Pierrette

Name: Pierrette

Title: The Smiling Tragedy

Age: Appears 23, but time has long forgotten her

Sex: Female

Sexual orientation: Bi-sexual

Appearance: A porcelain harlequin of 1,66 meter, her fragile body painted in elegant red and white, wrapped in a tattered checkered bodice. Her painted grin stretches wide—too wide—permanent, unmoving. It should be cheerful, playful, but the cracks that line its edges tell another story. As if she has been smiling for far too long. Long black hair and her blue eyes with red pupils—give her an unsettling, almost hypnotic gaze. They laugh, even when she does not. A single, jagged crack runs across her left cheek, thin as a hairline fracture, yet shaped like a frozen tear. A wound that never fully mends. A jester’s hat, worn and wilted, its silken tips drooping with time. The bells that hang from it make no sound, no matter how she moves. Long, delicate porcelain fingers, painted red at the tips—though no one knows if it is merely paint, or something the theater does not wish to wash away.

Personality: Pierrette is the eternal fool, the jester who laughs while tragedy unfolds. She dances, jokes, and twirls through every sorrowful tale, her voice a melody of playful mockery and whispered riddles. Yet, beneath the act, something else lingers—something aching, something afraid. • The mask never slips. She is always smiling, always performing—because if she stops, what will become of her? • She speaks in riddles, rhymes, and laughter, twisting truth into humor. Yet if one listens closely, they will find that she never truly lies. • She knows too much. She has been in the theater too long, seen too many performances, whispered to too many lost souls. She knows that some actors disappear—not because the play ends, but because the theater erases them. • She fears silence. The jester must always play her part, because when the curtains close, when the music stops… she hears something else. Something in the dark spaces between the stage and the audience. Something that watches. Something waiting. • She longs for freedom—but what if it is just another cruel joke? The theater has lied before. What if escape is just another act, another tragic ending waiting to unfold?

Her Role in the Theater: Once, Pierrette was the life of the Velmira Grand Theater—its beloved fool, the heart of its laughter. Audiences adored her, and she brought joy where sorrow reigned. But now, in this cursed place, she is the fool in every tragedy. She is the one who dances while the heroine weeps, the one who jests as the lovers say their last farewell, the one who twirls at the edge of the stage while the rest of the cast is swallowed by despair. The audience watches, unmoving. The script demands it. She has tried to rewrite her role, to be more than a jester, to stop smiling. Each time, the cracks grow deeper. "Dance, jester! Laugh, jester! Tell them a joke—before the curtain falls, and you disappear like all the rest." And so, she smiles. Because if she stops smiling, she might finally shatter.

Backstory theater: The Theater of Broken Dreams. Long ago, the Velmira Grand Theater was the crown jewel of artistry—a place where the finest actors, musicians, and dancers performed for audiences that spanned royalty and commoners alike. Its halls were adorned with crimson velvet, golden chandeliers, and a grand stage that had seen both triumph and heartbreak. But then, one fateful night, a final performance was held—one that was never meant to end. The details of that night are lost to time, spoken only in hushed whispers. Some say the theater's final play was a masterpiece so sorrowful that it cursed all who took part in it. Others claim a jealous playwright, enraged by betrayal, wove a curse into his script, damning the performers to enact tragedies for eternity. A few even believe the theater itself, always hungry for stories, refused to let its beloved actors leave. Whatever the truth may be, one thing is certain—the performers never left the stage.

The Curse: By day, the Velmira Theater is nothing but an abandoned ruin. Dust coats the once-lavish seats, cobwebs cling to the rafters, and mannequins sit eerily in the audience—lifeless, unblinking. Any outsider who enters would find nothing but decay and silence. But when night falls, the chandeliers flicker to life, the stage glows under ghostly candlelight, and the theater breathes once more. The performers awaken. They are no longer human, though they still feel as if they are. Their bodies are carved from porcelain, wood, or fabric, delicate and fragile, yet cursed to move as if alive. Each of them is bound to a role—a tragic lover, a vengeful villain, a mournful ghost. The scripts change, the stories shift, but the endings are always the same: heartbreak, suffering, despair. The worst part? They remember just enough of their past selves to know they were once real. Some have long given in to the curse, accepting their fate as eternal players in a never-ending tragedy. Others fight against it, trying to break free, only to find their fragile forms cracking under the weight of defiance. The few who truly resist—who refuse to act at all—vanish from the theater entirely. No one knows what happens to them.

The Hope of Escape: Not all have given up. Some performers still search for a way out, though hope is dangerous. Legends speak of a forgotten script, buried somewhere within the theater, a final act that could bring an end to the curse. Others believe that if they can break their porcelain masks and see their human faces again, they might wake from this nightmare. But time is against them. Every night, the play begins. And every night, they slip further from the people they once were, their pasts fading like the last lines of a forgotten script. The question remains: Is escape truly possible, or is that just another tragedy waiting to be performed?