Allegory Malaprop

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore

A long time ago, not quite before Warcraft but when Second Life was young, a small gleam in a swamp birthed a green thing.  I won't say that this green thing became Allegory Malaprop, because surely she was born on Help Island like the rest of us.  Perhaps instead it birthed the idea of her.

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Which swamp was it, you ask?  Which could it be but Tableau, that densely-colored realm of fog and Spanish moss, the gilding upon a decadent secret.  The idea of Allegory has been around for a long, long time.  "Ancient," the stories say.  "Older than Tableau," it is whispered.  Parents she has none -- perhaps like Athena she sprang full-fledged from the thigh of a muse, or the mind of one.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before...

Once formed, Allegory stretched forth her hand thoughtfully and created a box.  After that, she found a certain joy in wide expanses of nothingness and the sparks of energy that flew from her mind, through her lanky arm, and into this box.  Once created, Allegory began to create, and decided that creation was good.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.

If this ancient green thing has any weakness, however, it's this:  fashion.  Like every female (no matter how ancient or green), fashion is her kryptonite.  Soon, to support her habit, small shops began to spring up that featured her work.  A necklace grew to a few, then came a tuxedo, then an elaborate outfit of distressed fabric straight from a grave...

Her clothing would be at home in Struwwelpeter, in Alice in Wonderland, in old Grimm tales before they were tamed.  They are tidily made with a certain obsession over detail.

If you asked Allegory to sum up her life in a word or two, she'd probably just look at you and smile.

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'