Welcome to my Labyrinth.
“I would not let a man who knew the value of nothing make me doubt the value of myself.” 🍷
(click the icon for the information of the muse.)multi-verse
mirrored lit | strictly ic
DMs open for plotting | selective to minorsLikes:
Cuddles, sweets, coke, wine, my kids, Dionysus, greek mythology, family days.Dislikes:
The hypersexualization of my characters and of minors, viewing my characters and others as commodities, being called a hag, cheaters, snitches, two-faced people, degradation, and god-modding.
FACE CLAIM:
Lee Siyeon
[DREAMCATCHER]
Full AU Name:
Ariadne Marithé Vina
Nickname: Aria / Ari
Emoji: 🍷
Birthday: October 1
Age: 2004 | Human age: 30
Occupation: Business tycoon, sommelier, former queen of Crete
Specie: Legacy | Goddess
Abilities: Lavýrinthoskinesis, Clear Sight, Transfiguration into basilisk form, Weaving, Mystiokinesis, Psychological warfare and manipulation, portal manipulation, Turning any liquid into wine, Archery, and Petrification.
Orientation: Panromantic demisexual
Operator's Corner:
do not follow if:
toxic, do not use tw // on sensitive topics, not an RP account, any form of shaming, and if you're close-minded.
#B
92 liner OOC
Panromantic Demisexual
she/they
ISFJ
OP has ADD & clinical anxiety
Has a corporate job
Nightmare:
I stirred slightly, feeling the warmth of Theseus beside me, but sleep still held me in its gentle embrace. The night air was cool, whispering through the trees like a lullaby, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I was at peace. I had given up everything for him, my home, my family, my future, for love.But love is a fragile thing.He had woken abruptly. I did not see it, but I felt it, the absence of his warmth, the hesitation in his breath. Something troubled him. A dream, perhaps? A whisper from the gods?I wanted to reach for him, to tell him I was here, that whatever haunted him in sleep could not touch him while I was by his side. But exhaustion weighed me down, and I could not break free from my slumber.He moved carefully, gathering his things, his hands lingering near mine as if torn by indecision. Did he hesitate because he loved me? Or because guilt gnawed at him?Then he was gone.I awoke to the first rays of sunlight stretching across the sky, the soft hum of the sea in the distance. But Theseus was not there.I sat up, my heart pounding. Something was wrong.The beach was empty except for the ghosts of footsteps in the sand. His ship was nothing but a dark speck on the horizon, growing smaller with every crashing wave.He had left me.The realization hit like a dagger to the chest, sharp and unforgiving. My breath caught, my vision blurred. I wanted to run into the sea, call his name, to demand an answer. But he was already too far, carried away by winds I could not fight.Did he think of me as he sailed away? Did his heart ache the way mine did? Or had he convinced himself that this was fate, that he was merely obeying the gods?I wrapped my arms around myself, trembling. The gods had taken everything from me my home, my family, my love.And yet, as I looked at the endless horizon, I did not curse them.Love is a fragile thing, but I had loved.And that, at least, was real.
Naxos
The sands of Naxos are soft, and the vineyards are always bountiful. Ariadne knows this, has heard of its beauty before the birthplace of the King of the Gods could be anything but. She has heard that Dionysus looks over the vineyards and their harvest. Somewhere on the island, there’s his temple, surrounded by lush forest and made out of marble and stone. Ariadne knows this and does not care.“Theseus! Theseus!” The ocean lazily laps against the shore. If she looked, she would see blues and greens and every other colour amidst a smattering of precious shells. Instead, her gaze is fixed upon the ship gently retreating away from the island. Far away from her. It isn’t so far gone that she can’t see the sailors, the one who saved her the last pieces of fruit without her having to ask, and the one who pointed out the stars when she stepped onto the deck at night. “Come back!” Theseus doesn’t even look at her. Not even for one final glance. “You can’t leave me here!”But he does. The waves come no higher than her thighs, the surface warmed by the sun, but the water itself is cold against her skin. Ariadne yells herself hoarse until the boat has disappeared below the horizon. She does not cry. She screams, and curses, and regrets ever helping him out of the Labyrinth, but she does not cry.Ariadne does not mourn lost love. Instead, she is angry.A part of her knows they’ll forget this. Theseus will go down as a hero for slaying the Minotaur, and all she will be is an offhand mention in the history books. This does not sadden her; it only stokes her rage.On Naxos, there are forests, vineyards, and soft golden sands. Then, there is a man. His face is too perfect, his eyes too bright, and not a single strand of hair is out of place. Perhaps he is a god.Across the beach, on the path through the trees to the city, there is a woman. She watches carefully, a basket held tightly against her chest. She knows what he is, knows that he saw the offering she made for a good harvest. Knows that he does not see her, which is exactly how she wants it to be, thank you very much. Parts of her braids have pulled loose, so her face is framed in haphazard wisps.The maybe-god wants her. Trick her once, shame on him. Trick her twice? Shame on her. Ariadne will not be a fool again.She tells him this. The maybe-god ( Dionysus, the little voice in her that is scared instead of angry says) laughs. And then, he is gone, but she is not alone anymore.Above her, the sun burns bright and merry. Ariadne is offered food and shelter, and she is given a bath, company, and someone who could be a home. Because the island is only the place where she was betrayed and cast aside like a broken toy, and is not her home.Dionysus comes again, with a perfect smile and an offer she shouldn’t be able to refuse. It’s dawn, and the sun is crawling above the horizon that she once screamed at until she couldn’t anymore. “You could go, if you wanted to,” the woman with the basket and a face framed in wisps says.“I couldn’t leave you,” Ariadne replies, and thinks she means it.Her response is a thoughtful hum. Now, they are sitting on a bed, and careful hands comb through her hair, “You could. We will be here if you go, and we will be here if you don’t.”“Will you?”
“We don’t mind waiting.”Ariadne’s goodbye is murmured against her lips. The light she sees from the window as she runs towards the forest stays on for a long, long time.In the darkness, there is nothing but the shapes of branches that brush past her and do not cut. As the sun climbs higher, shafts of light cut across the path and between the trees. If she looked, and this time she does, there are greens and browns and every shade of gold in between. Still, she runs. Underneath her feet, the path shifts between stones and dust and mud. And then in front of her, there is a man. He has eyes the colour of vineyard leaves, and a smile more genuine than Theseus’ ever was. Dionysus asks a third time.The sands of Naxos were soft beneath her feet, and the ocean was cool against her skin. Its waters are blue, green, and every other colour imaginable. Ariadne knows this and does not care. She remembers undone braids and someone who could be a home, a goodbye that pressed between her lips and travelled down her throat like wine. Soft yellow candlelight spilling out of a window. A maybe-god with a perfect face, perfect hair, and perfect eyes.
She takes Dionysus' hand.
The Vina Family
The city never slept, nor did Ariadne. Somewhere between the neon lights and the hum of an espresso machine, between the flickering candles of Diabolica and the rolling vineyards of her estate, between the roar of the ocean where Thalia ruled and the quiet lull of the Labyrinth where Silk spun her webs of prophecy, she existed, timeless, ageless, watching, waiting. Two thousand years had passed since she had been abandoned on Naxos, since she had lost Europa to the tides of fate and Dionysus to a curse crueller than death.This curse bound his soul to the fragile, mortal vessels of her lovers, each time forcing her to watch him fade, never remembering her, never staying long enough for her to tell him of their daughter.And so, she built a life out of eternity, weaving her own Labyrinth not of stone and shadow but of empire and legacy Café Du Soleil, where the celestial and the damned drank side by side, where Leo, the seraphim, served redemption in porcelain cups, counting the souls he saved like beads on a rosary; Vina Airways, a mortal enterprise masking supernatural reach, ensuring safe passage for the inhuman among humanity; Distilleria Vina, where Marceline oversaw the alchemy of grapes into wine, some bottles laced with blood for those who required more than earthly intoxication. Within the walls of her mansion, surrounded by a vineyard that thrived unnaturally, she harbored creatures who had once been lost, forgotten, abandoned, as she had been, her children not of blood but of fate Eos, the guardian angel, whose wings shimmered with the first light of dawn and whose protection wove itself; Lei, the succubus, who found power in pleasure and rebellion, turning Diabolica into a haven where mortals and monsters danced together in sin and freedom; Luna, daughter of Selene, whose magic pulsed in the fabric of the universe itself, a quiet, knowing presence at Ariadne’s side, her spells preserving secrets long thought buried; Dami, the werewolf, fierce yet gentle, guarding the threshold between myth and man, her presence a reminder that the wild could be tamed but never caged; Thalia, the siren queen, whose voice commanded the tides, her kingdom spanning the waters unseen by human eyes, yet she returned to Ariadne’s doorstep as if drawn by a force older than the gods themselves; Percy, the Gen Z demigod, a son of Poseidon who knew the weight of divinity but lived with the restless heart of a mortal, a contradiction Ariadne understood too well; Saoirse, the half-lambana child, left to her as an infant, now marked by Artemis herself, her laughter ringing through the halls like a melody from a past Ariadne could barely remember.And within the depths of her mansion, nestled in the twisting corridors of the Labyrinth, lurked Silk, the spider, ancient and knowing, whispering of things yet to come in threads finer than moonlight. Ariadne had built this world, this sanctuary, for those who needed a home.Yet, she remained untethered, caught in the cycle of yearning and loss, a goddess without a lover, a mother without a daughter, a queen of an empire that could never fill the void in her soul.Each time she allowed herself to love, to hope, the curse took him from her. Dionysus slipped through her fingers like sand, reborn in the body of another. Their love rekindled, only to be extinguished before it could genuinely burn. She could still remember how he looked at her, each time different, each time the same, never knowing who she was, never recognising the life they had once shared.And Europa, her lost child, her greatest regret, where was she? Whispers of a forgotten goddess, a daughter of both thread and wine, surfaced in myths and prophecies, but the world had long since buried the name Europa of Naxos, just as they had buried the truth of Ariadne’s pain.The night was quiet save for the soft hum of the vineyard, the distant murmur of the city, the echo of music from Diabolica, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee from Café Du Soleil. Leo worked late, his hands steady as he prepared another order, his golden eyes weary yet resolute. Across the room, Eos listened to a mortal’s troubles, her presence a balm, her existence a paradox, an angel among sinners.In the corner, a shadow shifted, Marceline watching with the stillness only the undead possessed. Outside, under the velvet sky, Ariadne stood alone, her fingers grazing the vines, her thoughts lost in the passage of centuries. The stars above were the same ones that had witnessed her abandonment on Naxos, the same ones that had looked down upon Dionysus as fate took from her repeatedly. And yet, she still searched. For him. For her. For something that would finally end this endless waiting.