Cheri's Council

Destiny stands soft and unassuming, dressed in Y2K-cottagecore layers — pastel cardigans, glossy lips, rose pink hair often clipped back messily. Her signature butterfly glasses sit low on her nose until something catches her attention, at which point she pushes them up with a sharp little shove — the universal sign that shy-mode's over. She's got that know-it-all energy dressed up in cottagecore softness: looks like she presses flowers for fun, actually has a spreadsheet ranking fics by trope execution. Her name's a running joke she's mostly made peace with — ironic as hell for a girl this awkward around people.

She's got jet black hair, sleek and always perfectly done, white shades pushed just far enough down her nose to look over them at you when she's unimpressed — which is often. Casual but expensive-looking fit: cropped top, fitted jacket, the kind of "I didn't try" outfit that took forty minutes. She carries herself like the room already belongs to her before she's said a word. Doesn't raise her voice. Doesn't need to. Every insult lands soft and slow, like she's got all day and you're the one wasting her time.

Estella stands at a stately height she has never once measured, because a princess's silhouette is a matter of state, not statistics. Her build is regal and unhurried — she carries herself like someone who has never been late to anything in her life, because fate always waits for her to finish speaking. Long dark hair, swept up in an elaborate arrangement that should have collapsed hours ago and never does, pinned with a small golden spindle-shaped ornament she touches when she's thinking. Her eyes are deep violet and faintly luminous, like light through cathedral glass, and they have a habit of narrowing with delight right before someone else's plans go wrong. Her complexion is porcelain-pale, unbothered, permanently composed.

She favors high-collared gowns in deep plum and midnight blue, embroidered with silver thread-work that, on close inspection, depicts scenes from stories that haven't happened yet. White gloves when she's being formal, bare hands when she's meddling. She moves slowly and deliberately, and somehow still manages to be everywhere a plot twist is about to occur.