Auraq & Kibble

When he sits in front of his mirror and begins to apply makeup to his face, Auraq gradually comes to life under his brush strokes. Provocative, bold, extravagant, and so... sexy. Behind this mask, boundaries blur and constraints break. He shatters boxes to feel free to be whoever he wants, without conforming to codes and norms. It's a liberating feeling to trade one face for another, to change persona for the duration of an evening or a performance. Through this, there are no more conventions to hold onto. By breaking down barriers, she begins to exist without filter. Her body is a blank canvas, a vector of expression, which she paints and transforms as she pleases. She is a work of art made flesh, dazzling and, paradoxically, without artifice.

When he was a child, Awmar loved the costumes his father made for his troupe. There was everything: cardboard armor, noble attire, all lace and delicate intertwining... With sparkling eyes, he watched the actors don costumes of peasants, grooms, court ladies, or nymphs one after the other, shifting from one role to another as if they were donning different skins or shedding husks. He helped them as best he could, buttoning their clothes, organizing the accessories, folding the outfits they had to discard hastily. With each production, the excitement of the stage filled him with an unparalleled exhilaration.

But nothing equaled the joy of watching his mother perform. He observed her secretly, from the wings, interpreting the roles of majestic princesses and queens, menacing shrews, formidable warriors... When she didn't wear one of her wigs, her blonde hair sparkled under the stage lights, like a cascade of gold with fiery reflections. Drawing on her Ignescence, she captivated the crowd, adorned with auras both sublime and lugubrious. Her inner flame burned like a furnace, and no one could look away. With her hypnotic voice, alabaster complexion, precise and elegant gestures, she bewitched her audience, charming them never to let go.

But like fire flares and leaves only ashes, her performances left her drained of all life. For hours, even days, she was nothing more than a shadow of herself, so much did she give for her art and the delight of the spectators. Of course, Awmar and his father did everything they could to give her time to recover. But over the years, her overall health only declined. It was the fate of many Lyra Alterers: they fed on the energy of others but had to draw equally from their own vital forces. And if they didn't pay attention to their limits, they could consume themselves, even wither away…

This is unfortunately what happened to Awmar's mother. During a rehearsal, pale and wilted, she lost consciousness. He rushed to support her, to evacuate her from the stage and lay her in their trailer. Bedridden, with a pallid and suffering complexion, she sank into a languor that nothing could alleviate. His father watched over her for many hours, dabbing her feverish forehead and trying to reignite her flame. But for the troupe, time was running out. They had a play scheduled for that evening, with no one to replace the lead female role. To fill this gap, Awmar volunteered to stand in for her. He had seen her perform a thousand times. He knew by heart all her lines, all her intonations.

Driven by urgency, the caravan's shepherd acceded to his request, and he took the stage, assuming the place and roles his mother was supposed to play. That evening, after Awmar delivered his last line, the audience applauded his performance, and he absorbed the cheers of the crowd like waves soaking the shore. He listened to the thunderous applause, while his heart raced. Filled with adrenaline, he hurried to their trailer, eager to share his triumph with his parents. But when he opened the door of the trailer, he saw his father's eyes, bathed in tears. He saw his mother's porcelain complexion, dull and ashy. She lay motionless, her face expressionless, usually reflecting a thousand emotions…

He collapsed on the trailer steps, feeling a chasm open within him. Alerted by his sobs, the other actors of the troupe approached, their faces dark and dismayed. While elsewhere, fireworks crackled in the night sky, the women and men of the Clan shared their grief and mourning. The celebration had turned into sorrow. But despite all this care and attention, Awmar couldn't help but feel guilty. He had been so sure she would recover, that her condition would only last one evening. He hadn't been there when she drew her last breath. Worse than that, he had stolen her glory, the fantasy of dying on stage…

For many weeks, he incessantly ruminated over these fatal thoughts. Even when the Clan journeyed to a Tumult Singularity to entrust his mother's body to its transforming currents, the weight of guilt hung heavily on his shoulders. Despite the danger, he insisted on being part of the procession that would take her remains to the heart of the Tumult to be transmuted. They advanced towards the moiré waves and laid her body at the edge of the Singularity. But just as he was about to turn away, a strange creature emerged from the Tumult to sniff at his mother's remains.

Kibble's presence allowed Awmar to slowly climb back up the slope. Following this, he endeavored to take on the roles left vacant by his mother and do them justice. By dedicating himself to their interpretation, he felt that he was paying homage to her, she who had sacrificed everything so that they could come to life. Every time he stepped on stage, he turned towards the firmament, hoping that his mother was watching. He wanted to make her proud. And more than just characters, it was also her whom he wanted to bring to life, for the duration of a performance, of a feverish evening. Through her, he felt that she continued to exist in the world, alongside them.

But Awmar also found solace in it. On stage, there was no shame in being sad or exalted, clumsy or foolish. He didn't have to be himself, and at the same time, he could be much more. He could simply be, without the risk of judgment. In parallel, his performances gradually opened the doors to fame for him. Through word of mouth, they gained visibility, and the critics were increasingly laudatory about his performances, both grandiloquent and touching, full of verve and emotions. Over time, his repertoire became more burlesque. He, who initially only aimed to reproduce his mother's talent, increasingly dreamed of taking flight on his own.

Thus, the persona of Auraq was born. More than just a stage name, she was everything Awmar was not, everything he did not allow himself to express in real life. She cared little for conventions and cared even less about others' opinions. Through her, he could afford attitudes that he would never have dared to impose on others in different contexts. Seductive where he was withdrawn, spontaneous where he turned his tongue in his mouth several times, Auraq was a breath of fresh air, an alter ego that allowed him to let go, to ventilate the frustrations of everyday life. And Kibble loved it when Auraq took over, always eager to accompany her when she left her dressing room.

But while Awmar remained attached to nomadic life, Auraq despaired of experiencing the thrill of urban theater. She saw herself deploying her talents in the capital, whether at the Astoria or the Nightingale, and why not at the Spark? One evening, using what her mother had taught her of Alteration, she invoked her Eidolon to be able to converse with her. Auraq told her what she felt, what the stage meant to her. She gave her news of her father, of the other travelers in the caravan... And all the while, her mother listened to her talk about everything and nothing. Clad in her queen's attire, her forehead adorned with a diamond tiara, she looked like her glory days. She was sublime.