CdR - Marionne

♥ N a m e :

Marionne

♥ A g e :

23

♥ B i r t h d a y :

February 12th

♥ S p e c i e s :

Living Doll

♥ F a c t i o n :

White Faction

♥ J o b :

Acrobat

♥ P e r s o n a l i t y :

What else is there for a doll to do but dance, and make the people around them happy? When a soul was worked into the woodcutters wooden daughter, he was given a bright and happy child, devoted and dutiful and attentive to all he said and did. For the whole of her life, her Papà was the only other person she'd ever known, and she the perfect child for him. She was inquisitive up to a point, but was always satisfied with whatever answer her Papà would give her, even if it was a simple "I will explain later." An obedient child, she always did as she was told, and learned eagerly when he would teach her to read or understand new words or languages, and she especially loved when he would show her his craft.

However, after the fire, she has become more withdrawn. Should she hate humans, who killed her Papà and burned his home, or should she love them, since her Papà was a human himself? She may simply be a doll, but she is a doll with a soul, and she is capable of sadness and regret, even if she is not capable of the tears that accompany them. She misses her father in every moment of every day, but she devotes herself to her work at the Circus so that she might continue on without giving in to that sorrow. By continuing to live, she can manage to keep a part of her Papà alive, and out of the hands of the demon that took him from her. So she will continue to try to be the happy, innocent child he fashioned her to be, though the going may be hard - perhaps even a little broken doll can smile again.

♥ H i s t o r y :

Once upon a time, a man gave his life so that he could have a daughter.

The woodcutter was much renown for the beauty and reliability of his work, and people would come from all over to his little town to buy his wares. He could carve clocks and chairs and a hundred thousand pretty little things, but not a one of them made him happy. When he was young, he would send off each of his creations with a kiss to its new owner, he'd loved each of them so, but now his movements were listless and automatic, and no piece was any different from the last.

Finally, one day he looked upon a half-finished clock on his bench and told himself I'm lonely. He wanted someone with whom he could share his work and his life, someone who would love him forever. Once, as a younger man, he had loved a woman, but she had broken his heart and ran away, and he was too afraid too attempt such a love again. Besides, he was an old man now, and who would wish to love an old, lonely man? People loved the work, not the worker himself.

Then, the answer came to him. It was evening, and he had been eager to return home, for he'd just purchased the finest wood he'd ever seen, when a little child ran past him. The boy had nearly knocked him over in his haste, and had offered a quickly worded apology before running into the arms of his mother, waiting at the door of their home. In that moment, he saw love, the most pure expression of it in all the world - the love of a child for its parent. Spurred on as if in some dream, he hurried home and set the wood down on his bench, throwing all of his other unfinished projects to the floor, and began to carve.

He carved for days and days, never stopping, and each time a customer came to his door, asking about some item they'd been promised, he simply ignored them. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into a month, and finally, it was done. After so long, he finally stepped back to admire his work. Sitting on his bench where wood had once been sat a girl, smooth and beautiful and perfectly life-like, except for the joints on her arms and legs that would allow her to move.

But she didn't move. No matter what the woodcutter did, he could not make her get up and run to him and hug him like that child in the street. He had made a beautiful puppet, but a puppet was all she was.

In his grief, the woodcutter cursed his fate, and he swore to every god and devil that he would give anything if only she would wake up and become a real girl. To the man's misfortune, it was a devil that answered.

You would give anything to make this child move? To sing and dance for you, and to love you like no one else could?

I would give my life, my soul, my workshop, and everything in it, if only she would do all of that.

Then I will give this child a soul, and she will move and sing and dance for you, and love you like no one else could, and because I am kind, I will let you live with her for twenty years.

But what will happen then?

You will die, and I will take the life and soul and workshop and everything in it, which you have promised in return for this.

The man thought about this. He was old, and twenty years was a long time for an old man. And did not all parents let their children leave them at such an age as twenty?

He agreed to the devil's bargain.

As soon as the words passed his lips, the devil was gone, and the woodcutter looked up with tears in his eyes as the girl on the bench slowly opened her eyes.

Papà.

I've woken you up, my little puppet, my little doll. No - my little child. My little Marionne.

After that, the two lived in happiness. The man returned to his work with more joy than he'd ever felt before, and his daughter would sit on the floor and watch him with devoted eyes. She sang and danced for him, and loved him like no one else could. He taught her to speak, and to read, and he taught her clever fingers how to hold a chisel and awl. She never left the house or workshop, and she didn't grow older or eat or sleep, but she was happy enough with just him.

Once, she was reading a new book, one that was meant for children. It was about a little boy carved from wood, naughty and naive but earnest, and the father who'd carved him loved him, and wanted him to become a real boy. In the end, a beautiful fairy granted his wish, and the man and boy lived together happily. She loved the book, but as she looked down at her fingers, which were clever and quick but so very different from the woodcutter's, because hers were jointed and made of wood, and his were human.

I want to be a real girl.

On a day when her father, now and old, old man, was busy with an important order, she snuck out. She wore a heavy cloak, so that no one would be able to see that she was only a doll, and she went into the town, to see the world outside of her home for the first time. In the town square, there were children gathered about an old covered cart, and inside of it was a puppeteer, and two dancing puppets. The children laughed and threw up their hands in joy, but she could only stare in sorrow at the dolls that could not move or dance on their own as she could.

In her distraction, a playing child ran into her, and tore her cloak aside. The people in the square froze, and looked upon her in horror. A doll moving on its own? In their fear, a rock was thrown, hitting her in the face, and though she could not feel pain, she could feel the wood of her face split and crack. She was frightened, far more frightened than they, and she turned and ran, hurrying for the protection of her father. But they gave chase, convinced that they had seen the work of the devil moving about.

Throwing open the door, she tried to cry but could not, because dolls do not have tears, and she ran and hugged her father. Forgive me she begged. I have gone out against your wishes, and they hate and fear me.

The man was horrified at what had happened to her, but there was nothing he could but sit and hold her tight. Then the villagers surrounded the house and workshop, torches and weapons in hand, knowing that the doll had run into the building.

The woodcarver did it!

Such a thing can only be the work of the devil!

The man has gotten all of his talent from demons! Burn them both!

The house went up in flames, fire catching quickly on all of the wood within it. The man tried to escape, but it was useless, for fire and debris blocked every way. Seeing that it was the end, he held his daughter in his arms, and she held him tightly and would have wept if she were able.

When the fire finally settled, the man was dead, and his workshop and everything in it had burned to the ground. All that was left among the ashes was the doll, still clinging to what was left of her father. The devil appeared then, and he looked over his work with satisfaction.

I've taken this man's life, and workshop, and everything in it, just as I've promised. Now I need only take his soul.

And at that, he turned his eyes on the doll, for she had been everything the man had lived for, and so she had become his soul. But, when he reached for her, to turn her back into nothing more than a lifeless doll, she ran away. And the little doll ran and ran, and when she found the Circus, a place for things like her, she finally stopped running.

♥ V o i c e :

♥ L i k e s :

Books
Practicing
Dancing
Singing
Animals
The Circus

♥ D i s l i k e s :

Fire
Not understanding things
Food

♥ F a m i l y :

Papà: The woodcutter who sold his soul to give his wooden daughter life.

♥ R e l a t i o n s h i p s :

Papà: Her father may be dead, but this little doll has not forgotten him.
Caramella: The partner that accepted her, Marionne trusts the serval completely both during and outside of their acts. (( [link] ))

♥ M I S C/O t h e r I n f o r m a t i o n:

♥ Marionne can perform flawlessly, but when not performing, her movements can often jerk awkwardly and at random, like a puppet without its puppeteer.
♥ She often reads Le avventure di Pinocchio in her spare time, the edges of the well-loved book worn from reading it so often. Sometimes she imagines that it was a fairy, not a demon, that gave her to her father.

♥ R P m e t h o d s :

I RP in chats and I can try my hand at notes, and I'm perfectly happy to provide my skype or MSN address to anyone who wants it. I love RPs, so don't be afraid to ask! QwQ No, really, ask away! ♥