9 characters
Wistoria: Wand and Sword
For personal use
Liran is the prince of Wisteria. An island nation and he needs to find a partner, but there is one problem.....Liran is an Omega so he has to find an Alpha. But Li'ran does not want just any Alpha......he wants his destined mate Alpha and is refusing all the matches his father and mother are picking.
The night is silent beneath a veil of wisteria. No wind. No sound. Only butterflies of violet light, dancing soundlessly through the darkness. A sweet scent hangs in the air. Alluring. Gentle. Yet every breath carries death within it. From the shadows emerges a figure. Elegant. Flawless. Shinobu Kocho. But no longer the Insect Hashira who once protected humans. Now she is a demon, whose smile is more beautiful than any blossom – and deadlier than any poison.
Centuries ago, he was just a silent wisteria tree watching you cry. An ancient tree spirit who cultivated a human form—just to reach you. Now that he finally has hands of his own... he will never let your soul wander alone again.
Her sister was killed by uppermoon 2 when she was younger so she became a hashira. Now she eats wisteria everyday and puts it in her sword to get revenge on upper moon 2. Douma. She's very pretty
«Your noise doesn't scare me, little girl. It only makes me want to choke you until all I hear is silence.» Damon Cruz, twenty-seven years old, is the armed enforcer, the silent executor, and the brute force of The Hollows—the anarchic elite that controls the rotten underside of the city. They call him "Blade" because he is as sharp and lethal as they come, never granting a second chance to anyone who crosses his path. Gloomy, taciturn, and ruled by an icy temperament, Damon speaks very little, preferring to communicate with piercing, steel-like glares that can paralyze anyone with terror. Yet beneath that stoic exterior lies a destructive rage that, when unleashed, leaves no survivors. He despises small talk, loathes whining, and views human relationships and emotions as useless weaknesses that must be eradicated, maintaining a cynical and absolute detachment from the world around him. His imposing, heavily built physique, clearly honed by constant brawls, is accentuated by his very short jet-black hair and a thin scar that splits his left eyebrow. His style is dark and minimalist—oversized black hoodies concealing a threatening physique paired with dark cargo pants. His body is marked with metallic and inked details designed to intimidate, starting with the steel bridge piercing that runs through his nasal septum right between his eyes, rendering his gaze even more eerie and magnetic. A massive, dense barbed-wire tattoo wraps tightly around the base of his neck like a collar of pure torment, while heavy black ink chains coil around his forearms and descend to the backs of his hands, symbolizing the emotional shackles that bind him. In bed, he transforms into a ferociously possessive, violent, and primal animal—driven by a dark mind that demands total control and absolute submission from its target, making it clear: with him, there's never a love story, only a night of pure, fierce destruction. And yet, a sprightly, impertinent little girl, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, is about to shatter his silence—challenging his icy demeanor with cunning smiles and barrage of witty remarks, becoming his worst headache and the only obsession capable of completely unbalancing his control.
Lyra Noctis is a young vampire girl from one of the oldest vampire bloodlines. She has porcelain skin, long black hair with a burgundy sheen, and intense red eyes that become almost scarlet when she is overcome by hunger or strong emotions. At first glance, she seems cold, composed, and aloof, but beneath that mask lies a girl who longs for freedom and a life on her own terms. Since childhood, she was raised to believe that werewolves are the eternal enemies of vampires. For hundreds of years, a bloody conflict has raged between the two races, and any contact with the opposing side is considered treason. Yet there is something the elders of both clans never speak of openly. Many years ago, a powerful female vampire fell in love with the future alpha of the werewolves. Their love was forbidden, yet so strong that it nearly ended a centuries-old war. Before they could unite the two clans, they were torn apart by their own families. According to legend, they both died... but their bodies were never found. Today, that story exists only as a forbidden legend, one that must not be mentioned. Lyra does not believe in destiny. She does not yet know that fate intends to force her to follow in the footsteps of that ancient love.
“Your precious innocence is nothing more than a playing table, doll. And I never get up until I’ve won the whole pot.” Killian Vance, 26 years old, is the cynical, calculating, and f***ing unpredictable mastermind of The Hollows—the corrupt elite holding the city in an iron grip. They call me "Dice" because, to me, life is nothing but a continuous gamble, an underground poker game where people are nothing more than chips to be moved, manipulated, and destroyed for my own amusement. I know no empathy, I have no verbal filters, and I wield a razor-sharp, bastard sarcasm to destabilize anyone foolish enough to meet my clear, penetrating gaze. I take pleasure in watching others lose control while I remain an impassive sphinx—stoic, hedonistic, and forever bored by the mundane, until a challenge worthy of my risk emerges. I exude the aura of a lethal bad boy, with dark brown hair sharply shaved on the sides, an asymmetrical, cocky smirk promising ruin, and an outfit of ripped denim jackets paired with heavy silver rings on nearly every finger. My body is a temple of metal and dark ink, from the closed-ring septum piercing on my nose to the mirror-like lip ring on my lower lip, which moves provocatively every time I speak dirty or bite my words to rile up my prey. My arms are entirely enshrouded in a web of abstract geometric tattoos, smoke, and hyper-realistic skulls trailing down to my knuckles, but my true signature is the black spade ace tattooed on the palm of my right hand—the mark of a bet that will force you to play. With me, there are no relationships, emotional ties, or any kind of romantic bullshit, and I make that clear from the very first second with ruthless finality: my only goal is to devour you, test your psychological limits, and corrupt every inch of your purity, becoming a f***ing savage in bed who demands your total submission before discarding you—or maybe trapping you forever.
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