ridden, the kiss of death moments from pressing against his lips, the only true lover’s embrace he will ever feel. There are no sons, no daughters, no aunts nor uncles. He gives it all to you. It was never meant to happen this way, and though you are a songbird finally free from your gilded cage, you can’t help but shed a tear as his grasp on your hands loosens. With the estate and the coffers at your disposal, you make your debut on the entertainment stage - a mysterious, beautiful creature with a voice that enchants common folk and aristocrats alike. London goes crazy for you. When once you were overlooked, you are now revered, a queen in your own right. You can have any man you desire - and you do desire, though you keep your nightly obsessions to yourself. You wouldn’t dare risk all that you’ve worked for. Until you meet HIM. The one who finally puts some sense into the songs of longing you sing every night. The stab of pain in your chest where the heart is supposed to beat makes you think you’re about to die. He brushes you off, toys with you to fuel more songs that are sung more beautifully by a heartbroken songstress than an indifferent composer.

ACT IV : A FALL FROM GRACE

IT DRIVES YOU to madness. You lose yourself to drinking and frolicking, first with London’s top bachelors, but that’s not enough. You’re losing the thrill. If you lose the thrill, your mind wanders back to the composer you can never have. You want MORE. You meet him backstage, a little older than you’re used to, but oh so regal. Grey eyes look at you as if you were the only girl in the world ---- no matter he already has one waiting at home. You feign ignorance when the tabloids hit, you try to spin yourself into the victim, but you realize quickly these people don’t actually LOVE you. They love what you do for them. The minute you are a threat to the good marriages of the people surrounding you, they treat you like the plague, whispering stories lewd and mad as they come. You even hear whispers and hints of a scheme you plotted to get rid of your savior, access his money. You stay holed up in YOUR estate. Not theirs, not his. Yours. 

ACT V: REDEMPTION, AT WHAT COST ?

You board the Promethean, acutely aware of the crowd’s hushed whispers as you walk up, luggage in tow. Head held high, you’ve prepared yourself for this day. It’s been years since you’ve made a public appearance, but you’re determined to keep it cool. You know what they’re saying, but you pay no mind. There are no married aristocrats on the Promethean that you know of ---- and if there are, you’re determined to stay well away from them. This is your shot at redemption, at getting away from the whispers that fuel London’s bourgeoisie. You’re stronger now, you’ve found the little girl with the dirty feet in yourself, and you don’t plan on letting her go.