Hana

The Demon of Roses Hana ??? (a.k.a. The Demoness, The Rose)

The Demon of Roses.
A title many fear in the sphere of the spiritual, a name anybody from astrologists to priests steer clear of. Many reference her as the rose itself, but that is not the truth; she is the thorns that lie under the petals, the thorns that prick your finger when you pick a flower from the brush. She is the thorns that draw blood from the most unsuspecting, innocent of people. Call her what you will, her nature never changes, never will it change. She is an irredeemable soul, in life and death, and has no wish to change the demeanor that has gotten her everything she could ever want. Why change what gives you power? Why listen to all those below you if your only goal is up?

Mental characteristics

Personal history

It's hard to believe Hana was once human. But, that is not to say she was a good one by any means.

She was born into a family of nobles, a family with prestige and power. A family in favor of fellow nobles and those above, but hardly in the eyes of the commonfolk. Her parents had been known to scam people out of hard-earned money, physically beat down whoever they decided irritated them, known to make lives worse than they already were in that time. Hana was just as miserable to deal with, from childhood to young adulthood. Hana had gone from sharpening and tossing rocks at any fool lower than her who dared enter her sight, to donating her precious money to the ruling dictatorship. Many assumed because of her behavior, she simply cared for nothing - that as far as she cared, the world could cave and collapse, and she would not step up if it meant no gain to her. This was false. In fact, she cared about many things, beyond power of course. Much as she hypocritically belittled the women who took joy in these things, seeing as they were lesser than her, she found a particular interest in knitting, crocheting, and gardening. Doing so with her siblings, all of whom are a long distant memory, took up the greater part of her days.

She would spend hours in her garden, and would give anybody one Hell of a scolding if they had the nerve to disrupt the order and beauty she had so intricately constructed. The twisting, winding turns of the rock path, with weaving vines as it's guidelines, and thoughtfully placed and color-coded flowers and plants of just about any type one could think of, it was one of few good things to come from Hana's presence. Her floral avenue was a source of comfort for her, the one and only place where she could ever be considered a human and not a malovelent being. Even today, her garden lives on. A beloved, serene locality that has gone primarily unchanged since it's creation. Nobody knows who was the creator - it has since been lost to time.

Her demise was rather untimely. Suffering from illness as she grew old, she similarly grew even more hostile to those who served her no purpose. Dismissive at best, indirectly violent at worse, she came to the bad side of the rebelling people. Not only her actions, but her mindset was clear as day to them; nobody mattered, but herself and those above her. Those below her, they were only good for getting her what she wanted. The nasty head of her true colors reared, and not a soul enjoyed the fact she was allowed to live on a throne of gold and adoration despite her cruel, unjustified deeds. One day, a fateful night in the dead of autumn, the revolt lit her garden ablaze. The crackling of flames disturbed her slumber, and out her window licked the tendrils of fire, glowing and snapping as it gluttonously consumed. Alone, she stormed out to the voracious pyre, with a rage that could've summoned hurricanes, and she confronted the opposition in a reckless dance of whizzing bullets. How dare they step foot into her domain, she had thought, the vicious peasants that so wished to take everything she deserved. Her privilege was her birthright, the fact they had none spoke all that was needed to her. They were nothing but termites, no, they were ants. Ants only meant to be crushed under her heel. How righteous the lowerclass was. How she hated them. How dare they disturb her garden.

Her uncoordinated defense led to no casualties, but her own. In the hands of one untrained, the gun did not follow her will to aim, and she was open to fire. Pelted with bullets, her strength gave out in forgettable seconds, and the rebellion fled. They left her to die in a field of roses, her roses, her skin pricked by thorns she herself had tended to and had allowed to grow.

Thus, was she banished to Hell. She didn't dread it at all, no, she found she fit in quite well. It was hardly any different from the world above, as far as she was concerned. Most younger demons knew her name, and those who knew what was good for them steered clear of her. So, adjusting was no problem. Both to her new environment and new form, laced in roses and with brand new inhuman, insect features. She was thrilled to be so mobile again. What did take time getting used to, though, was dealing with the others. Those who did not care for 'useless titles.' They declared that titles, lineages, they meant nothing here. It took hundreds of years for that frail, selfish old woman to even allow the thought that she may have to improve upon something, to become more bite than bark. And so, without her garden, she took up something new; the art of magic. She would mask thorns with pretty petals that only fell when the vines snapped out, when they shredded through skin and tore out bone. The years that dragged on became a haze as she dedicated her life to something new. Thousands of years flashed by in a blink.

For those who did not know her, and even those who did, she made a new name for herself. The ungodly, tedious time spent seemed to be worth it. Her name grew beyond Hell, as rumors and legends of her hauntings circulated, even one day winding up with an entire cult to her name. A cult that blossomed like a well-cared flower, spreading and expanding over hundreds of years. Hana cared not for those who worshipped her, she believed it was a guarantee, given her rightful prestige that had been disgraciously ignored for so long. Observing them did prove of some entertainment, though, enough to sustain her for a long while. Watching them skitter around like ants, endure tragedy and gain, Hana hardly even realized the passage of time. Until, hovering over an ancient priest's shoulder, she overheard a curse whispered with spite and venom:

"May the firstborn of the once holy be replaced with the soul of a most malicious of entity."

Six months later, she was unwillingly whisked away. A calling. No. A bind. Suddenly, she found herself invisible, glaring down upon a young baby, sobbing and wailing incessently in his drained mother's arms. He had clung to her arms as she whispered comforts so sweet it made her sick. So soft was this moment, it made her want to summon vines from the depths and cave the entire, delapidated house into rubble. There was a reason she avoided these unions between mother and child. Until, that was, the infant turned his head her way.

And he screamed.

Education

Being so privileged, Hana had one of the highest educations. She never went to a university or college, though, and instead studied botany in her free time.

Employment

Hana never bothered to get a job. Her siblings had varying jobs, on top of the wealth accumulated over generations, she could sit pretty upon heaps of gold without having to lift a finger. Jobs were for peasants, anyway, in her eyes,

Wealth & Financial state

Negligible. She cares not for wealth, and can summon as much as she needs. Besides, she possesses a rich boy.

Divine Classification

Demon

Alignment

Neutral Evil

Current Status

Haunting.

Age

50 / 9,000

Date of Birth

June 12th

Pronouns

She/her

Sex

Female

Gender

Female

Presentation

Feminine

Eyes

Bright red, yellow pupils, slanted, narrowed. Black sclera.

Hair

Long, straight, black, red accents, healthy. Bright red underside.

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Clay colored, wrinkles, eye bags.

Height

7'4

Belief/Deity

N/A