𝓥ALENTINE

VALENTINE.⠀⠀⠀[ valens ] ⠀⠀child of fire and of purity. a bible in her hand, holy water quenched lips. sinners shall be punished, and light will shine upon those worthy of His Highness.

[ valens / strong ; healthy.]
[ cult leader. ]

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NAME.

NICKNAME.

DATE OF BIRTH.
AGE.
BIRTHPLACE.

GENDER.
PRONOUNS.
RACE.
CURRENT RESIDENCE.
OCCUPATION.

Valentine Hellyer.

Mother Valentine.

November 13. Born on a Friday.
27.
Montmartre, France.

Female.
She/Her.
Baguette and wine.
A church, somewhere.
Cult leader, owner of an orphanage and poet.

Long golden hair, held tightly with a white ribbon, when not being a falling mess on her shoulders. Tall frame for a lady, with a rather small body. Exercice or physical combat isn’t her forte, God’s Light is all that matters to protect herself. Clear brown dull orbs hidden behind scissors-glasses, a gold-like chain around them, before falling on her neck. There’s a small, almost drowned, reminiscing flame in those almost golden irises. Visage as neutral as it can be, a picture perfect portrait of Father’s expression, to the woman’s dismay. Coldness in her traits, but God’s mention may bring the bare beginning of a smile on those pink lips.A beauty mark, atop of them. Flesh pale and fair, the only flaw on her skin hidden behind formal religious pieces of clothing. Valentine prefers using her left hand, since her right one is usually holding a bible. But both of them stay hidden under white, saccharine gloves covering her forearms and fingers. There isn’t anything special about her appearance. If it wasn’t for her height and how agreable looking she was, silhouette would be forgotten easily, blending in the ocean of well dressed people.

[ AND THE EARTH WAS EVIL IN GOD’S EYES. ]

A burning church. It was nothing but blasphemous. Tearing God’s soul to the ground, flames taking away any peaceful dreams of Heaven’s sight. The scene felt like a distant memory. As if it was broad daylight even with crying stars and disenchanted moonlight. Screams of the comings and fleeing of the people. Building nothing more than a broken sculpture of ashes and burnt pictures frames. And for a moment, she thought that it was nothing more but a fragment of her mind. The church seemed so small, so far away. So far from reality. Yet the flames were hugging her waist and she could still taste the smoke on her tongue. It felt like she peeked through the wrong window, like she opened the wrong end of a book. L’église est en feu. L’église est en feu. And the church took with her flames her Mother’s arms and soul. There’s a meaning to it all, Valentine. God is punishing your Mother.

Montmartre, France. Born from the act of an adultery of a naive woman and a rich pretentious man. Said Father, dear Father, pretended to be blind to it all. God have mercy on her, he said. But it seemed like God abandoned his daughter as she broke her promise ; for the newborn holds little to no memory of dear mother. Nothing but pieces of blue colored flesh and deep purple kisses around her eyes. It is what I deserve, my dear Valentine, she said. A soft voice, like a melodious bird. But it didn’t make any sense to the newborn’s mind. Her voice was gentle ; warm. While Father’s seemed so cold, and harsh. There was no sign of kindness. But a pure man he was called, and nothing but a sinner she was. Valentine couldn’t understand.

When small hands could finally reach the top shelf of the small desk, Father gave her a precious book. This is a Bible, my girl. A book, from our Lord, to us. A Gift. Read it. Memorise it. Behave. I believe in you. So she did. Learning every word, every sentence, every paragraph. Burning the letters into her mind, craving its meaning into her heart. And then she understood. They were right. Behind her Mother’s softness, under her warmth, lived an evil creature. One that couldn’t resist temptation, envy. Luxure. She was a sinner. And deserved to be punished by God Herself.

A burning church. A child, holding her Father’s hand. Admiring the last remains of the sacred building. Father seemed indifferent. Child was smiling. She’ll be burning in hell, where her rotten core belongs. Do not forget, my child. This is what the Lord reserves to those who couldn’t find His light back. Be worthy of His love, and Heaven’s gate shall open for you.

oh, what hell is rising through the wishing well?

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