I've actually got one character that I don't play very often...I have several I say are my favorites; but because I know them so well. I have a special fondness for them that I've developed over several years of playing with them. They speak to me, and we have the best adventures.
But I've got one character that above all the others I have a special space for in my head, and she's truly unique among all the rest.
Her name is Rosellynn, and she's a fairy princess- I know, it sounds cliche. Shh...give it a second.
She's a very...quiet child. I play her anywhere from an appearance of sixteen to twenty, but her demeanor remains the same, as well as much of her appearance.
She's a pale white skinned girl with long grey hair, and eyes like quicksilver. They shine oddly in the light, rimmed in thick and heavy eyelashes. Her skin is untouched, flawless and smooth save for the fine hairs along it, and she has a quiet way of moving...breathing...that when she stops it's easy to forget she's there. As though she doesn't disturb the air around her like most other living breathing things. She's an essence of barren emptiness..of quietly resting snow.
She's lithe and short, no more than say perhaps four foot at her earlier play years, and finishing at five and a half feet in those later.
But what's special about her isn't how terribly empty or plain she is...she's quiet. So quiet...and she doesn't speak. Most think of her as mute; or believe her to be. There has been no evidence to the opposite, so she very well may be- nobody has brought her enough reason to prove otherwise. She is not concerned with people...the bustling and hurrying of them. She could sit for hours examining a crack...contemplating the world within it. Following it along it's grooves to see where it has gone..where it will be...and where it is now. Spiraling into thoughts about how it is everywhere- this crack a crack in her mind and wondering if she is seeing it or if she's meerly looking far too hard into herself..or perhaps the crack itself is looking into her. She wonders, is it following her, or is she following it? And if so, which of them is real? Which was there first, and who will be the last to leave? If the crack were patched..would it cease to be, or would it just be decorated then? Would it die if it ceased to exist..? And if she were the crack as she began thinking she may be...would she too cease to exist?
And would that be alright..? Was there something in nothing? Air was in most ways nothing, but it was everywhere...and holds power over so many things..what if she became the air? Would she breathe life in and out of all living things? Was that what she would become when she died...? Would she simply become everything? And then...was she already someone else?
These are the ways her brain works, and that's why I love her. She can spend hours staring at a crack, motionless. Speechless. Her parents come to pick her up and take her to eat..none the wiser. Thinking their child touched in the head, as she'd been supplanted in a human home without their knowing...and she is the most colorful and limitless mind I have in my collection- this seemingly empty ball of cute and useless flesh.
