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Got some new digs~

R O S A L B A

Roses fall, but the thorns remain.

[ | AP Tracker | Moodboard | Playlist ]

♛[ G E N E R A L ]♛
✦ name ||  Rosalba
✦ nicknames/aliases ||  Rosa, to very few
✦ age ||  43
✦ gender || demi female
✦ height ||  17h
✦ breed resemblance ||  Andalusian/baroque build
✦ Coat || silver bay sabino

✦ drive || Power, family
✦ alignment || Neutral evil
✦ voice || Lorraine Toussaint (Shadow Weaver from She-Ra) (example x )
✦ patron god ||  Kaia, Ignacio close after.
✦ zodiac || Dragon, sign of Ambition.

♛[ F A M I L Y ]♛
✦ orientation || Bisexual polyamarous
✦ partner ||  Open, incredibly picky. Nobles (potentially Artisans) only.
✦ children || Rosalie [deceased], Serena (heir apparent)

✦ House || Head of House Cardea
✦ father ||  Carlisle [deceased]
✦ mother ||  Rosalind [deceased]
✦ siblings ||  Tentatively open for creation, ask first!

♛[ A F F I L I A T I O N S ]♛
✦ herd ||  Aodh
✦ rank ||  Advisor
✦ location ||  New Valore

vain | intelligent| observant | determined | ambitious| cruel | selfish | manipulative | proud

ISTJ-A / ISTJ-T: The Logistician

Few personality types are as practical and dedicated as Logisticians. Known for their reliability and hard work, Logisticians are good at creating and maintaining a secure and stable environment for themselves and their loved ones. Logisticians’ dedication is invaluable in many areas, including their own personal growth. (x )

♛ [ P E R S O N A L I T Y ] ♛

As a child, Rosalba was, for lack of a better term, a spoiled brat. Whiny, prone to tantrums, selfish and impulsive, and time has only pushed these tendencies deep below the surface. Some would say she is still a spoiled child. They would not be entirely wrong. She still gazes at the world through the lens of one who grew up without wanting for anything, at least until it was all taken away from her.

Time, and the scars of the New Year’s Ball have cooled her temperament. Her temper is still a terrible thing to behold, but her fuse burns longer. Still, she is hungry, always reaching out for more, seeking, taking. She is a fire that will consume all her flames can reach, growing ever higher. And yet, she mostly does not seek to further herself for her own ambition alone. She seeks to secure a high standing for her family. She seeks to live for those who perished before their time. She holds her family in fierce, loving regard, but this love can be as much a chokehold as an embrace. She clings tight to what she has left, too tight. Still she reaches for more.

She views people outside her family as pawns, moving them around her chessboard. She weaves through conversations and relationships like a game, always several moves ahead. This has earned her little love, but she convinces herself she does not need to be loved, only respected. Feared, even. She hoards knowledge of others, uses it to her advantage, and buries all weaknesses of herself and her family deep out of reach. She watches her House closely, keeping them all on short leashes of perfection. They must not show weakness. They must not give anyone a chance to hurt them ever again. They must not throw away the future she is working so hard to give them.

She is deeply, deeply paranoid after the events of the Ball. She does not go anywhere without at least one bodyguard slave, and two for her daughter. When the city seized her slaves, she did not leave Rosebriar Manor, nor allow her daughter to leave. She bought back each and every slave she owned beforehand, and several more out of sheer spite. It was a heavy cost, but worth it for her own comfort and for the satisfaction of reclaiming what was taken from her.

She does not take well to losing what is hers.

♛ [ H I S T O R Y ] ♛

From the beginning, she had everything.

Money, power, family. From her first breath, she was blessed- doomed- to have her family’s legacy rest upon her. The eldest born to the head of house Cardea, named Heir apparent- but holding the title would be another matter. Her first marriage was arranged before her birth, to another wealthy Greater House child, strengthening old business ties.

She showed a sharp mind from her first days of schooling, a kindling, a spark, a roaring flame. She was a voracious learner, consuming all taught to her and then demanding more- her teachers praised her intelligence and passion to her parents, even as they cringed away from the volatile, demanding child. No one could say no to her, and she used it to her advantage, quickly learning to manipulate her tutors and nannies- slave, commoner, it didn’t matter. If they were not nobility, they bent reluctantly under her will, even from a young age.

It only worsened in her teen years, her domineering personality unyielding. Ambitious, her parents would say proudly. Terrifying, her teachers whispered behind closed doors. Her family’s wealth could not buy her friends, however, and her parents began to realize that for all her schooling and education, Rosalba had not learned to socialize properly. Certainly she understood it on a base level, could at very least charm and threaten her way into getting what she wanted, but therein lay the problem- if the other party did not have something Rosalba wanted, she had no interest in even trying.

Her parents took her along on their various duties, hoping she would absorb some of their diplomacy. She came along to the Peers Court, various meetings, the odd party, was introduced to other nobility- and most found her polite at best. She was almost never invited back, and her parents began to despair that their firstborn would never have the social grace expected of an heir- perhaps it was time to turn their hopes to their secondborn, or even thirdborn.

Rosalba quickly caught on to the change of attention, and her behavior changed accordingly. She lashed out, daily tantrums becoming the norm, refusing to attend important parties to spite and embarrass her parents.

Her parents didn’t tolerate it for long. They gave her an ultimatum- learn to play nice, or consider herself officially removed as heir. If the current behavior kept up, perhaps even disowned altogether.

She sobered quickly.

At eighteen, she was sent to Bloom for a year, much to her horror. Officially to study the art and architecture there, but her parents hoped the laid back atmosphere would rub off on her. She told herself it was not beautiful, that there was no charm to the free spirited locals. One in particular was kind to her, a fellow noble- had she not been, Rosalba would never have given her the time of day- who was currently studying at the university. Irene was kind, charming, and incredibly skilled with art- everything Rosalba was not. Rosalba had a logical mind, gifted at working out puzzles and making complex blueprints in the blink of an eye, but her talent with more practical art was lacking. She was a born architect, Irene would say.

Rosalba resented her, for her carefree nature, her status as a student at the university, and for her parents’ clear adoration. She showed it, lashing out at the other mare, and was surprised when Irene returned fire. In all her days, no one had ever fought back, simply taking it in silence.

The two had a whirlwind relationship, all fire and passion, and learned from one another. Rosalba taught her to think critically, to examine all sides of a problem. Irene taught her that there was more worth to someone then what they could offer her at that moment. Irene introduced her to friends of hers, and Rosalba’s tiny world grew to encompass them. She began to navigate social situations with more and more ease, Irene a glittering presence at her side, and began to feel unstoppable.

The end of her time in Bloom was a dramatic affair. She and Irene had an explosive fight- far from the first, but certainly the last- and Irene broke it off, declaring Rosalba too far gone to save. The idea of being saved haunted Rosalba, even as she left their shared apartment in a rage. All this time, had Irene been trying to fix Rosalba? As her parents had been trying to?

The realization was as sobering as it was painful. She did not need to be fixed.

She would prove it.

She returned to Valore, and her parents welcomed her with a grand party where she put all her new skills to the test. She charmed every equine she came across, working the party as if it were her job, and by the end of the night she was exhausted and privately irritable, but she had managed to convince her parents her time in Bloom had not been for nothing.

More parties came and went, more meetings and opportunities to rub elbows with the elite, and Rosalba put herself to work. She used her quick mind to learn all she could about the people she met, and hoarded the knowledge like wealth. She still manipulated, but in a gentler way, more subtle- using a well placed word to boost an ego, to steer a conversation where she preferred, to convince someone of a business move that would benefit her and her house.

Her arranged marriage finally came to be. She never loved him, but she did love the wealth his family brought their house. He bore her two children, and something shifted- she’d expected to barely tolerate them, but found herself deeply attached to them. It was not an overnight thing, a slow gradual love that crept under her skin, much as she tried to pretend it wasn’t there. She showed her love in protection, in action- she continued her determined work as a socialite, while also throwing herself into staggering architectural projects, and turning her mind to the tumultuous world of Aodhian politics. She would provide for her growing family, give them a name to be proud of.

Then the New Year’s Ball.

She remembers little. Trauma, both to her head and her spirit, block much of the night out. Her husband fell trying to flee the assassins. She remembers the ballroom shattering, falling through the pieces. Waking up still covering Rosalie’s cold body. Her horn broken, skull fractured.

Her parents gone.

The sudden gaping hole of one of her children felt like the loss of one of her horns- carried with her, always. Her parents, their approval finally, finally earned- gone in a puff of smoke. Her husband dead and gone. Her only remaining child without a father.

Everything she had worked for, gone in one night.

And then Solaris died, too.

Rosalba watched the coronation of Amadeus. She listened to the uneasy murmurings of the crowd. Listened as time passed, and the young King failed to uphold his mother’s glorious legacy again and again. Thought about how Solaris deserved better. How Rosalie deserved better.

She had worked her entire life to be a good heir, to uphold her family’s name, and watching the young king flounder under his family’s weight filled her with a bitter kind of rage she could barely name. Everyone who died that night deserved far better than Amadeus had ever given them. Rosalie deserved better. Solaris deserved better.

The fact that he was only a few years older than Rosalie when he died felt like a cruel joke.

Something inside her flared back to life.

She stepped up. She was the Head of her house now, and she’d be damned if she’d be comparable to Amadeus and his countless failures. She watched Aleksei return from his self given exile in relief, in admiration- Solaris had loved him like a son. Everyone knew it and of him, the last remaining Aelius. She watched him step up, and when he was named Advisor, for the first time in years, she felt something like hope.

The legacy of the fallen was rising. A flame cooled down to embers, and she would see herself become the bellows to fan it back to an inferno.

She would undo the damage that had been done. She would secure a future for Serena. One Rosalie never had the chance to have.

They deserved better. She would be better.

♛ [ A D D I T I O N A L I N F O R M A T I O N ] ♛

Studied architecture at Valore University. Continues to work on projects when she can, but is much more interested in politics.
Has private tutors she employs to learn new subjects and languages.
Considers Donovan her greatest rival. They might be friends, in a strange sense of the word.
The few times she actually tries to relax can find her gardening. Anyone stepping on her flowers may find themselves in mortal peril.

Design/small fb by @/queerly

Bust by @/franknsteins

Description
Got some new digs~

R O S A L B A

Roses fall, but the thorns remain.

[ | AP Tracker | Moodboard | Playlist ]

♛[ G E N E R A L ]♛
✦ name ||  Rosalba
✦ nicknames/aliases ||  Rosa, to very few
✦ age ||  43
✦ gender || demi female
✦ height ||  17h
✦ breed resemblance ||  Andalusian/baroque build
✦ Coat || silver bay sabino

✦ drive || Power, family
✦ alignment || Neutral evil
✦ voice || Lorraine Toussaint (Shadow Weaver from She-Ra) (example x )
✦ patron god ||  Kaia, Ignacio close after.
✦ zodiac || Dragon, sign of Ambition.

♛[ F A M I L Y ]♛
✦ orientation || Bisexual polyamarous
✦ partner ||  Open, incredibly picky. Nobles (potentially Artisans) only.
✦ children || Rosalie [deceased], Serena (heir apparent)

✦ House || Head of House Cardea
✦ father ||  Carlisle [deceased]
✦ mother ||  Rosalind [deceased]
✦ siblings ||  Tentatively open for creation, ask first!

♛[ A F F I L I A T I O N S ]♛
✦ herd ||  Aodh
✦ rank ||  Advisor
✦ location ||  New Valore

vain | intelligent| observant | determined | ambitious| cruel | selfish | manipulative | proud

ISTJ-A / ISTJ-T: The Logistician

Few personality types are as practical and dedicated as Logisticians. Known for their reliability and hard work, Logisticians are good at creating and maintaining a secure and stable environment for themselves and their loved ones. Logisticians’ dedication is invaluable in many areas, including their own personal growth. (x )

♛ [ P E R S O N A L I T Y ] ♛

As a child, Rosalba was, for lack of a better term, a spoiled brat. Whiny, prone to tantrums, selfish and impulsive, and time has only pushed these tendencies deep below the surface. Some would say she is still a spoiled child. They would not be entirely wrong. She still gazes at the world through the lens of one who grew up without wanting for anything, at least until it was all taken away from her.

Time, and the scars of the New Year’s Ball have cooled her temperament. Her temper is still a terrible thing to behold, but her fuse burns longer. Still, she is hungry, always reaching out for more, seeking, taking. She is a fire that will consume all her flames can reach, growing ever higher. And yet, she mostly does not seek to further herself for her own ambition alone. She seeks to secure a high standing for her family. She seeks to live for those who perished before their time. She holds her family in fierce, loving regard, but this love can be as much a chokehold as an embrace. She clings tight to what she has left, too tight. Still she reaches for more.

She views people outside her family as pawns, moving them around her chessboard. She weaves through conversations and relationships like a game, always several moves ahead. This has earned her little love, but she convinces herself she does not need to be loved, only respected. Feared, even. She hoards knowledge of others, uses it to her advantage, and buries all weaknesses of herself and her family deep out of reach. She watches her House closely, keeping them all on short leashes of perfection. They must not show weakness. They must not give anyone a chance to hurt them ever again. They must not throw away the future she is working so hard to give them.

She is deeply, deeply paranoid after the events of the Ball. She does not go anywhere without at least one bodyguard slave, and two for her daughter. When the city seized her slaves, she did not leave Rosebriar Manor, nor allow her daughter to leave. She bought back each and every slave she owned beforehand, and several more out of sheer spite. It was a heavy cost, but worth it for her own comfort and for the satisfaction of reclaiming what was taken from her.

She does not take well to losing what is hers.

♛ [ H I S T O R Y ] ♛

From the beginning, she had everything.

Money, power, family. From her first breath, she was blessed- doomed- to have her family’s legacy rest upon her. The eldest born to the head of house Cardea, named Heir apparent- but holding the title would be another matter. Her first marriage was arranged before her birth, to another wealthy Greater House child, strengthening old business ties.

She showed a sharp mind from her first days of schooling, a kindling, a spark, a roaring flame. She was a voracious learner, consuming all taught to her and then demanding more- her teachers praised her intelligence and passion to her parents, even as they cringed away from the volatile, demanding child. No one could say no to her, and she used it to her advantage, quickly learning to manipulate her tutors and nannies- slave, commoner, it didn’t matter. If they were not nobility, they bent reluctantly under her will, even from a young age.

It only worsened in her teen years, her domineering personality unyielding. Ambitious, her parents would say proudly. Terrifying, her teachers whispered behind closed doors. Her family’s wealth could not buy her friends, however, and her parents began to realize that for all her schooling and education, Rosalba had not learned to socialize properly. Certainly she understood it on a base level, could at very least charm and threaten her way into getting what she wanted, but therein lay the problem- if the other party did not have something Rosalba wanted, she had no interest in even trying.

Her parents took her along on their various duties, hoping she would absorb some of their diplomacy. She came along to the Peers Court, various meetings, the odd party, was introduced to other nobility- and most found her polite at best. She was almost never invited back, and her parents began to despair that their firstborn would never have the social grace expected of an heir- perhaps it was time to turn their hopes to their secondborn, or even thirdborn.

Rosalba quickly caught on to the change of attention, and her behavior changed accordingly. She lashed out, daily tantrums becoming the norm, refusing to attend important parties to spite and embarrass her parents.

Her parents didn’t tolerate it for long. They gave her an ultimatum- learn to play nice, or consider herself officially removed as heir. If the current behavior kept up, perhaps even disowned altogether.

She sobered quickly.

At eighteen, she was sent to Bloom for a year, much to her horror. Officially to study the art and architecture there, but her parents hoped the laid back atmosphere would rub off on her. She told herself it was not beautiful, that there was no charm to the free spirited locals. One in particular was kind to her, a fellow noble- had she not been, Rosalba would never have given her the time of day- who was currently studying at the university. Irene was kind, charming, and incredibly skilled with art- everything Rosalba was not. Rosalba had a logical mind, gifted at working out puzzles and making complex blueprints in the blink of an eye, but her talent with more practical art was lacking. She was a born architect, Irene would say.

Rosalba resented her, for her carefree nature, her status as a student at the university, and for her parents’ clear adoration. She showed it, lashing out at the other mare, and was surprised when Irene returned fire. In all her days, no one had ever fought back, simply taking it in silence.

The two had a whirlwind relationship, all fire and passion, and learned from one another. Rosalba taught her to think critically, to examine all sides of a problem. Irene taught her that there was more worth to someone then what they could offer her at that moment. Irene introduced her to friends of hers, and Rosalba’s tiny world grew to encompass them. She began to navigate social situations with more and more ease, Irene a glittering presence at her side, and began to feel unstoppable.

The end of her time in Bloom was a dramatic affair. She and Irene had an explosive fight- far from the first, but certainly the last- and Irene broke it off, declaring Rosalba too far gone to save. The idea of being saved haunted Rosalba, even as she left their shared apartment in a rage. All this time, had Irene been trying to fix Rosalba? As her parents had been trying to?

The realization was as sobering as it was painful. She did not need to be fixed.

She would prove it.

She returned to Valore, and her parents welcomed her with a grand party where she put all her new skills to the test. She charmed every equine she came across, working the party as if it were her job, and by the end of the night she was exhausted and privately irritable, but she had managed to convince her parents her time in Bloom had not been for nothing.

More parties came and went, more meetings and opportunities to rub elbows with the elite, and Rosalba put herself to work. She used her quick mind to learn all she could about the people she met, and hoarded the knowledge like wealth. She still manipulated, but in a gentler way, more subtle- using a well placed word to boost an ego, to steer a conversation where she preferred, to convince someone of a business move that would benefit her and her house.

Her arranged marriage finally came to be. She never loved him, but she did love the wealth his family brought their house. He bore her two children, and something shifted- she’d expected to barely tolerate them, but found herself deeply attached to them. It was not an overnight thing, a slow gradual love that crept under her skin, much as she tried to pretend it wasn’t there. She showed her love in protection, in action- she continued her determined work as a socialite, while also throwing herself into staggering architectural projects, and turning her mind to the tumultuous world of Aodhian politics. She would provide for her growing family, give them a name to be proud of.

Then the New Year’s Ball.

She remembers little. Trauma, both to her head and her spirit, block much of the night out. Her husband fell trying to flee the assassins. She remembers the ballroom shattering, falling through the pieces. Waking up still covering Rosalie’s cold body. Her horn broken, skull fractured.

Her parents gone.

The sudden gaping hole of one of her children felt like the loss of one of her horns- carried with her, always. Her parents, their approval finally, finally earned- gone in a puff of smoke. Her husband dead and gone. Her only remaining child without a father.

Everything she had worked for, gone in one night.

And then Solaris died, too.

Rosalba watched the coronation of Amadeus. She listened to the uneasy murmurings of the crowd. Listened as time passed, and the young King failed to uphold his mother’s glorious legacy again and again. Thought about how Solaris deserved better. How Rosalie deserved better.

She had worked her entire life to be a good heir, to uphold her family’s name, and watching the young king flounder under his family’s weight filled her with a bitter kind of rage she could barely name. Everyone who died that night deserved far better than Amadeus had ever given them. Rosalie deserved better. Solaris deserved better.

The fact that he was only a few years older than Rosalie when he died felt like a cruel joke.

Something inside her flared back to life.

She stepped up. She was the Head of her house now, and she’d be damned if she’d be comparable to Amadeus and his countless failures. She watched Aleksei return from his self given exile in relief, in admiration- Solaris had loved him like a son. Everyone knew it and of him, the last remaining Aelius. She watched him step up, and when he was named Advisor, for the first time in years, she felt something like hope.

The legacy of the fallen was rising. A flame cooled down to embers, and she would see herself become the bellows to fan it back to an inferno.

She would undo the damage that had been done. She would secure a future for Serena. One Rosalie never had the chance to have.

They deserved better. She would be better.

♛ [ A D D I T I O N A L I N F O R M A T I O N ] ♛

Studied architecture at Valore University. Continues to work on projects when she can, but is much more interested in politics.
Has private tutors she employs to learn new subjects and languages.
Considers Donovan her greatest rival. They might be friends, in a strange sense of the word.
The few times she actually tries to relax can find her gardening. Anyone stepping on her flowers may find themselves in mortal peril.

Design/small fb by @/queerly

Bust by @/franknsteins