Information

Damaeus
Legacy Name: Damaeus

The Bloodred Demi

Age: 18 years, 3 months, 4 days

Born: December 14th, 2007

Adopted: 18 years, 3 months, 4 days ago (Legacy)

Adopted: December 14th, 2007 (Legacy)

Statistics

• Level: 16
   
• Strength: 40
   
• Defense: 40
   
• Speed: 39
   
• Health: 41
   
• HP: 30/41
   
• Intelligence: 9
   
• Books Read: 9
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Unemployed

The Moon

When Damaeus was killed at the age of six, it was nothing personal. His was a political assassination, done to prove a point. However, that provided no consolation to the pale-haired little boy, lost and confused, with no understanding at all that he had in fact died. With neither enough anger to haunt nor the peace to pass on, he wandered the foggy shrouds of limbo, his memory muddled, aware only that he was not with his sister, and vaguely upset for it.

He met a few other individuals, but all of these were older and fog-bound for reasons different than his; in time, they went one way or the other, depending on what direction their contemplation had a tendency to take. Damae sat and talked with these as long as he could, but could not do the same, for he had nearly nothing to reflect on. It was also a long time before anyone bothered to explain his own state to him, most of his companions willingly subscribing to a selfish belief that he was simply a hallucination. With the realization that he would not be able to see his sister ever again, Damae became quite distressed; the only scrap of identity he had been able to retain was his memory of her.

This newfound force of emotion fueled more urgent wandering; Damae now ignored those he might have sat with before, seeking not the alleviation of emptiness but a solution, a way to return to how he once was. Eventually, he came upon an old mirror, its frame cracked and worn. The surface, however, was unmarred, gleaming almost painfully clear.

I can give you what you want, a voice whispered, haunting in its tonelessness. What is your heart's desire?

As a living child, Damae might have questioned the nature of the voice, its origins, its purpose. However, he knew instinctively that it emated from the mirror, and the ambiguity of limbo had dulled him sufficiently that he had no questions left at all.

"My sister," he said. But the mirror chuckled in the face of his request, a cold sound rippling down his spine.

Do not lie to me.

It should have been his sister. To see her again. To talk with her. To remember more about her, for what was left to him was quickly growing clouded. What was her name again? Kezzi. But the mirror had refuted that...

His heart's desire.

"I want," he said, so quietly that not even he himself could hear his confession of guilt, "to live..."

~

He looks into the mirror, and each day he asks it to give him his life back, and each day it asks what price he would pay.

My sister, he says, always. Before, he would try to bargain, to offer something else... But the rules were quite clear.

A life for a life, the mirror says, monotone and unyeilding; it would not change its mind, and eventually he would become desperate enough to accept its terms. That was when the dreaming began.

When he dreamt, he existed in a world where his sister had rushed forward to take the blow for him. The assassins, satisfied that one twin was dead, left the other to his own devices, their duty done. Here, Damae was the one who lived, the one who had survived, and the one who grew up wandering the mansion that had been their inheritance. He befriends Cheshire, joins the Rebellion as a Seeker when the change-cat dies, and goes Ironside time after time to bring back new victims... And one day, he meets a painfully ordinary boy.

However, the dreams worked like a spell, as many things in Wonderland were inclined to do; within, he awoke at exactly nine in the morning, but once the clock strikes twelve, he falls back into the void. There he waits, aware only of time's passing, playing his false memories in an endless refrain until the mirror stirs once more and asks him the familiar question. What do you desire?

My life. The life I should have had.

And what will you give?

In time, March convinces himself that he is alive, that the void is simply the place he goes when he dreams... He brandishes this false reality like a ward against the emptiness, desperate to believe in the vibrant illusion. In time, he forgets the truth, even the nature of his sacrifice, consumed in his entirety by the webwork of lies strung out by a magic mirror...

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