The Night Circus: CELIA

Dark eyes narrow beneath her curls

All ribbons and lace, perfect as a shop-fresh doll save for a few unruly curls escaping her braids

Celia grows up in a series of theatres. Most of them in New York

Sixteen year old daughter

After months of it she is exhausted from the travel and the strain and the fact that her father barely lets her eat, as he claims looking like a waif makes her seem more convincing

Survived by a daughter of seventeen years of age, a Miss Celia Bowen

“I am already married” she remarks to the empty air, twisting the ring on her right hand that covers an old distinctive scar

She has no trunk, no cape, no birdcage or cane. She is dressed in a deep-green gown with a black puffed-sleeve jacket buttoned over it. A pile of brown curls is pinned neatly upon her head under a tiny and feathered but otherwise unremarkable black hat

“I am an illusionist, sir” the young girl says. Her voice is calm and low “I am here for your auditions”

Her Green gown is both sleeveless and strapless, leaving her shoulders and arms completely bare save for a long silver chain with what appears to be a silver locket around her neck

Creeping Black fade into snow-bright white at the bottom of the skirt

Celia shakes her head and her brown curls deepen in hue to a near black as glossy and ebony as the wings of her raven

Puffed sleeve Black jacket

“she’s perfect” Chandresh remarks, pulling a cigar from his pocket. “Absolutely perfect”

The eyes the loveliness – the shape of her face, the contrast of her hair against her skin