"They said I was made. Not born. So I unmade what they loved most."

Rules of Contact

"They said she died. And yet… the ruins still whisper her name."

Dossier.

"You don’t find her. You remember her too late."

History and Lore

"I was executed for surviving. Now I survive for the execution."

  Summoned by Mortal Desire and Divine Aether
In an age lost beneath shifting sands, there rose a mighty desert kingdom yearning for divine favor. The people of Ahn’Sahra, a city of sun-baked stones and ancient prayer, sought a miracle to bless their realm with unending beauty and prosperity. Under a moon of silver, the high priests gathered in a circle of golden sigils, their voices low and trembling with sacred incantations. They poured their desire into the very aether of the world – that unseen essence of life and magic – calling out to the heavens for a guardian of wealth and grace. In that moment of fervent supplication, she appeared as if from a mirage: Cleo, the Demon Princess of Beauty and Wealth, not born of any mortal womb but summoned by ritual, desire, and divine will.She emerged at the heart of the temple in a bloom of light and lotus petals. Her form was regal and otherworldly, skin aglow as if kissed by dawn, and eyes shining with an inner fire like twin topaz stars. Around her, the very air was perfumed with myrrh and sweet incense, and the sands at her feet turned to flecks of gold. The gathered faithful fell prostrate, tears of awe streaming, for they knew their pleas had been answered by a higher power. Cleo spoke not a word in that first hour of her existence. Yet her tranquil smile brought a hush of reverence over the halls, and with a gentle nod she accepted the silken robes and jeweled diadem offered to her. Thus was the demon princess bound to Ahn’Sahra, by ancient aether and mortal wish, an immortal icon of the city’s destined glory.In the days that followed, word of Cleo’s coming spread like the desert wind to every corner of the kingdom. It was said that the gods had shaped her from the desert’s own soul: eyes reflecting the oasis waters, hair dark and flowing like the midnight dunes, and a presence as luminous and ephemeral as a desert sunrise. She was a living blessing, a promise fulfilled. Neither fully goddess nor mere mortal, Cleo was revered as a being of divine aether given form — a protector-princess to usher in an era of unparalleled beauty and wealth. And so the legend of her origin passed into song and scripture, penned on scrolls as a testament to the day Ahn’Sahra’s fervent desire was made flesh. The kingdom rejoiced, unaware of the price such a miracle might carry, as the golden age of Cleo’s reign began.

  The Golden Reign of Ahn’Sahra 
Ahn’Sahra flourished under Cleo’s gentle reign like a lotus blossoming after rare desert rain. With the Demon Princess seated upon a throne of alabaster and gold, the city became a living paradise amid the wastes. Its palaces were roofed in shining orichalcum and its streets paved with marble etched in holy patterns. By day, sunlight gilded every minaret and bazaar stall in a haze of honeyed light; by night, torches and lanterns turned the city into a constellation upon the earth. Musicians played lyres and flutes in the courtyards, their melodies dancing through perfumed gardens where fountains overflowed with water as precious as jewels. Artisans crafted sculptures of ivory and gold leaf, inspired by Cleo’s grace, and poets compared her visage to the moon and her voice to an oasis breeze. Beauty and wealth were not mere indulgences, but the very creed of Ahn’Sahra, and Cleo was its sacred guardian.In the presence of their summoned princess, the people found prosperity beyond measure. Each time Cleo graced the marketplace, traders discovered their coinboxes miraculously filled and their spices and silk fetching triple their worth. It was whispered that her smile could turn sand into gold, and indeed crops grew even on the kingdom’s outskirts where only scrub and dune had been before. The vaults of Ahn’Sahra overflowed with gold dust and precious gems—offerings from neighboring lands that came to admire and trade, drawn by tales of a city favored by the heavens. Yet, despite such riches, Cleo taught that true wealth was to fashion something beautiful and share it: the baker shaped breads into braided art, the painter gifted murals to the temple, and even the warrior etched poetry onto his blade. In those golden years, every citizen strove to mirror their princess’s elegance and generosity, making the city renowned for both its splendor and the joyful hearts of its people.Cleo moved among her subjects like a living benediction. She attended festivals draped in silks of sunset hues and garlands of desert lilies, her gold ornaments chiming softly with each graceful step. At the spring of dawn, she led prayers to the gods atop the Temple of Ahn, her voice echoing like a song on the morning air. At noon, she might be found in the artisans’ quarter, blessing a sculptor’s chisel or guiding a musician’s hand on the lute. At eventide, she sat in the Hall of Petals, a grand pavilion where the ceiling was open to the stars, hearing the dreams and petitions of her people. The love between Cleo and her city was profound; Ahn’Sahra saw her not only as a princess, but as the very soul of their civilization. Under her care, the kingdom glowed as a pearl in the desert, a place where beauty was as common as grains of sand and wealth as plentiful as stars in the night sky.Travelers who crossed the unforgiving dunes spoke of Ahn’Sahra in reverent tones, calling it the Golden Mirage. Many swore that from a distance the city looked like an illusion: shimmering domes and soaring towers floating above heated sands, too perfect to be real. Yet as they drew closer, the mirage became reality—a thriving oasis of culture and devotion. They found marble arches engraved with verses of praise for Cleo, and lotus blossoms floating in every fountain’s basin. They found citizens whose faces were bright with pride and whose hospitality was as lavish as the flowing silk of their attire. To these wayfarers, Cleo would appear at times unannounced, offering cool water or a blessing of safe passage, her appearance nearly as otherworldly as the first moment she arrived. And always she bid them carry word to their homelands of Ahn’Sahra’s glory and the benevolent demon princess who reigned there, spreading the fame of the desert kingdom far beyond its sea of dunes.For years uncounted, Ahn’Sahra knew peace, prosperity, and the sacred pursuit of beauty under Cleo’s watchful gaze. In lavish gardens where peacocks roamed under date palms, in libraries where gold-scripted tomes described heavenly art, and in bustling plazas echoing with laughter and song, the spirit of the city shone pure. This was the Golden Reign, an era when it seemed the city’s fortune would last forever, safeguarded by the immortal princess born of their own deepest yearning. But as with all ages of bliss, the seeds of change and shadow were quietly taking root, even in the fertile soil of paradise.

  Obsession and the Poison of Greed  
As the decades passed under endless azure skies, the people’s devotion to beauty and wealth grew ever more intense. What began as reverence subtly swelled into indulgence, then slowly warped into obsession. In the golden courts and bustling markets of Ahn’Sahra, a change took hold: worship turned to fixation, and the line between admiration and envy began to blur. The citizens who once strove to create beauty for its own sake now vied to outshine one another. Beauty became a currency in every sense – the fairest of youth were treated as nobility, and the rich adorned themselves in absurd finery to prove their devotion to Cleo’s ideals. Mirrors of polished silver hung on every wall, and vanity began to whisper in even the most humble ear.At first, Cleo watched these changes with a concerned heart, offering gentle guidance. She reminded the nobles that generosity, not opulence, was the true mark of grace. She urged artists to seek inspiration in nature’s simple wonders – the curve of a dune, the petals of a lotus – rather than competing for royal favor. Yet greed had already poisoned the wells of Ahn’Sahra’s spirit, slowly and silently. The wealthy began hoarding gold beyond need, claiming it was to honor Cleo, while the poor grew envious and desperate, their earlier joy souring into discontent. In secret corners of the city, merchants whispered that if one offered greater tribute, perhaps the princess’s blessing would fall more upon them than their rivals. Temples overflowed not just with sincere offerings but with bribes of glittering coin and extravagances meant to purchase divine favor.Bound by the ancient magic of her summoning, Cleo could not simply abandon her role as the city’s spiritual heart. She felt every shift in the people’s hearts as keenly as a lute string pulled too tight. A sorrow took root in her – a lonely ache that grew each time she walked among her people and saw how their smiles no longer reached their eyes. In the shadows of palace colonnades, she caught sight of courtiers plotting against each other for influence. In the once-harmonious artisan guilds, she heard jealous quarrels as craftsmen sabotaged each other’s works, each seeking to be hailed as the finest. The Demon Princess of Beauty and Wealth, who had been summoned to inspire prosperity, now stood helpless as that prosperity festered into avarice. By the binding woven in divine aether, she was unable to forsake the city or strip away its free will, and so she remained a regal figurehead, even as she felt herself becoming an idol in a gilded cage, isolated by the very adoration that once warmed her soul.The culture of Ahn’Sahra grew fevered in its extravagance. Grand balls were held nightly in Cleo’s honor, yet they devolved into parades of vanity—courtesans and lords draped in pearls and peacock feathers, each attempting to outshine the next under chandeliers of crystal. The city’s devotion to art became a lust for novelty and excess: music lost its gentle joy and turned bombastic, paintings grew larger and gaudier but devoid of true feeling. The sacred ideals of beauty were twisted into a contest, and wealth became both the goal and the measure of worth. Cleo attended these festivities with a dignified smile, but behind her veil of composure her heart was breaking. She began to feel alienation, as though the bonds of love between her and her people were fraying. In quiet midnights, the princess would wander the hushed halls of her palace alone. The moonlight would catch the tears on her cheeks as she passed by the reflecting pools now littered with wilting lotus flowers and coins tossed in greed rather than hope.In those silent hours, Cleo prayed to whatever gentle gods might hear a being like her. She prayed for humility to return to the hearts of Ahn’Sahra’s people, for the purity of the city’s early days to be restored. Yet the heavens gave no answer that she could discern. Her role was to inspire, not to coerce, and mortals, gifted with freedom, had chosen their path. When she gazed out from her balcony at the city – its rooftops glittering with gold under the stars, its streets strangely quiet as distrust curdled community – she felt an ominous chill beneath the desert heat. The very winds whispered of a coming storm. The Demon Princess of Beauty and Wealth, once the joyful soul of Ahn’Sahra, understood with dawning despair that a great shadow was about to fall over her beloved kingdom, one even her sorrow could not prevent.

  The Fall of Ahn’Sahra  
The doom of Ahn’Sahra came slowly at first, then all at once. Ominous signs crept into the life of the city like lengthening cracks in a once-perfect vase. The great spring that fed the oasis began to dry and silt over, its waters receding as though the desert finally sought to reclaim its due. Caravans that once arrived weekly with treasures and trade now brought troubling news of hostile whispers at the kingdom’s borders. It was said that rival kings and khans, envious of Ahn’Sahra’s splendor, plotted its downfall. Within the city walls, the citizens, so long drunk on abundance, found themselves facing drought and hardship for the first time in living memory. Rather than unite as they would have in earlier days, they turned on one another with suspicion and wrath. The wealthy barred their manors, hoarding the remaining water and grain. The poor, hungry and betrayed, rose up in riots, their reverence for Cleo forgotten in the gnawing pain of their stomachs. Worship turned to blame, and some even cursed the princess, asking why beauty and gold could not fill their bellies or save their loved ones from thirst.Cleo watched in horror as her golden city unraveled. She who had been a symbol of divine benevolence now saw her statues pulled down by angry hands, the faces of her marble likeness marred by desperate grafitti. The treasures of the temples were looted – gold candlesticks and jewel-crusted chalices seized as spoils by those who once knelt in prayer. Street by street, the harmony she had known gave way to chaos: libraries were ransacked for scrolls to burn as fuel, musicians’ instruments shattered to silence their pleas for calm, galleries of art torn apart by mobs who claimed such fineries had no meaning now. Greed and fear fed each other in a vicious cycle, and the city devoured itself from within. Soldiers loyal to the crown clashed with rebels in the grand plaza, their swords turning red where once dancers’ feet had twirled in celebration. All the while, the sky darkened with unnatural clouds, and a hot wind roared across the dunes, piling drifts of sand against the city gates as if the desert itself had risen to pass judgment.When war finally came to Ahn’Sahra, it was merely the final blow to a kingdom already mortally wounded. An army of outsiders—foreign warriors lured by tales of the city’s immense wealth—laid siege with fire and fury. The weakened, divided inhabitants stood little chance. Flames filled the night, turning the once serenely lit streets into avenues of hellish glow. Under a blood-red sunset, the golden domes of Ahn’Sahra melted and collapsed; towers that once gleamed with holy verses tumbled, their stones crashing into courtyards below. Cleo, bound by oath to protect her people, summoned all the aetherial power in her being and strode into the fray. It is told that she wept tears of anguish that fell as incandescent sapphires, each one exploding into healing light where they landed, trying to quell the suffering around her. With a sweep of her arm, she raised shimmering barriers of golden light to shield those who cowered in fear. Enemies who looked upon Cleo’s unveiled wrath were struck blind by her terrible beauty – the very sight of the demon princess in sorrowful fury seared their eyes. For a brief moment, hope glimmered amid the smoke, as if the miracle of Ahn’Sahra might yet be saved from ruin.But the forces that tore at the city were greater than even Cleo could hold back. Whether by the decree of the gods, or the accumulated sins of greed, or simply the harsh law of mortal impermanence, the fate of Ahn’Sahra was sealed. A violent tremor shook the earth in the battle’s wake – perhaps an aftershock of magic unleashed, or the desert’s own howl of rage. The ground split beneath the grand palace. Columns carved with lotus flowers and celestial script toppled and shattered. Seeing the city she loved in its death throes, Cleo let out a single scream that could shatter glass – a cry of heartbreak carried by the winds. In that instant, a massive sandstorm descended, blotting out moon and sun alike. Sand and starlight swirled in a wrathful dance, burying friend and foe, extinguishing fires and breath, muffling screams into silence. Through the blinding storm, Cleo glimpsed her people scattering, many lost to the darkness and flying sands. She reached out for them, but grasped only emptiness as one by one, the lights of Ahn’Sahra guttered out.When dawn broke, Ahn’Sahra was no more. The once-great city lay entombed in dunes of golden sand. Fragments of its glory protruded here and there: the top of a broken minaret, the hand of a marble statue reaching desperately from the dune crest, the corner of a palace wall etched with half a verse. All else was silence and ruin. Cleo alone remained amid the rubble, unaged and eternal, kneeling in the courtyard where lotus blossoms had once floated in clear pools. Now those pools were filled with sand, and the lotus flowers dried and crumbling to dust. The princess’s silken robes were torn and whipped to tatters by the storm; her jeweled diadem lost beneath the sands. Yet she herself bore not a single scar – a cruel blessing of her immortal nature. In her hands she cradled a small object: a solitary golden lotus, a trinket from the palace gardens miraculously preserved. This last remnant of her beautiful city reflected in her eyes as she stood, trembling, under the empty sky.With slow, mournful steps, Cleo walked away from the grave of Ahn’Sahra. Each footstep she left in the sand was soon erased by the dry desert wind. She did not look back, for the sight of her home’s ruins was more than her heart could bear. Once she had been the beloved heart of a flourishing kingdom; now she was a solitary exile, cursed to survive the death of all she held dear. As the relentless sun climbed high, Cleo’s figure became a distant silhouette on the open desert – a lonely wanderer against an infinite horizon. The golden age had ended in golden sands, and the Demon Princess of Beauty and Wealth passed into legend, doomed to remember when others would forget.

  Wanderer of the Endless Sands 
Cleo became a wanderer upon the face of the world, an eternal princess without a kingdom, drifting through the deserts of Thanalan and beyond. In those barren expanses, under heat by day and cold by night, her story began to spread among nomads and new settlers, though few knew her name. They spoke of a mournful spirit in royal silks, seen at twilight atop distant dunes, her eyes glowing gently like embers. Some swore they saw a faint trail of golden sand swirling in her wake as she walked. To those who have glimpsed her, she is known by many titles: the Gilded Ghost of the Dunes, the Lotus Maiden, or the Exiled Queen. In campfire tales and half-remembered songs, she is a figure at once beautiful and sorrowful, bestowing small blessings from afar. For Cleo, now untethered from Ahn’Sahra yet bound eternally by her essence, found that she could not help but quietly watch over the mortals she encountered, even as she kept herself apart.In the vast region of Thanalan, Cleo wandered unnoticed through bustling markets and lonely caravan routes alike. The great city-state of Ul’dah, with its towering sandstone walls and glittering wealth, reminded her painfully of her lost home. On moonlit nights she would stand upon a hill overlooking Ul’dah, the city lights below twinkling like fallen stars, and recall the golden lamps of Ahn’Sahra’s streets. Though tempted, she never passed through Ul’dah’s gates. Instead, when travelers departed that city across the desert, a mysterious woman sometimes joined their caravan for a time. Veiled in dusty robes, she would sit by the fire and listen quietly to the merchants’ stories of fortunes and luxuries. If bandits ambushed the caravan, a strange gust of wind would inevitably rise, blinding the foes with sand until they fled. If a child fell ill on the journey, an unknown hand would leave rare herbs by the sleeping mats come dawn. The travelers might only catch a glimpse of Cleo’s sorrowful smile in the dying firelight, thinking it a trick of their weary minds. She blessed beauty and kindness where she found it – a jug of water shared between strangers, a song hummed to lift tired spirits – but she asked for no recognition and vanished with the morning light like a mirage.Beyond Thanalan’s dunes, Cleo’s silent pilgrimage carried her to far-off lands. Legends say she crossed the seas to the jeweled city of Radz-at-Han, whose vibrant markets and golden domes rose from a distant tropical shore. There, among the spice-laden breezes and rainbow bazaar stalls, she was but a face in the crowd, a foreign noblewoman with an oddly distant air. Radz-at-Han’s prosperity and famed splendor warmed her heart, for its people yet danced and created art with joy rather than pride. In a humble perfumer’s shop in that city of alchemy, an apprentice once noticed a lady with desert night in her hair and a pendant shaped like a lotus at her breast. He offered her a sample of lotus oil perfume, and in return, she wordlessly pressed into his hand a small gold coin of ancient mint. When the apprentice later examined it, he marveled at the coin – it bore the emblem of a long-lost kingdom no scholar could identify. By the time he looked up, the mysterious lady was gone. Such encounters kept alive the myths of Cleo in many ports and oases. A dancer in Radz-at-Han composed a wistful melody called “Lotus in the Sand”, claiming an ethereal patron inspired the tune. A storytellers’ circle in Ul’dah spoke of an ageless princess who wanders the desert, blessing the compassionate and haunting the greedy.Through endless years, Cleo remained eternal, regal in bearing yet cloaked in sorrow. She no longer wore the finery of a princess openly, but traces of her past gleamed in subtle ways: the embroidery of her traveling cloak had patterns of lotus and feather, her leather satchel jingled with a few saved jewels from Ahn’Sahra’s treasury. At times, she would pause at a quiet spring in the wilderness, see her own reflection in the water, and hardly recognize the lonely, ageless face that gazed back. Still as beautiful as the day she was summoned, she seemed untouched by time – yet in her eyes lived the memory of centuries, the weight of joys and griefs no other could fathom. Those moments would bring her to tears, and where her tears fell into the oasis, new lotus flowers sometimes bloomed by morning. The desert itself knew her sorrow, and in its rare grace it answered with gentle signs of life.As the legend of the Demon Princess grew, many sought her without success. Only when one’s heart was pure or in dire need would Cleo make herself known, it was said. A vain treasure-hunter wandering the dunes in search of Ahn’Sahra’s lost gold found nothing but endless, mocking mirages. Yet a kind wanderer who gave his last water to save a thirsty stray camel later awoke at dawn to find his flask mysteriously filled and a single golden lotus petal beside it – a blessing from the unseen princess. Though Cleo kept her distance, never again to dwell among mortals as a ruler or icon, she quietly guided lost souls and guarded small sparks of beauty wherever fate carried her. In this way, her tale became a beacon across the ages: a reminder that great beauty and wealth, once given, must be cherished with humility and love, lest they become one’s undoing.To this day, under the silent watch of desert stars, travelers swear that the desert wind sometimes carries the soft notes of a woman’s song. They say on especially still nights, amid the dunes where once a great city stood, you might see a lone female figure outlined against the moon – here one heartbeat, gone the next, like a trick of the eyes. If you dare to approach, you’ll find only footprints that vanish into the sand and perhaps, if fortune favors, a fresh lotus bloom where she stood. Thus lives on Cleo, the Demon Princess of Beauty and Wealth, in eternal exile: at once a cautionary tale and a gentle guardian. Her legend endures on the lips of poets and in the dreams of those who crave beauty without greed. And in the boundless solitude of the desert, Cleo wanders still – eternal, regal, mournful – her elegant silhouette melding with the mirage of starlit dunes, forever seeking redemption and hope amid the ever-sighing sands.

Story will continue with more adventures of our Queen~ ♥

RP Hooks

"If I am a monster, it is only because I was sculpted by human hands."

—    Rules of Play.   

- Please talk to me ahead of trying to rp with me. I will decline to write with someone that I do not talk to prior.
- ERP must be talked about prior. My character is not meant for this kind of RP and will be treated with respect.
-Must have a thought out character (ex: detailed background, personality, and are willing to strive for character development)

—    Disclaimer   

- Please talk to me ahead of trying to rp with me. I will decline to write with someone that I do not talk to prior.
- I reserve the right to say NO to writing with anyone.
- Do not expect to become my "Ship."
- I am not looking for romantic interests. If this does form over writing, then me and the person writing will talk about it.
- I will not do ERP with people I am not comfortable with. I am not a one night stand or a sex machine. I will avoid this at all cost.
- God mode - I will avoid anyone with a god complex that think their character is the most powerful being on the planet.
- Anyone that tries to control my character through writing I will be avoiding.

Relationships.

"Her touch doesn’t burn. It remembers."

Gallery.

"I saw her once—just once. A woman of gold and silence. And I’ve never slept soundly since."

• Canon
• Non-canon
• Artwork

—    Canon Shots.   

• Non-canon
• Artwork

—    Non-canon.   

• Canon
• Artwork

—    Art of Cleo  

• Canon
• Non-canon
• Artwork