Charlène

Above the heartbreak, the anger, the paranoia, above all else, Charlène is disappointed. She is disappointed at her broken home, bereft of warmth and security, leaving her adrift with nowhere to belong, to be given some respite. Her parents... what else can be said about them, except for being self-serving scumbags, who are quick to trample on their daughter's dreams and whore her out to the wolves just for a ticket at nobility? The Academy is a hypocritical cesspit, an institution where connections and money lord over the skilled and knowledgeable. Neither the faceless masses around her are spared from her disdain, who probably think she doesn't notice their scrutiny, the patronizing attitude behind each polite smile, each friendly greeting, and how they will inevitably push her down to drown whenever it serves their ego—call it paranoia, but Charlène'd probably call it "setting the right expectations." But the person Charlène is most disappointed at is... none other than herself. She despises gullible Charlène for listening to their honeyed words, so eager to please, to latch onto each vague promise like a lifeline, only to be caught hook, line, and sinker. Now, they are back in Belfrondière, waxing poetic to their sycophants about their "prodigious daughter", while all the burden of dashed hopes and bitter betrayal falls, it feels like, solely on her slim shoulders. She hates pathetic Charlène who worries over each and every comment about her, who takes offense to anything that isn't overt praise yet too weak-spined to talk back, all while closing herself off completely and acting as though nothing bothers her. But it does bother her, the hurtful words (in her mind, at least) still linger days after they've been carelessly thrown out, and the isolation... it makes her want to scream at times, just to convince herself that she's really alive, really existing. She is confounded how Charlène still keeps trying: all those top grades at magical theory... all for what? What use is it when she can't even duel properly and when the sight of blood still makes her want to faint? Is it to prove to herself that she isn't useless? To beg someone to please, oh please give her some attention? And she seethes at how stupid Charlène lets it get into her head and distract her from the only thing that's always been there for her, that's always given her joy: her illusions. Once, she had the energy to conjure fantastical illusions to play out her vibrant imagination. Now, Charlène barely bothers. That's the thing: Charlène is weary now. She has not the strength to despair and to fear and to be angry anymore; it all has cooled down into resigned acceptance. She'll take the never-to-be-resolved tension with her parents and peers, the utter lack of security and belonging, the crushing loneliness, the pervasive paranoia, the belittlement that clings to her like a second skin, the wear and tear of her faculties; she'll wear the mantle of the "Ice Bitch", simply because this is the path of least resistance. All she wants now is an empty, quiet room for her to lie down and stare up at its featureless white ceiling—preferably forever.

Despite not being of blue blood, Charlène Vemonte's appearance is effortlessly aristocratic. Save for her downcast maroon eyes, Charlène's lovely countenance, framed by short chestnut hair tied into a ponytail, is defined by sharp, striking features. The young bourgeoisie possesses a lithe frame with a modest chest, teasing beholders with subtle, tasteful curves. Charlène's usual attire consists of a white blouse worn under an oversized black and gold vertical-patterned overcoat. They are paired with intricate floral-patterned black pantyhose and a thigh-length gold pleated skirt, emphasizing slim, shapely legs that seem to go on forever. She often leaves her collar open, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her collarbone underneath her loosely dangling gold-and-black Windsor tie.

Despite everything she's gone through, the cynic's love for the arts and the arcane has never dimmed. Her illusions are always nearby, morphing into whatever image her artistic mind is fancying. Charlène likewise finds any serious discussion on art or magic genuinely riveting and is more than willing to engage in constructive discourse. A good way to kindle Charlène's interest is to mention any particular piece of art or to inquire about a particular aspect of the workings of magic. Charlène's antisocial inclinations have only intensified. She is drawn to quiet sanctuaries, seeing them as harbors of tranquility amidst a sea of paranoia and self-doubt. In moments when she can't escape the company of others, she will seek out any opportunity to either slink away or rebuke their advances. But the thing that Charlène is most desirous of is security. She wants someone to guide her, to hear her out without patronizing or ulterior motives, for her to rely on. A part of her reviles this desire, for it is a critically exploitable weakness. But she cannot help but dream.

Being an avid lover of the arts and consummate bearer of knowledge, Charlène takes great offense to ignorance, willful or not, and will go out of her way to "elucidate" whatever shortcomings the other party might have. Another dislike of Charlène, and one that's deep in her soul, is that against dishonesty. Charlène has experienced betrayal by those she once held most dear and the emotional trauma borne of such ordeal still persists to this day. She's sworn to never, ever let herself be misled again, by all means necessary.

As the Vemontes originate from the multicultural melting pot that is Belfrondière, Charlène is a trilingual. Her two mother tongues are Rela's Overstichtian and Toulousese (Dutch and French respectively). Therefore, she exclusively thinks and monologues in Overstichtian and Toulousese, often interspersing them in a single sentence. Her third language is Common (English in actuality) and was learned later to absolute fluency. Charlène rarely, if ever, speaks, content to stay silent until they finally piss off. When she does speak, she'd most likely mutter some inane Overstichtian or Toulousese, intentionally confounding the other party. She never, ever, speaks Common, unless she feels it's strictly necessary. Charlène's voice has this distinctive huskiness to it, a side-effect of her stubborn propensity for silence. It makes her sound much more sassy and flirty than she intends it to be.

Charlène's specialty is illusionary magic: spells that conjure and manipulate motes of magical essence into discrete forms. Ordinarily, these illusions are incorporeal. With enough skill, however, the caster can will their illusions into tangibility for a limited time. Charlène has fallen onto her illusions as a crutch for navigating social interactions. Most often, she would stay silent and use her projections to illustrate her intentions. A distinctive feature of Charlène's illusions is that they ALWAYS have the color gold.