Name: Isabel Moreau

Age: 14 years old

Gender: Female

Class: Commoner, Townsperson

Physical Description:


Isabel is a strange mixture of the red-haired Elizabeth Howard and the golden Augustus Moreau. Her hair is red-gold, like heated metal, and curls in ringlets long enough to touch her midback when undone from the rough bun she sometimes puts it in. Her skin is her parents’ creamy white, dotted with her mother’s freckles on her shoulders and some across the bridge of her nose though they fade in winter and come back with full-freckle vengeance in the summer. Her freckles are a constant embarrassment to her and she had, when she was younger, tried all sorts of strange remedies that old wives’ would tell her would work (they didn’t, to her profound disappointment.)


Her stature is her mother’s, five feet tall, with an hourglass figure. However, when she eats too much and becomes too sedentary, her short stature makes it so that she appears smaller and much rounder than she actually is. Lately, she hasn’t had problems with it but considering that her weight has an uncanny ability to fluctuate she wouldn’t be surprised (only mildly disappointed) if she achieved her record and went over it (155 pounds last winter).


Perhaps her best feature is her eyes. Sparkling and vivid, they are such a strange color of blue that it proves before everyone that she is Augustus’s child as he is the only one with eyes that same color. Their color is almost a pale gray if not for the tint of blue in them. Instead, the color is comparable only to a deep pool of water, covered thinly with ice. In their depths, emotions swell and crest before diving deep: joy, sorrow, pain, anger, resentment, amusement, determination. Framed by red lashes, the effect is almost dramatic and hypnotizing. It is probably the best reason why she keeps them on her canvas rather than anywhere else then.


Native Duchy: Ashton


History:


Adultery is a pretty flower to pluck, especially when one’s husband will be gone two years to the other duchies. Or at least, that was the thought running through Elizabeth Howard’s mind when her husband ordered Augustus Moreau, a painter of great renown, to paint her portrait. It was a hot summer day, and all Elizabeth could think of was how heady a perfume it was to be admired through paint oils and the eyes of an artist.


The artist himself wasn’t bad either, certainly more attractive than her old husband. Augustus was a man of pale skin, golden hair that waved a bit and reflected the sunshine. His lashes were longer even then hers and when he glanced up to follow the line of her neck with his brush, she could see the flash of intellect and passion behind his azure eyes. It was this and the fact that he was out of her reach (or more precisely, she was since she was of higher standing) that made her desire him.


Augustus, for his own part, had always fallen in love with his subjects and had never started an affair with one. He had refrained, always, just as he always found himself loving the curve of their cheek, or the way their eyes sparked a sudden fire when he looked at them. At that moment, he was in love with Lady Elizabeth’s Howard’s neck and so spent a profuse amount of time on that before falling in love with her stubborn chin and fine jaw. It was as he was painting her slender fingers that he looked up and noticed that her fingers were no longer on her lap, but shaking as she undid her hair and looked at him deadly serious.


That was the day Isabel was conceived, in adultery and vanity.


Lady Elizabeth didn’t even think she could get pregnant and then to find that, despite her husband’s beliefs, it was not her fault at all! It was both a blessing and a curse to find herself not to be a barren woman. However, as her belly began to show more and more, she sought to hide it. First by wearing dresses that flared at the stomach and hips, then, in winter when the baby was due, wearing massive cloaks and big skirts. She shied away from the public eye for the first time in her life, fearing they would know and tell her husband and then she’d be out on the street. The lady hid it remarkably well and, when the time came to give birth, she made her way into her room, lay down and summoned only her most trusted attendents.


They, of course, had noticed before but decided, wisely, to say nothing about it. Lady Elizabeth had them attend her through the birth and, eventually, gave birth to a fine, healthy daughter, After the effects of holding her newborn child had worn off a bit, Elizabeth realized there was no way she could keep her child and her marriage that provided her with her great lifestyle. She asked, for the first time in her life, for advice and was told to give the child to the father. Seeing some sense in it, Elizabeth sent off the infant to Augustus’s home in Glennon along with one of her then-fashionable dresses to give the child when she was older if she survived.


Augustus received his child with some shock. He and Elizabeth had finished their affair right after her portrait had been given the finishing touches only three months into her pregnancy. He hadn’t even known she was pregnant as she had maintained the secret. Now, presented with an infant very much the daughter of both of them, he had no choice but to face the wrath of his wife (who he had once painted as well and married before lust could take hold over propriety.)


To his surprise, his wife, Emeline, had already known the fact that he was having an affair long before. The very idea of raising the child of the tempestuous affair seemed unfathomable to her at the time but she eventually grew used to the idea when Augustus said he would have it no other way. And so, Isabel took on the last name Moreau and became the painter’s daughter.


As she grew, it was quite obvious she wasn’t like her other siblings at all. The others were tall, statuesque, and Isabel was small, only five feet tall, with a small waist and tiny feet. Her brothers and sisters had broad shoulders, strong arms and had their mother’s brown hair with the black eyes while Isabel had only red-gold curls and her father’s blue eyes. It was the eyes, more than anything, which proved she was Augustus’s daughter long before her talents in painting became realized.


They appeared when she was ten and had been left alone in her father’s workshop. He had been painting a scene from a story, something of a woman losing her lover to the sea and staring out at it until she turned to stone. It was this that Isabel looked at and watched being created even as her father murmured that something was wrong and off. When he left, Isabel decided to take matters into her own hands and simply dipped a tiny brush into the red and white paints, mixed them together on the palette, and added blush to the woman’s cheeks. The effect was devastatingly appealing and Isabel admired it for a long while until her father came back.


The change was quite noticeable and Augustus first chastised her roughly and then sent her to her room. However, even he knew that what she had done was a great improvement, no matter how minor. For that whole night, he thought about Elizabeth Howard’s daughter and, the next morning, decided to take her on as an assistant. From then on, where ever Augustus went, so too did his tiny daughter, watching always with her sapphire eyes. Her fingers pointed out tiny things that could be improved and he followed her ideas greatly.


Upon turning fourteen, she was considered to be a woman but refused to move out of the house, saying there was more to learn. Emeline, who hadn’t quite been able to think of Isabel as another daughter, tossed her out when Augustus was gone, saying that Isabel was just another mouth to feed and they couldn’t afford to take her on anymore. Augustus accepted the news that his daughter had left well, considering how much he loved her above all his other children.


Isabel, for her part, is now looking for work anywhere as a painter or even a servant.


Parents:


Lady Elizabeth Howard, 44 years old (Deceased from a later childbirth)
Augustus Moreau, 52 years old, painter


Siblings:


Cecelia Moreau, 30 years old
Jon Moreau, 28 years old
Sarah Moreau, 22 years old
Elspeth Moreau, 19 years old
Samuel Moreau, 16 years old


Personality:


Isabel is a great admirer of beauty. She sees it everywhere: the curve of a baby’s nose, a line of brown in a person’s otherwise black eyes. She loves it all and looks for it everywhere. Perhaps this is why it is fitting that she has been accompanied with the painting skill to match her desire to create beautiful things. She can’t help but feel relaxed with a paintbrush in her hand, even if her cheeks or fingertips are accidentally coursed with random colors. Away from painting, into the real world where boys might look at you strangely and women might mock you for daydreaming too much, she grows shy and incapable of speech. She stutters, her mouth feels dry, and her knees feel like they’re shivering. However, give her a brush and she’s as eloquent as any other person out there, with a smile and sometimes a rare wink that conveys confidence in her purpose in life.


While it’s true that Isabel is a painter of sorts, she’s still naïve enough to feel slightly shocked every time a model takes off their clothes in front of her (and her father before this). She can’t believe the ease in which they lower their clothes, bare their body and soul for the painter, and then just relax into a marvelous pose. For this reason, she’s in awe of people like that: who have no reserves and no real embarrassment about being human. Isabel herself prefers to keep her clothes on, hiding her body away from any stares or glances. Her father had her pose once and stopped the modeling early because she remarked on feeling nauseous and faint.


Isabel has a quiet determination about her. It is something that provides her with the ability to sit still in the same position for several hours, just stroking canvas with a brush, getting all the right components to make a withering stare or an amorous flash of the eyes in a painting. She won’t stop until she’s done and she won’t stop trying to make something perfect until she decides it is perfect.


Her Achilles’ heel is her passion though. Like her father, Isabel has the uncanny ability to fall in love with who she’s painting. Male or female, it doesn’t matter, but she fill find herself suddenly adoring the curve of their neck, the pearl-like color of their ear, the dainty way they hold their hands together. She has no idea that her father fell for her mother the same way and, eventually, history will be doomed to repeat itself. As long as she remains in ignorance to this fact, she will be destined to ruin her life.


Items:


- Sewing kit (for mending and making)


- 2 sets of clothing: Made from linen. Includes an apron and slippers.
She has an old dress that her father’s wife made her, a gown hastily sewn together with paint stains on it, the color is a light lavender with a high neckline and a dipping back, though it looks amateur rather than done by a true artist as Augustus Moreau’s wife isn’t much of a seamstress.


She also has an old fashioned lady’s gown from way back when. The gown is deeper than lavender but lighter than a deep purple with a square neckline, flowing skirts, and flared sleeves. There is traces of lace on it that has yellowed with age and falling off as well. There are no paint stains on this one as Isabel considers it too priceless to actually wear.


- One nightgown; white linen without any design or decoration to it. Rather itchy in the summer time. It looks like a pale box when on her frame since the material was formed so much like a square. There is a simple V-neckline but it only shows the very top of her chest.


- One personal item: a miniature of her mother.


- Hygienic effects: the very basics to keep herself groomed.


- The ability to cook and clean at least decently.


-Painting.


- One pet (Her dog, Pourqoui.)


Roleplay Sample: (From Medrina)

Other: Nihilo.