sirens, nooses and muses. [pv marcella] - Great Lake

2 May 2026, 10:49

BY ONE ACT I HAVE RUINED EVERYTHING ; BOW WITH ME AS I LEAN TOWARDS MADNESS. SACRED IS THE MIND.
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[ CODED BY ELENA CLARK ]

WORDCOUNT 409 🂱 CLOTHING WHITE GOWN 🂱SONG TO THE SIREN 🂱 LYRICS 🂱 ❝ SHOULD I STAND AMID THE BREAKERS? OR SHOULD I LIE WITH DEATH MY BRIDE? HEAR ME SING; SWIM TO ME, SWIM TO ME. ❞

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🂱🂱🂱𝔗he restless were often in a quest to quench their adrift mind, a catharsis to cleanse their turbulent tides. The Great Lake was always unnaturally calm, never stirring, never restive. She would often ponder that such calmness was a sign of calamity, what some would call 'the calm before the storm.' But it never proved about to be the sort, always a strong pillar of tranquility. But in the squinting twilight, the trickster was the opposite of any synonyms of calm.

It was akin to the pull of a siren's call, a melody that she couldn't resist. A strong lure into whatever that called out to her. A yearning like that of selkies to the sea. Wrenching herself away from the ever alluring window, the witch contemplated the matter again. A few more hours could be stolen from the curfew, as it was still not beyond any restrictions. Delirious, mind muddled with incomprehensible thoughts, the blonde left her dormitory in a haze. It was a recurring event, forming in her earliest memories of childhood. There would often be days the witch was ill at ease, simply aching to do anything other than monotonous rhythm that followed her everyday, instances where racing thoughts didn't align with her surroundings. Some solace was found in the reprieve of brooms and tricks. But how far does the liberty of such take you before finally succumbing to ennui?

The corridors were hushed, only the faint clicking of her shoes were heard. Even though the sun hadn't bled out, and dusk was only slowly approaching, she made an attempt to quieten her footsteps lest she stumbled upon an unwanted guest. There was no wish in her heart to make any small talk along the way, all she needed was an out. The crisp air hit her like a bludger, a relief to her greedy lungs. Tentatively moving forward without much thoughts to guide her soles. There was a certain lightness to her steps, almost as if she were treading on air, gravity forsaken.
Murky greens met her, and she sank to its edges, a feeling of respite washing over her. The Great Lake opposed her state, with all its usual stillness. At that moment, Estella felt slight strings of envy pulling at her psyche. It was silly, yes, being envious of such inanimate depths. Maybe later, she would laugh at its absurdity, but in the waning light, all she wanted was a moment of respite.

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STA 5 ✦ STR 5 ✦ WIS 8 ✦ ARC 4 ✦ EVA 4 ✦ ACC 4

location ; The Great Lake
date ; march 21st, 2026

mentions ; @marcella di angelo, @name surname
ooc notes ; divas meet!!

INTUITION ✦ ABILITY ✦ ABILITY ✦ ABILITY ✦ ABILITY

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❝ 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭.❞
▪︎ sta 5 ▪︎ str 5 ▪︎ wis 8 ▪︎ arc 4 ▪︎ eva 4 ▪︎ acc 4▪︎
𝐄𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 V 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧

Marcella di Angelo

Second year, Duellist, Ravenclaw

1 270 37

3 May 2026, 08:57

vincere aut mori │Dialogue, thoughts, Italian

mars	`☥ MENTIONS —` @Estella Cain	21.03.2026 `— DATE ☥`
mars	`☥ OUTFIT—` boo	454 `— WORDCOUNT ☥`	mars

The siren sang her song, along the shores of greatness’ depths. The setting sun glimmered on her waters mesmerizing the raven’s claim. She buttoned, she combed and she laced. She swirled and bid farewell as she made haste. To her homeland, that awaits. Sweet notes filled the silence. The raven sang to announce the presence. The presence of the calm before the storm. The presence only the champion of the angel resonates with.

She does not speak as she thinks, she does not think as she should, and so it all goes on in helpless darkness. And darkness, yes, was falling upon the residents. The lord of the day still sat high and mighty in his throne, but there’s only so much time dear Apollo can guard the lands of his foremother. He prepares his chariot as he makes way for his sister, the goddess Artemis. The lady of the night, the deity of the moon and the guardian of the sky’s rest. To avoid trouble that fast approaches, the witch of wonder neared the tree yonder. Sat underneath as the breeze kissed her.

Her gaze swept the lake, as the young girl enjoyed for a while. The melody that haunted escaped the petals of the flower. Each note reflecting every thought. A song well made on time for dawn. To capture something akin to lightning’s speed, a canvas to paint was taken out. Bottles in colors and shapes that differed – one big, one small, one large and one wide. They were gently placed to bring the art alive.

The fair lady got to work as her hands hurried to capture. Colour soaked in, and the vision was drawn.

Yet something was amiss. Satisfaction did not swell as it should. Something was out of place. But what? She did not know. An hour at best was left to enjoy. But would she find what was missing? Unpredictable. Most likely no. But what if, what if? The question still stands. Oh mighty Apollo, answer one last time before you make haste. What does my heart yearn for?

She tried, and she tried.

Poor Marcella, the epitome of the angels. What will cure her? Sang the hyacinths, as they looked at their lady amidst her dilemma.

Oh, what a world this is! What will cure our mistress? Sang the leaves as they looked at their lady amidst her dilemma.

Under the willow tree, the girl whose mind races, what will be her fate? Sang the trees as they looked at their lady amidst her dilemma.

The fate of di Angelo! Chorused her subjects, as she stared at her canvas.

The image was captured. Yet it is not perfect. How can one be perfect when one misses?

enciclopedia
sta • 4 | eva • 5 | str • 4 | wis • 8 | arcp • 6 | acc • 8

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sirens, nooses and muses. pv marcella