This OC belongs to Kittyluvver do not use without her permission
"Always the unseen, always the unwanted, she was not beautiful. The streets had cut her too deeply; her shame haunted her, marked her, ruined her. And yet there was such quiet courage in her breathless blue eyes, a courage that begged you to look, not to judge, but to listen."
Eldritch, or Ellie for short, is a female SeaWing/TrickWing hybrid struggling to survive in the slums of Mountia. Beaten but not broken, she lives the shameful life of a prostitute and yet thirsts for knowledge, clinging to the fragile hope that one day she will rise above the disgrace and poverty that is all she has ever known.
"... Her wings folded with the sense of one book closing, another opening with a creak and a flutter of pages; one story ending and another soon to begin."
The night claims her, running lustful paws along the forsaken lines of her gaunt figure, enveloping her frail form in the absolute blackest of blacks. Glistening skeins of unbroken twilight caress the length of her body from tail to snout, ebony and moonlight grazing her brow with the softest shadow's kiss.
Here is a dragoness who has known cruelty and known it well - the haphazard crook of her left forearm serves as a living reminder of the day when it was broken, and broken badly. Past that, several scars shine silver-gray on her lightless hide, puckered and jagged, never quite visible by evening but ever so stark and clear in the light of morning. The lines to a tragedy yet half-written is inscribed on her flesh in living silver, memory sealed into old wounds healed but hardly forgotten.
Her wings are slender, finely-boned and oh-so-long, inkstained midnight rippling endlessly skywards until the darkness cracks, shatters to make way for a lacework of palest icy-blue stark as the first rays of dawn. And yet her eyes - oh, her eyes! Like twin drops of aquamarine welled up from a pit of blackest tar, azure borrowed from the briny depths of her SeaWing blood, the purest, clearest winter-blue there ever was shines bright from her eyes and veins electric the far-flung membranes of thin wing and jagged fin.
There is beauty here, even in her twisted hybrid form, if only you would look.
You seen one prostitute and you think you've seen them all, but Ellie might surprise you yet.
"Learning," she murmured reflectively, tracing the spine of the tattered old book. "They can take everything away, you know. Your money, your home. But they can never take away your learning."
The Southside of New Bridgeport is where it all started. The poorest, tawdriest suburb of the great capital; that sprawling cesspool of the city where all the worst kinds of dragons gather, where getting cigarettes or a teenth of crystal meth was as simple as walking to the street corner, where beautiful dragonesses are found dead in back alleys and motel rooms all the Moons-forsaken time.
Ellie's TrickWing mother Diomedea became pregnant at the ripe young age of fifteen - passed out at a bar, woke up pregnant, and everydragon shrugged because that sort of thing happened all too often in that part of town. To Diomedea's credit, she tried to raise Ellie when she could have gotten an abortion and saved herself a lot of money and trouble, but when it came down to it she was a mother who was far too young to be a mother.