Name: Orthella Bardon (pronounced: Bar-doh) | Nicknames: Ella

Actual Age: 45 | Born: 15th July 1985 | Age of Appearance: 32

Place of Birth: Lima, Peru | Nationality: Peruvian | Located: Evermore City, Colorado

Species: Celestial | Constellation: Cancer | Status: Immortal

Distinguishing Marks: Cancer’s Constellation on the nape of her neck

Family: None

Face Claim: Meghan Markle

Attributes:

Friendly ; Compassionate ; Caring ; Optimistic

Untrusting ; Emotionless ; Ruthless; Revengeful

History:

Man has watched the skies from the beginning of time, following the moon’s phases and gazed upon the mass clusters of stars that poked through the cloak of darkness. The stars helped man navigate through the world’s unscouted corners, guided them through the never ending seas. So it was only natural for man to create their own myths to what happened when a star shot across the skies. Back in the old days, they said when a star fell, it would end up on the rich soil of the earth, awaiting a wandering soul to pick up its priceless wonder. Now, scientists have classified ‘shooting stars’ as simple meteorites, the ancient stories reserved only for tribal regions. Yes, sometimes the scientists are right: sometimes it’s only flaming rocks shooting their way through the atmosphere.

But sometimes, just sometimes, some of those “falling stars” are indeed falling stars.

1985

One cool July evening in the regions of Lima, Peru, all was calm. A young woman, barely out of her teenage years, headed out from her home, hands in the pockets of her bell bottoms as she moved along a familiar path not far from the desert, her mind barely there with her as thoughts raced across her subconscious. Monica Alvarez was anyone’s typical girl-next-door, her only worry being whether or not her check was going to bounce, when her pay was coming in, and, of course, if Juanpa Hernandes was finally going to make a move.

That’s when she saw the flash of light streak the heavens above her, shooting straight into the desert outskirts of the city, then crashing with a blinding light and a wave of sand.

Curiosity overcame the young human girl as she watched, eyes wide and jaw popped open. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, an adventurous side she hadn’t known existed carrying her feet towards the crash site before she actually realised she was indeed moving. She didn’t stop until she found herself atop a large boulder, looking down at a sort of crater in the sand. If there was fire before, there was none now, but instead, there was a woman. Her skin was deep as the chocolate her father brought her from his trips to Europe, her features angular. More interestingly, however, a faint glow seemed to emanate from her toned form. Instinct took over her as she slid down towards her, worry flooding through the young woman’s mind as she scanned over the woman, checking for injuries. All of a sudden, closed eyes snapped open, the young adult leaping back in shock. The dark-skinned woman blinked, appearing to barely have any strength to properly sit up.

“¿Quién eres tú?”

The words left Monica’s lips without her realising. At the woman’s confused expression, the Peruvian instantly assumed that she didn’t speak the native tongue. “W-W-Who are you?” the girl asked again, but this time in English.

The woman remained silent, mocha-hued optics glancing off into the distance. 

“I do not know,” Monica barely caught her saying, for it was a whisper so soft, it was almost lost with the winds that blew the sand around them.

Something was pushing her to ask the woman to come with her, to offer to let her rest in her studio apartment. Whether it was fate, destiny, or purely a gut feeling, she did ask.

“Thank you,” was all the woman said.

It was a long walk back to the apartments set on the edge of Lima, even longer now that Monica had to support the weight of the weakened woman. But finally, they made it, and soon enough, they arrived in Monica’s room. The human let the tired woman rest upon her bed, who fell into slumber right away. But Monica wasn’t tired. No, curiosity; the need for answers consumed her, and so she spent the rest of the night watching over the woman’s sleeping form, until she herself fell asleep, her eyes too heavy to stay open any longer

* * * * * *

The first thing she remembered was an olive-skinned woman, eyes the hue of the sand she lay in and light brown locks fluttering around her friendly features, escaping from the braid draped over her shoulder. She’d been so nice to her, the woman thought, offering her a place to rest. There was only one bed there, and that was where she collapsed.

Narrowed eyes flew open, her eyelashes fluttering as her pupils adjusted to the warming sun rays that crept into the room. Her surroundings were messy, but nothing too bad. Then, she noticed the woman who had been so nice, her curvaceous form laying down upon a worn-out sofa. She seemed to sense the woman’s gaze upon her, for her eyes slid open soon after, fingers rising to rub the sleep away from her face as she sat up leaning her back against the cushions of the couch.

“What is your name?” she asked.

What was her name?

The woman searched her mind, but nothing came to her. She tried harder, longer, but still, nothing remotely close to a name appeared in her mind. “I can’t remember,” the woman admitted. 

“Where did you come from?” she asked next.

This answer she knew. “From the skies,” the woman answered.

“¿Hablas español?” she questioned quickly after. “¿Entiendes lo que te estoy diciendo? ¿Entiendes el español?”

“Sí, entiendo su idioma. Yo hablo...español,” she found herself answering in the woman’s language perfectly. She sighed then, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “What is your name? Where are we?” she found herself asking, the accented words rolling off her tongue in a rushed waterfall.

The olive-skinned woman pursed her lips. “You’re in Lima, Peru. My name is Monica Alvarez.”

When it became clear she didn’t remember her name or her age, Monica told her about the glow of her skin. That’s what stopped her from taking the woman to the hospital, she admitted. After the woman proved that she could indeed speak the country’s official language, Monica told her she could stay, but on one condition: that she got a job and helped pay for the rent. The job, Monica would help with. Of course, the woman agreed.

Monica called her ‘Ella’ for a while as she hunted for jobs around their city. It was the Spanish word for ‘she’ anyway, and no one really asked questions around there. She simply said her friend had moved in with her and now was hunting for a job. Eventually, an opportunity turned up: a bar downtown was looking for a new barmaid. Their only requirements was that she was particularly eye-catching---the bartending she could learn. As Ella was admittedly a very beautiful woman, Monica arranged an appointment before heading back home to tell Ella the good news.

One problem remained, however: all the woman who fell from the skies had to wear was a white toga-styled gown that cascaded right down to the floor and pooled around her feet--hardly appropriate wear for a barmaid. Monica offered to lend the woman her clothes, and the two spent close to an hour figuring out what suited the dark-skinned woman. That was when she remembered something.

“Orthella,” she found herself saying.

Monica looked up at her, confusion evident upon her features. “I’m sorry?” she asked.

“Orthella Bardon--that’s my name!” the woman said.

“Orthella huh?” Monica repeated, a soft laugh parting her lips as she tossed the woman a shirt. “I like it. We’re lucky Ella still fits then, cause that’s the name I gave the bar.”

All worked out soon after. Orthella got the barmaid’s job as soon as she walked into the bar, the bar owner’s eyes leaving her lithe form as she sauntered in. Over the next few weeks, the other bartenders taught her the skills of the trade, and in the knick of time, she had skills that rivalled many. Her looks brought in many tips, that helped with the rent. In time, she and Monica purchased a larger apartment, one with two separate bedrooms and a breathtaking view. As days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, Orthella found herself trusting Monica with her life, and the feeling was mutual. Monica never told anyone of where she found Orthella--only that she was a friend from her childhood who moved back to Lima. They became the best of friends---inseparable was how many of their friends would describe them. Life was good.

Then, Juanpa Hernandez proposed to Monica.

1990

They’d been dating for close to five years by then---they’d started going out around the time Orthella was settled in Lima. Orthella always had her doubts about Juanpa---something about him irked her---but she pushed them away, knowing how happy he made Monica. He was friendly to her as well, which made it all the more easier. However, after they were engaged, Monica formally moved out from the apartment they shared. True, she did occasionally stay over at Juanpa’s for long periods of time, but this was their actual goodbye. Orthella would be living alone now, and it tore her heart to pieces. However, living with Juanpa would make her happy, so so she faked a smile and watched as she left the building for the last time, only letting the tears stream down her face after her car drove off into the sunset, when she knew Monica would never see them.

Juanpa and Monica were married in beautiful ceremony on one of the many hills in Peru. Of course, Orthella was Monica’s maid of honor, and in her speech she described how happy the man made her best friend, and how happy she felt seeing Monica that blissful. But then, something in Juanpa’s features changed. It was far more...colder, she thought as she continued with her speech. But she thought nothing of it, even when he continued to practically glare at her through the entire evening.

1992

He and Monica soon welcomed a daughter, Elenora, into the world two years later, and Orthella was named her godmother, who was now quite a well-known bartender down in Lima. As her job was a nocturnal one, Orthella often took care of her dearest goddaughter while her parents were busy working. The coldness never left Juanpa’s face every time he looked at his wife’s best friend, however---not since the wedding.

One day, when he came to pick up Elenora from Orthella’s home, the cold had magnified. He was emotionless, she thought to herself, when he looked at her.

“I know,” the man said to her as he took his daughter into his arms.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You know what, exactly?” she asked.

“Monica told me where you came from,” he told her. “She told me you fell from the skies.”

“She what?” Orthella blurted out, her eyes growing wide.

“I knew you weren’t human,” Juanpa practically growled. “The way you glowed at our wedding--it was inhuman.”

“Juanpa--” she started to say, but the man cut her off.

“Stay away from my wife. Stay away from my daughter. Or I swear to god, you’ll regret it.”

And with that, he slammed the door on her face and walked away.

That night at work, her mood was down. How could she never see Monica or Elenora again? She was so distracted, she didn’t notice the two men watching her from across the bar. After a glass slipped from her hand and fell to the ground, scattering in broken fragments, she excused herself to the staff’s room, needing a moment to gather her thoughts.

She didn’t notice the men follow her in. 

She only noticed when it was too late.

They beat her till she was incapable of moving without aid before pulling a black bag over her head and binding her limbs.

“Please,” she begged weakly. “Please leave me alone. I did nothing wrong I’ll give you anything you want. Just please don’t hurt me.”

The men remained silent, but she could feel them still binding her hands.

“Why are you doing this?” she croaked.

“You’re a threat,” one of them said.

“I’m harmless,” Orthella insisted, but she was met with dry scoffs.

“You’re a Celestial. Of course you are a threat.”

“A what?” she repeated.

“Did you not fall from the sky?” one of them questioned.

“How did you know?” she asked, but she already knew the answer.

Juanpa.

They took her someplace else, she couldn’t see where, and stuffed her in a cage. For twenty-five years, that was her home, where the bars weakened and her only company were other captives in similar cages. The elder few often told her many tales of the great Ophelia Dreyvalian, the Wayfinder, but they gave her no hope. Being parted with the only people who she’d considered family...it broke the creature’s heart. The elders also told her of what she was: a Celestial---a fallen star. They told her from the mark on her neck, she’d fallen from the constellation of Cancer: the crab. They told her why she must never trust others, what her death would give others, and what her love could salvage. 

For twenty-five years, that was her life.

2017

The Isle of Skye came crashing down.

That was what their prison was called, the elders said.

And it was destroyed by none other than the Wayfinder herself, who had come to save her people.

As soon as she was released from her prison, she looked for Monica. Upon returning to Lima, Orthella was greeted with the worst of news.

Juanpa had murdered Monica.

Juanpa was now spending the entirety of his life in prison, but that brought no comfort to the fallen star. She’d lost her best friend--her sister to a man who was revealed to have controlled every aspect of her life. He’d stabbed her because she’d come back five minutes later than she’d told him she would. And Orthella wasn’t there to protect her friend. Nothing grieved her more; nothing compared to the guilt that weighed down in her heart. She felt nothing.

When she returned to Evermore to rejoined with the rest of her kind, she returned as an emotionless, untrusting woman. She keeps to herself nowadays, though whenever her kind calls for aid, she’s the first to answer.

Juanpa Hernandez will pay by her hand for taking away her friend. 

The Guard will pay for taking away her life.