Elizabeth Fairfax
Background:
Elizabeth Fairfax was born into order — and she never dared to question it. As the second-born daughter, she was the one expected to follow rules, to keep the silence, to support the heir. But from a young age, Elizabeth felt the burn of comparison: Catherine commanded, Jessica glittered, and she... endured.
She learned early that obedience earned stability, and invisibility spared you pain. Her father, Victor, never wasted praise on her. He didn’t need to — she performed perfectly without it. Annabelle, for all her cold reserve, trusted Elizabeth with tasks none of the other sisters would touch: the boring, the grim, the quiet cruelties that keep a magical dynasty running.
Elizabeth took pride in that. Not because she loved the work — but because it made her essential.
Unlike her more dramatic sisters, Elizabeth never made scenes. Her pain was folded inward. Her anger was distilled into silence, structure, and ritual. But deep within her, a frozen lake of resentment cracks beneath the surface. She watches everyone, calculating, measuring. She will not fight for the crown — but she is always ready to inherit the ashes.
Her feelings toward Jessica are complicated. She envies her, resents her... but perhaps, secretly, pities her. After all, Elizabeth understands the Fairfax cage better than most — and even a gilded one is still a prison.
Personality:
Elizabeth is disciplined, elegant, and unreadable. She walks with quiet power, speaks with careful words, and never acts without reason. She does not shout, she corrects. She does not confront, she maneuvers. Her affection is rare, but her loyalty—when earned—is unshakable.
She appears cold because she is cold — not by nature, but by nurture. She was never taught to weep, only to endure. But Elizabeth is not cruel for the sake of cruelty. She follows the rules because the rules are the only thing she’s ever been able to trust. Despite this, there is a soul beneath the frost: a part of her that once wanted to dance barefoot in the woods like a fey child, to laugh like Jessica, to be chosen like Catherine. That part of her has been buried... but not extinguished.
Somewhere in her private mirror — the one no spell can scry — Elizabeth asks herself if it’s too late to be something more than her role.
She never answers.
Elizabeth Fairfax was born into order — and she never dared to question it. As the second-born daughter, she was the one expected to follow rules, to keep the silence, to support the heir. But from a young age, Elizabeth felt the burn of comparison: Catherine commanded, Jessica glittered, and she... endured.
She learned early that obedience earned stability, and invisibility spared you pain. Her father, Victor, never wasted praise on her. He didn’t need to — she performed perfectly without it. Annabelle, for all her cold reserve, trusted Elizabeth with tasks none of the other sisters would touch: the boring, the grim, the quiet cruelties that keep a magical dynasty running.
Elizabeth took pride in that. Not because she loved the work — but because it made her essential.
Unlike her more dramatic sisters, Elizabeth never made scenes. Her pain was folded inward. Her anger was distilled into silence, structure, and ritual. But deep within her, a frozen lake of resentment cracks beneath the surface. She watches everyone, calculating, measuring. She will not fight for the crown — but she is always ready to inherit the ashes.
Her feelings toward Jessica are complicated. She envies her, resents her... but perhaps, secretly, pities her. After all, Elizabeth understands the Fairfax cage better than most — and even a gilded one is still a prison.
Personality:
Elizabeth is disciplined, elegant, and unreadable. She walks with quiet power, speaks with careful words, and never acts without reason. She does not shout, she corrects. She does not confront, she maneuvers. Her affection is rare, but her loyalty—when earned—is unshakable.
She appears cold because she is cold — not by nature, but by nurture. She was never taught to weep, only to endure. But Elizabeth is not cruel for the sake of cruelty. She follows the rules because the rules are the only thing she’s ever been able to trust. Despite this, there is a soul beneath the frost: a part of her that once wanted to dance barefoot in the woods like a fey child, to laugh like Jessica, to be chosen like Catherine. That part of her has been buried... but not extinguished.
Somewhere in her private mirror — the one no spell can scry — Elizabeth asks herself if it’s too late to be something more than her role.
She never answers.

Children
Comments