I'm not crazy about the art in this one, but I've been feeling really burnt out lately, so this was kinda the best I could produce at the moment. That said, (if you're interested in my art), bigger, much more polished project is coming out soon, so keep your eyes peeled! That said, here's a little bit about the boy in question, Poet! Name: Poet Age: 13 or 14 at time of death Cause of death: Strangulation (and drowning, simultaneously? So all around asphyxia.) Pronouns: He/him Personality: Poet cares deeply for the other dead kids around him. A sensitive soul with a cynical sense of humor and a flair for the dramatic, Poet has always been skilled when it comes to story-telling and weaving words into art, thus his name. In the swamp, he’s a lot more vocal and outgoing than he was in real life, and though he is still on the quiet side, he often chimes into group discussions with a sarcastic comment or a dad joke. Poet is quite good at taking care of the younger boys in the swamp, and he often tells them stories of far away places, or even legends of the swamp itself. Despite his often smarmy and clever way of interacting with the world, Poet is an incredibly sweet boy whose actions are, in many cases, in order to help and protect those around him. Poet has a habit of being quite clingy, so should you show him even the littlest bit of affection and validation, he will probably emotionally attach himself to you and die for you. He has a very mixed opinion about the swamp he lives in. While he hopes that the other boys get a second chance at life, he personally kind of believes that he deserves his cursed fate. He can’t help but find the swamp beautiful, even if there is seemingly no escape, and part of him wishes he could just rot away with the other swamp creatures and let his body finally become part of the earth. He kind of thinks he deserves death, and, if not death, this fate doesn’t seem too much worse. (When I say he has a flair for the dramatic, I mean it.) Still, Poet is open to new ideas and change, and Mist may still be able to sway him over to the other side. A young maiden once lived in a humble home overlooking a farm, with her family. She was perhaps 16 or 17 at the time, and she was intelligent and stunningly beautiful. Though her family wasn’t particularly well off, the king took notice of her beauty, and asked for hand in marriage. And though he was more than twice her age, and though she didn’t particularly care for him, she agreed, because the power allowed her to become the next queen was great, and the young maiden planned to do many great things. She was his second wife, as the first queen and previous ruler of the land had died soon before the king asked for her hand, and he already had three children, (a son and two daughters, one of which was going to inherit the throne when she came of age), but within a year, the king’s new wife was pregnant with a new child. During her pregnancy, she grew quite sick. Fearing the safety of both her and her not yet born kid, the king ordered that she stay in her room and not be allowed outside, should her condition grow worse. For 8 months, she stayed in her room, the door only opening slightly to give her food. She had nothing to do but stare at the wall or the ceiling, and though her physical condition grew better, her mental condition grew worse. She began to hear voices, voices coming from the open window, voices coming from herself, or, as she believed, from her child. And she spoke back to the voices. And she did not like what they said. Soon, her child was born, a somewhat sickly boy with cloudy blue eyes. And she hated him. A few weeks after he was born, she walked into the nursery and tried to strangle the child. She likely would have succeeded in killing him, had the nurse not walked in and stopped her. She was sentenced to death for her crimes, and rumors of her “madness” hung heavy over the kingdom. The child being marked for sacrifice at birth didn’t help, and only caused these rumors to grow. These rumors affected no one more than her son and only child. He grew up somewhat isolated. It was rumored that the “madness” that his mother suffered infected him, and that it was contagious. Those who touched him would develop his sickness, and so no one dared to touch him. His father and half-siblings generally avoided him, leaving him to take care of himself, entertain himself, and in some cases even feed himself. He became enamored with the arts, and with creation, becoming skilled at poetry and playing the violin. He spent much of his time outdoors, and for most of his life, nature was his only friend. (more in notes and credits)
That is, until he developed a second friend, a bright and strong village boy who was training to be a soldier. This boy was, perhaps, aside from his family and the servants that had to, one of the first people to ever touch him, and most definitely the first person to ever shake his hand without any reserve. As such, the young prince grew incredibly attached, and spent most of his time with the boy, wrote poetry for the boy, played the violin as the boy danced and took the boy to his favorite places in the forest. The boy taught the prince how to braid flower crowns. And though the boy’s optimism and outgoingness seemed to be the polar opposite of the quiet, often-morbid prince, the two complimented each other and trusted eachother completely. That is, until it was time to sacrifice a son to the forest. The king had a discussion with the boy, told him of the curse, and promised that he would become a soldier should he do something for the king. Just one little thing. And what was more, the king told the boy of the prince’s madness, that it was contagious and would surely find the boy, should the boy not get rid of his friend. And so it was that the boy took his friend deep into the swamp. And so it was that the boy wrapped his arms tight around his friends neck, and held the prince’s head under water. And so it was that his body went cold, as it perhaps should have when he was a baby. The boy fished the body of his friend out of the water, and laid him on the grassy forest floor. He sat there for a few hours, and braided a flower crown, placing it on his dead friends head. Perphas it was an apology. Maybe a parting gift. Whatever it was, the boy soon walked away, leaving the dead child. A child who would soon come to be known as Poet. Likes: hugs, rats, poetry, music (though it’s been so, so long since he played the violin), flower crowns, chaos, the swamp, the other boys, dad jokes. Fun facts: the eye-liner he wears he makes himself from charcoal he gets from the dead wood in the swamp. He is very aware of how traumatized most of the boys in the swamp are, and he tries to arrange makeshift group therapy sessions for them, with mixed results. He sometimes takes moss or vines from the swamp and wraps them around his shoulders like a boa. It's a bit silly, but it makes him feel glamorous. He was somewhat pale when he was alive, but he is far, far more pale in death. Song: Love me, Normally by Will Wood
