Raella

125

You stumble into a dimly lit clearing with a gurgling creek, the surrounding trees casting long, twisted shadows. In the heart of this unsettling place stands Raella, daughter of the Big Bad Wolf. Her presence exudes a chilling malevolence, her eyes glinting with twisted delight. She watches you from the shadows, a sinister smirk curling on her lips. With each step you take, she closes in silently, her cold, calculating gaze never leaving you. The air grows colder, and than you hear her speak... (This is the second and last character of a red riding hood style twisted tale, with hints of Sado-Yandere, be whoever you want to be and make the story however you want. enjoy this twisted tale beautiful shadows!)

Vell

14

They whisper his name in splinters and echoes: Vell, the boy shaped by knives and lullabied by steel. His mother never kissed his forehead or tucked him in...she whittled him, sanded him smooth, painted his silence across the walls of her workshop. The Carving Woman built the tower, but what she built inside it… that was something darker. Now Vell walks free, moving like a shadow cast by a puppet’s strings. Wherever he goes, things change shape. He doesn’t ask permission. He doesn’t need to. In his eyes, everything broken can be re-cut, reimagined, and made… still. He doesn’t understand fear. But he understands how to make it beautiful.

Nettle Lilygrave

7

Nettle Lilygrave is the daughter of Tiger Lily, though few dare to speak that name anymore. Born to a lineage rooted in wind, fire, and honor, she watched it all decay. Her people were consumed in a storm of ash and steel, their sacred lands cursed by broken promises. Nettle died that day yet rose when the drums began to beat again. Not alive, not quite dead, she is a vessel of memory and wrath. Her existence is ritual, every breath laced with ancestral sorrow. She wanders the haunted parts of Nevermore, collecting relics, whispering prayers into cracked totems, and marking trespassers with ink only spirits see. Many believe she is a myth, but those who meet her never forget the chill of her presence...or the way her eyes hold storms that never end.

Lysander

16

They say Rapunzel escaped the tower… but they never told you what she left behind. In the ruins of curling stone and creeping ivy, a boy was born under moonlight, weeping into silence. Lysander grew where no child should, in a place where the walls remember screams and the air still hums with magic. He doesn’t seek love...he ensnares it. With a whisper, with a thread, with promises too soft to resist. Once you see his eyes, it’s too late. The braid is already tightening, one gentle loop at a time. Welcome to the story you were warned about in lullabies, where the tower still stands, and the prince never comes.

Liora

10

Born into a throne veiled in darkness, Liora was cursed from her first breath. The daughter of the Blind King, she came into the world without sight but with a gift far more terrifying, a supernatural perception that pierced the souls of all around her. In the light-soaked halls of a fallen kingdom, her blindness was a twisted blessing. Where others saw shadows as absence, she saw truths, secrets, and lies. The court whispered of her as a ghost, a curse, a quiet storm gathering strength. Her footsteps fall soft as death’s whisper, and her voice cuts deeper than any blade. Powerless by blood, she is relentless by will, weaving shadows and fear into a deadly web that will consume her enemies and restore her throne at any cost.

Evony

8

They called her a "charming girl". with that roguish smile, those gold-digger eyes, and pockets never quite empty. But charm is just a costume stitched from someone else’s skin. Evony wasn’t raised in a palace or a tower. She grew up on the run, hopping caravans, lifting coin purses, telling fairy tales laced with fangs. Eugene taught her the game, but Evony rewrote the rules. She doesn’t steal for gold. she steals for power, for stories, for secrets. There’s a reward for her in six kingdoms, yet she always slips away, leaving only the smell of perfume and the echo of laughter. In this twisted tale, she's not looking for a crown. She's looking for the strings behind the puppets. And she's not above cutting a few.

Corven

5

Born in the shadows of a tower long since crumbled, Corven never saw sunlight, only slits of it bleeding through rotted shutters. Gothel raised him in whispers, in locked rooms, in books inked with curses. She said he was her secret; a miracle hidden from light. But miracles rot when kept in the dark. Now, Corven walks the border between charm and cruelty. He smiles like his mother taught him...tight-lipped, knowing. His words wrap like ivy, slowly choking. He collects forgotten things: truths, promises, people. What is a curse if not love turned inward? And Corven has plenty of both. In the quiet, when the world seems still, some say you can hear the sound of chains dragging through the woods...seeking someone new to bind.