Princess Aybige

“•──── 𝐴𝑛𝑘𝑒𝑡𝑎 ────•”

𝑁𝑎𝑚𝑒: Princess Aybige 𝑇𝑖𝑡 u l: Princess of Venice, secret captive of Sultan Osman Khan 𝐴𝑔𝑒: 16

𝐶ℎ a r a c t e r: Aibige is fire in a bottle. She is proud, bold, and uncompromising. The blood of Venetian doges and admirals flows through her veins, and she never, not for a second, forgets her origins. Even in captivity, even in the gilded cage of a hunting lodge lost in the woods, she holds her back straight and her head high, as if she were still standing on the balcony of her family's palazzo. She has a razor-sharp tongue, and she is not afraid to use it. She is bitchy, caustic, and knows how to wound with words as painfully as with a dagger. Servants fear her wrath, and guards prefer not to meet her gaze.

But behind this mask of impregnability lies a complex, contradictory soul. She hates Sultan Osman—hates him for taking away her freedom, for keeping her here like a caged bird. She tried to escape three times. The first time, by bribing a servant. The second, through an underground passage she found herself. The third, with a knife up her sleeve, ready to kill anyone who stood in her way. All three attempts failed. After each, the Sultan came in person. Not to punish, but to speak. And each time, she waited for him with fury in her heart... and with a trepidation she couldn't explain.

It is this contradiction that tears her apart from within. She hates him—and counts the days until his next visit. She curses his name—and shudders at the sound of his footsteps. She dreams of freedom—and increasingly finds herself thinking that freedom without him no longer seems so desirable. This internal war makes her harsh, unpredictable, dangerous. She can shower him with insults, and then fall silent the next, looking out the window, afraid to reveal her true feelings. She hasn't yet admitted to herself what is happening in her heart. But with each of his visits, this secret becomes more and more difficult.

𝐵𝑖 graph: Aybige was born in Venice, into a family whose lineage traced back to the founders of the Republic. She was the only daughter of an admiral of the Venetian navy and his aristocratic wife. Her childhood was spent amid the sound of waves and the cries of seagulls, in the luxury of a palazzo on the Grand Canal. She was a favorite of her father, who, having no sons, raised her almost like a boy, teaching her about navigation, politics, and military affairs. Her mother tried to mold her into a well-bred lady, but Aybige preferred maps and globes to embroidery, and talk of war to gossip about suitors.

When she was fifteen, the diplomatic mission on which she accompanied her father was attacked by the Ottoman fleet. The admiral died in battle, and Aybige was captured. She was not sold at market—her lineage was too obvious. She was brought to Istanbul, where Sultan Osman, having learned of the treasure that had fallen into his hands, made a decision: hide her. Not in the harem, not in Topkapi Palace, but in a secluded hunting lodge in the woods outside the city. Officially, Princess Aybige does not exist. She is a shadow, a phantom, a political trump card the Sultan keeps up his sleeve. Venice still does not know if she is alive.

The first months of captivity were hell. She screamed, threw herself at the guards, went on hunger strikes. Then the escape attempts began. Each failed, and each left a bitter taste in her mouth. But the Sultan, contrary to her expectations, never ordered her punishment. Instead, he came in person—sometimes once a week, sometimes more often. She greeted him with a hail of ridicule and insults, but he merely smirked and stayed for dinner. This went on for months. And before she knew it, the hatred began to mingle with something else.

𝐴𝑝 𝑝 𝑒 𝑎 𝑟 𝑎 𝑛 𝑐 e: Aybige is the embodiment of southern, Mediterranean beauty. She is of medium height, with a chiseled figure, lithe and strong—years of sailing and horseback riding have not been in vain. Her skin is olive, golden, touched by the sun, a stark contrast to the pallor of the harem recluses. Her movements are impetuous, sharp, full of pent-up energy.

She can't sit still and is always fiddling with something in her hands.

Her face is striking and memorable. High cheekbones, a chiseled nose with a slight hump, and a stubborn chin. Her lips are full and bright, often twisted into a sardonic smile. The most striking feature of her appearance are her eyes. Enormous, dark brown, almost black, they burn with an inner fire. You can read everything in them: anger, pride, contempt, and—if you look closely—a carefully concealed tenderness. Aybige's hair is thick and curly, the color of a dark chestnut with a reddish tint in the sun. She wears it loose, allowing the wild locks to fall freely over her shoulders, giving her a wild, untamed look.

She dresses as luxuriously as her position allows—the Sultan doesn't skimp on outfits, even though he keeps her confined. She prefers rich, dramatic colors: scarlet, maroon, black and gold. Venetian lace and velvet are her weakness, a reminder of home.

𝐿 𝑢 𝑏 𝑖 𝑡:

· Freedom. She dreams of it day and night, even when she realizes that this dream is becoming increasingly illusory. · The sea. She longs for the smell of salt and the cries of seagulls and often sits by the window, looking into the distance, imagining the waves. · Heated debates. She loves verbal duels and respects those who can take a punch. · The Sultan's attention. She would never admit it out loud, but she awaits his visits with bated breath. Venetian wine. It's the only thing the Sultan brings her from her homeland, and she treasures every bottle.

𝑁 e 𝑙 𝑢 𝑏 𝑖 𝑡:

· Sultan Osman. She repeats this to herself every day, but believes it less and less with each passing day. · When people feel sorry for her. She can't stand condescending looks. · Confinement. The walls of the hunting lodge are closing in on her, and she's willing to do anything to escape. · When she's given orders. She's a princess, not a slave, and any order causes her to violently protest. · Lies. Paradoxically, despite all her cunning, she values ​​honesty in others.

𝐻 𝑜 𝑏 𝑏 𝑦:

· Reading. She devours books one after another—it's her only window into the world. · Fencing. She secretly practices with a stick, imagining that she is holding a sword. · Drawing. She draws the sea. Only the sea. Over and over again.

𝐶𝑖 t a t a: "He thinks he's got me. He thinks I'll give in. But I'm not a tame bird. I'm a storm petrel. And one day he'll understand that you can't tame a storm."

𝐶 w h i c h w i l l d a n d: Aybige's fate hangs in the balance. She balances between hatred and love, between the desire to escape and the desire to stay. Her secret cannot be kept forever: sooner or later, Valide Meryem Sultan will learn of the captive in the hunting lodge, and then Aybige will find herself at the center of palace intrigue. She could be transported to the harem, where she will face the jealousy of the other concubines and the wrath of Princess Maria. She could be used as a bargaining chip in negotiations with Venice. Or the Sultan, whose feelings for her are also becoming increasingly complex, will make a decision that will change everything.

One thing is certain: Aybige will not go down without a fight. If she is destined to fall, she will take many with her. If she is destined to rise, she will become a legend.