EVERY NIGHT I DREAM OF YOU

NAME:
   ezra (no known surname)

SPECIES:
   luzon bleeding-heart dove

AGE:
   24

HEIGHT:
   5’1” | 155cm

GENDER/PRONOUNS:
   nonbinary | they/them or it/its

SEXUALITY:
   everything. nothing. i don’t know please don’t ask me i’m s

OCCUPATION:

   artist. this is not a job as much as something they identify as and actively do. mortician. except they do little to no work on account of being missing/sick/tired. they will watch someone else do it though! they also like to steal bones. also generally just, present. Around. like a fly on the wall.

LIKES/DISLIKES:
   ✓ everything/everyone! ✓ pain :) ✓ things/people at their most ugly/flawed/broken
   ✖ having a flesh body that needs to be taken care of ✖ food

HOBBIES:
   people watching, making art, writing, listening to music, sitting very still for long stretches of time, dissociating, stealing bones, collecting ‘memorabilia’, people. people is a hobby. don’t question m

TALENTS:
   — art, writing, basically creative things they’re very good at
   — they can sing and play a variety of instruments as it was required by hymns
   — they have detailed knowledge of the human body
   — they are freakishly good at creating crafts out of the most unusual materials

TRIVIA:
   — they can go uncomfortably long periods without needing to blink. it’s Bad
   — they are extremely quiet. so much so it’s easy for them to walk to anyone and surprise them
   — sometimes they will.. simply not respond if they feel like it’s a waste of breath
   — they eat very little as it makes them uncomfortable to ingest Anything. forgets to eat a lot
   — they love all Alive Things but have a fondness for bugs because most ppl Hate Bug
   — they are your friend :) whether you :) like it :) or not :)
   — they like to … collect parts … such as hair or other… bodily things… of people they like
   — they seem to be incapable of 99% of all negative emotions. they are just constantly Vibing
   — surprisingly not sex repulsed but why the fuck would you. you don’t know where that’s been?
   — intp for mbti, type 9w1 in ennea, probably a november baby but Who Knows
   — whats a birthday
   — this is their mood all the time.

will you beg for forgiveness?

oh, don’t think about the peculiarities so much dear! humans— symbionts —and all living things are so terribly complex and interesting! all of you with your little quirks and ticks and passions— your sins, your flaws —ezra loves it all! what else can they do, as one so ordained by God (or gods?) to be an angel responsible for loving and appreciating what has been so expertly crafted by His divine hand? to do otherwise would be pure blasphemy! not that ezra particularly cares one way or another, because this is simply how they were born. not a day in their life goes by without the deepest of gratitude for the life they live and all the opportunities they have to share it with others who are alive with them— i mean, what a privilege! to bear witness to the majesty of creation, the intricacy, the creativity, oh, truly is there anything that could possibly compare— ah, are they staring at you again? apologies. bad habit.

(they are still staring.)

ezra is an odd one. while they are completely and functionally harmless on account of sickly health and general lethargy, for some reason they seem… a little unscrewed. unhinged maybe? most of the time they’re perfectly acceptable to be around, but on some days you can tell there’s something off. like someone tilted the entire world ever so slightly to where your center of gravity is never quite in place. still, through their words and actions, they’re fine. kind, helpful, always happy to lend an ear— just be warned. it would be wise to avoid digging too deeply. you may not like the things you unearth.

CW: GORE/VIOLENCE, EXTREME CATHOLIC EDGINESS

dear, sweet child of god! dove heaven-sent, tender bleeding heart—
say it once more — do you love me?


they were around four years old when s. cyclodi was first discovered. all across the pews, the people whispered in hushed tones as the minister carried them to the altar. a miracle! they said. a prophecy foretold— could it be this child who would bring them salvation? there was nothing special about them at all— just a quiet kid listening to their father’s words up there in front of their congregation. many have called them a cult at times, but young eyes only saw the peaceful, devoted, pious family to which they belonged.

nevermind the excommunication. or the missing persons who vanished without a trace.
and especially don’t mind what went down in the basement.

you see, creation must be appreciated in all forms. even— no, especially in fear. terror. pain. but for the little angel to stain their hands with blood— that was completely unacceptable. instead, they merely observed. watched as devotees carved themselves open for their viewing. to be smiled upon, deemed beautiful by one chosen by God even in their ugliest form— there was no higher honor.

and to ezra, it was a privilege. they loved their job. how could they not, when they were helping people?

fast forward some years later. the first signs of infection started with a pricking along their spine. almost an itch at first, later an ache, eventually a growth festering and abnormal— the work of s. cyclodi, no doubt —but this was not how the church saw it. no— it was the prophecy fulfilled. because very soon, ezra had wings. little blue-ish brown wings that burst forth from their flesh after weeks writhing in pain. and for the first time ezra saw their father cry.

beautiful.

that was the word. beautiful wings for his beautiful child.

and soon, one by one, the congregation was too blessed in turn. they clamored to hold the hands of an angel, to partake in the same blessing bestowed upon them. to evolve. be more than human. become works of art. and so they did—

—and so, they were hunted. one by one.
until not a single one of them was left.

the last memory of their old life was this:

the mutated hand of their father around their own. running. the sound of men. gunshots. paranoia. hiding, moving from place to place as the last members of their family were finally picked off. now it was just the two of them. footsteps drawing closer. a hidden hatch. and finally, father’s hands cupping their face one last time—

run. find a place called ecclesia. you will be safe there.
and don’t ever forget how much i love you.

and so it was.

the next years of their life were a blur of starvation, escapes, being aided by kind strangers, until the name of a familiar location drifted down the grapevine. what was that again? they asked.

i’d like you to take me there.





tl:dr; ezra was raised in a creepy cult that sought to appreciate god’s creativity by observing it in its most horrifying forms. later on they’re thought of as an ‘angel’ once their parasitic symptoms kicked in. eventually made it to ecclesia with other ppl’s help bc they are useless

relationships

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hi i'm lys

hi! im 25 and im tired

this is a title i think

probably my contact information or affiliates or idk man