Porcelain

In her first life, Hearth was a Skydancer, shivering in the icy grip of her homeland. The piercing white snow that blinded other creatures was no match for her magic, and she tore apart villages with wild blizzards summoned out of thin air. The ice queen ruled with a cold fist and an even colder heart, and died bleeding on her own throne, her throat slit by the closest thing she had to a friend.

In her second life, Tessa was a Serthis, forced into battle at a young age. She was always first to volunteer for odd jobs nobody enjoyed. In this way, she made herself small and insignificant, until no one would ever consider her a target. When the sects combined and war broke out, she weathered the chaos easily, falling into place at the bottom of the social ladder. And when she died, her neck snapped by a Guardian hatchling who had been a little too curious and a little too rough, nobody missed her.

In his third life, Stoneclaw was a Guardian, and he remembered. The tired lines on his father’s face did not hide his identity. When the hatchling was old enough to question his father, to ask how he could kill so mercilessly, Stoneclaw was cast out of the nest. Surely he was a seer, to know such events of the past, and so Stoneclaw traveled to the Spiral Keep to listen for prophecies from a long dead God. He heard nothing in the bubbles made from his own breath, but the solitude of the sea suited him, and gave him time to plan. Before he could carry out his revenge, Stoneclaw was caught in a rogue storm, and drowned in the silent waters.

In their fourth life, Fen was a tundra, and did not remember. At the back of their mind something scratched and whispered, a crackling radio static that could never be tuned correctly. Fen lived unremarkably for a time, fishing on the edge of the wandering contagion bordering the sea, drawn to its depths by an unexplainable hunger. One day the mystery of the sea could not be denied, and Fen let their boat drift into the wide expanse of ocean, searching for something they could never find.

In his fifth life, Pine was a Skydancer, shivering in the icy grip of his homeland. The neighboring village was home to a beautiful girl, feathers as white and shiny as the snow around them, and he would follow her into the cold emptiness of the world. He watched her tear down villages and build an empire, and it was only afterward, the taste of her blood staining his muzzle, that he remembered. He died next to her, on the altar of the throne they had built.

In her sixth life, Velissa was a Maren. She screamed in the low caverns of her home, desperate to stop remembering, to sleep and not wake up again. Her mind roiled like the tides until she had a plan, and set out from the ocean caverns armed with only a stone knife and enough poison to kill a dragon. She retraced her steps easily, as if in a dream, and found the hidden nest of the Guardian family that had raised and killed her. Her father was older now, beard dangling off the hard planes of his face like old kelp. He did not recognize her as she cut him open, blood clouding around them like ink in the water. Once her revenge was complete, Velissa surfaced, beaching herself on the shore until her tired lungs could no longer force in air. She drifted to sleep.

She woke up.

In an unnamed life, he was a Snapper.

In another, she was a Harpy.

She died in her sleep from an unknown disease.

Her neck snapped in the Hewn City before she got to see the mysterious inhabitants that had killed her.

He was strangled by wires because of poor cable management.

They jumped in the Wyrmwound, half hoping to drown, instead coming out with stunted, limp wings.

She spent her endless years trying to find an explanation or a cure for this curse, making her way to the Tourmaline Archives in a handful of bodies. Multiple lifetimes poring over the secrets within offered no solutions. In one fit of rage, a Mirror set fire to several of the bookcases, but enchantments quickly put out the blaze. In another, a Coatl refused to eat or sleep until someone helped them, and it took weeks for the staff to notice the body. A more creative solution was needed.

A young Guardian made the familiar journey to the archives to end the endless nightmare.
The truth was revealed to him in a long forgotten corner of the library. Hundreds of dusty, forsaken tombs, filled with answers for hundreds of dead creatures. The key was not an endless death, but an endless life. There was no forever sleep. Each day that he woke up would be a new life, so he must never rest. There are a thousand wicked ways for a dragon to live longer, and he tried them all, his travels leading him to the darkest corners of the world.

Why have I told you this story, child? I am the monster in the woods. Look upon my porcelain face. Your mouth can lie, but your eyes speak the truth. You know what I am. I keep the skins of my past lives, stretched onto a thousand masks I carry on my carapaced back. A thousand skittering legs betray my hidden nature, and a thousand eyes painted along my body observe the world that tortured me for a thousand lifetimes. I am a thing to warn you, a reflection of your darkest impulses made flesh. Do you believe the story?

You want to try on a mask. To look through the world in another’s eyes, to taste acidic betrayal in your mouth and feel righteous vengeance burning in your veins. You want to know what it’s like to die for a cause and kill for yourself. You want to feel it, for just a moment. Go ahead, pick a mask. Each face is the cover of a book, a lifetime of stories you can inhabit. All that I ask in return is a story from you. One day I will carry the memory of all living things on my back. When the sun dims and the world stops turning, I will still be here, wandering, and you will be here with me.

Put on the mask. You are a Skydancer, shivering in the icy grip of your homeland. The piercing white snow that blinds other creatures is no match for your magic. You can tear apart villages with wild blizzards summoned out of thin air. How does it feel to rule with a cold fist and an even colder heart? The rush of betrayal, to die bleeding on your own throne, throat slit by the closest thing you have to a friend. The agony, the romance.

Put on the mask. You are a Serthis, in a clan full of friends. You are small and insignificant, no one would consider you a target. When the sects combine and war breaks out, you are clever and weather the chaos easily. Isn’t it cruel to die like this, neck snapped by a Guardian hatchling who is a little too curious and a little too rough? Don’t you want revenge?

Put on the mask. Become the Maren who avenges her death, who skins a Guardian alive. How does the blood taste as it clouds in the water?

Which life is you?

Do you remember anymore?

Give me your face, and I will let you wear the mask.


(I will code the bio to be prettier later)