A Young Stella

From a young age, Stella was always curious, wanting to learn all she could, read all she could. Books were great, they taught her about the world beyond the village walls, they transported her to a land far away, she met so many characters and knew them better than the people around her. And as she tried to live up to her parents ever growing standards, she found even her best wasn't good enough for them. But she had her books. So, she kept her head down and carried on.

At least the cats in the library didn't judge her. Other than when she went to pet their bellies and they tried to claw her, but really, that was their fault for rolling onto their backs like that.

The other thing that Stella remembered from a young age growing up was T̵̡̩͓͈͔̻̞̩͒̀͂̄̊̏̓̕̕Ḩ̶̺̀̿̈͑Ě̶̗͎̤̼̃͒̄͐̽̑I̵̲̺̳͝Ŗ̷̦̩̔̐͆́̽̈̔̑̈́ voice. Soft, like a whisper, easy to mistake as not actually being there. /̷̨̺̥̮̼̗̗̖̆̅͜Ŕ̷̥͍͈̐̀͝E̶̘̞͔̫̟̫̲͊̽̌͑͆̅̓̓͝D̵̢͔̩̦̞͗̊̏͊̿̅͝Ā̴͈̦̗̗̿͌̾̚C̸̫̈́͋̑T̸̢͙̤͚͔͚͉͓̖͌E̶̳̰͗̍͂̿̈́Ḑ̸̛̗̺͕͊̎̒͊͝͝/̸̖̮̮̫̄̅͑̏͋̈ Ever present. /̶̧̢̨̨̜͔̦͈̥̝̭̺̟̼̗̤̻̹̣͓̘̞̿̓͌̈́̽̇̽̇̊͐́͋̍͊̃̀̃̈́̌̎͑͘̚Ŗ̵̨̨̢̛͕̻̯̬̘̮̩̝͈͙͇̟͈͖̮̙̲̮̺̮̳̼̔͆̉̏̃̈́́̂̍̾̍͐̽͌̈̒́̿́̊̐̓̓̚Ḙ̷̡̡̧̢̨̞̟̮̘͚͕͇͖̳̠̜̘̖̖̩̻̦̱̤̦̦̘̫̬͚͔̬͇̰̙̌̈́̅̋̊̌͆̓͗̃̏́͐̀̃͗͑͌͐͌̎̏̇́̔̓̂̌͆͜͝͝D̶̢̧̨̛̛͇̯̝̱̖͔̘͇̲͕̘̥̪̟̻̺͖̩͉̣̲̬̤̖͕̎̂̓̍͋͒̀̂̒̃̄̓̔̒̀̈͒̎̓̀̉̓̈̓̓͛̑̾̓̈̚͘͘͝͠ͅĀ̴̡̡̧̛͈͙͚̰̳̊̋͒̈͊̿̃̀̉̇̄̾̽͒́̈͐́̿͑̎̈́͋̐̃̆͘̕͠C̴̟̦̘̹̔̄͆̈́̾̆̉͗̆́̐͒̎̎͌͛͗͒͂̌̌́̚̚̚͝T̸͎̪̫̀̽̏̅̾̎̒̇̅̐̓́͋̑̈́͒͌̿̑̆̒͋̈́͐̾̅̔͘͘͝͝Ȩ̴̛͚̫̊̊͂̃̿̄̍͑̏͂̄̾̇̇̿͗̈́̉̌̀̂̉̍̚̚̚͘͘͝͝Ḑ̷̢̧̧͙̳̭͇̰̭̙̪͓͙̼͇͔͚̣̺̽̽̄͐̓̐̈́̿̾̋̈͂͑̉/̶̢̨̡̧̞̗̠͍̫͓̟͉̫͎͕͚̣̠͓͕̣̟̗̫͔̹̻͕̳͉̭̰̱̲̆͜͠ͅ Always watching from the light. /̴̨̛̭̭̬̦̗͍̹̙̫̼̜̪̙̱̪̹̥͌͆́̋͐̈́̂̿͜͜͜R̶̡͓͉͔͕̭̻̤̱̞͔̝͉̀͛̑̋͗͝E̵̟͎̺̠̥̯͋̿͂̆̔̿̂͐̾̌̅͊̽͆͗̀͛̕͠͝D̴̢̧̨̨̧̥̞͖̼͓̗̬͔̔̒̆͂̊̕A̸̯͓̦̭̺̙̓͋̄̓̋̍͂̃Ç̵̥̘̘̠̲͎̹̦͓̯͛̿́̒̿̓͌̃T̷̡̛̮͔͇̲̭͙̝͚͚̺͔̱͖̙̱͇͍̯̫̟̈͛͊͂̽̏̈̈́͌́͐̍̈̕͜͠Ě̵̲͇͍͚̠̖̦̯̘̮̗̝̙̪̱͇͔͓̳̘̣̑̒̍̽̀̈̈͒̾̉̃̉̇̏̐̀̊͘Ḍ̷̨̢̛̭̥̥̻͈̞̦͕͕̟̟̯̥͎͔͚͍̝̖̺͇̈́́͌͆͂̎̓͐̐́̀͑̓̀͊́͑̾͛̒͌̔̈/̴̟̤̼̯͎́̈̒̀͊̈́͗̀͐͝͝ It would be glorious./̴̮̼̞̦̼̪͈͐̽̇̇́̒̀̚̕͠R̷̨̲̤̺͔̟͓̳̰̃̋̇̾̍E̸̢͖̙̞̮͐͆̏D̵͇̩͇̔͌̀̍͑́̉̅̋Ạ̶̯̥͒̐̀͌͒C̸͈̖̰̜͍̯͉̟̘͕͍̽͊͜T̸̳̼̰͉̤͚̻̻̻̂̄͐̏͆͋̕͜Ę̴̳̪̹̘̥̯͆͒͛̀̚͝D̸̢̩̪̝̆̎́̍͒͘/̶̢͓̿͆̓̽̌̏́͝ All Stella needed to ṫ̶̗̌́̾̈́͌̽̄̓̕͝o̸̧̲͓̘̠͔̱̦͊̏͒̃͑̆̊͌̃ͅ ̶̲͈͎͈̬̞̤͙͐͛͆͑͒̾͒͆̄͂̿͘͝ḋ̶̛̮̺̳̮̩̼̰̌̌̋̊̽͌̀̒͜͠o̵̧͍̾̿̕ ̶̡̫̺̺͖̺̼͔̗͕̙̪̏̈̽̓́͗̑̈́͐͒̆̕͠ͅw̶̢̢̥̜̩̯̘͋̅͊͐̉͊̀̏̓̽̍̚͝a̸̰̼̠͙͛̃̓̾̄͋̒̋̕͝ͅṣ̸̢̯͎̳̙̟̠̣̥͚̍͛̇̆͑͆͐́͝ͅ ̷͖͓̯̓̑/̶̥̻̪͎͖̯̞̙͇͛̃͌͛͌̂R̷̬̳͉̳̜̖̤̦͚̉̀͌͌͛̀̿̚̕͘͝͠ͅẺ̷̢̛̺̮̯͈̬͇̰̹̺͉͗̆̂̊͛̀͐̉́̓͠D̶̹̆̋͆́̌̎͛̽̊͂̄̈̚ͅA̵̧̢̢̙̼̘̮̼̖̜̻̱͋̋͆̒͐͒̅̔̂C̷͇͇̺̮͙̙͈̠͉͕͇͚̄͜T̵͉̞̠̓͒̏̄́͐́͊̆͝Ȩ̶̨̥̮̬͈͉̹͚͓̊̈́̉̿̋̄̂̾̄͝D̸͖̬̭̥̘̘̬͆̑̇̉͑̾̔̚͝/̴̧̣̫̲̬̻̉͆̍͊̆͗͐͑͒̈̆̌͘

In the dark, Stella was safe. The shadows welcomed her, so she embraced them back. And her affinity for the night only grew from there.

This would be important later. I̴̪͔̓̈́̋͋̆̈́̓̇̄̈́̾̕̚͝͠t̷̛̳̳͈̠̦͔̮̟̯̘̟̰́̇̌̾͝ ̷̡͈͎̱̣͕̜̥͍̲̍̂̊̽̾̈̾w̸̛͔̪̖̦͖͕̱̹͇͖͒̍̿͑͛̍̊͘̕͠a̶̢̮̮̞̠͕̞̟͇͓͔͎͙̮̼̋̊̆͋̔̈́̓̏s̵̢̧̡̛͉͎͕̖̻͚̮̜̞̝̺̪̘͇̹̃̏́̑̾́̉́̎͝ͅ ̴̧͓̹͇͍͈̒̋́͑͂p̷̢͍͓͎̣̫̯̩͉̪̼̖̟̗̼͇̠̪̌̌̀͜ą̶͎̝̰̹̍͠ŕ̸̡̼̑͋̔̇͋̏̑́̑͂̕͝͠ť̸̢͚̟͇̾͂̉̇̏̋̏́̅͆͜͝ ̸̡̡̺͚͔̣̜̫͇̹͔̞͇̣̠̜̗̹̍͋̇̂̈́͒͌̅̏͝͝o̸̫͈̥̳̬͉̘͉͍̤̿̎̈́̈́͛̽̀͐͒̈̔͛̍̏͝ͅf̶̢̈ ̵̣̱͇̲͕͓͖̑͐̀͑́̕h̷͚̠̎̈́͐̂͑̎̿̎̔̀̈̀͑̕͘͝͝é̷̤͙̰̹̱̓̾̀̒̀̉̈́̀̎̒͌̀̒̒͂͛̕͝ȑ̵̛͔̣̺̹̓͐̓̐̾̓̀̑̂̅̀͗̓̈̊̕͝ ̸̧͙͕͕̳̘̜͙̼̬̰͇̓̔̈̓̈́͂̒̆n̶̨̼͖̖͍̄̏͐̆̓̌̄̇͆͘͜͝͝a̷̤̝͍̼̫̝͕͓̼̥̙̾͗͛̎̓̏̒̀̆̒̂̓́̚̚͝͝t̷͙͚̜̯͈̘͍̬̤̂́͌̐̇̃̾̈́̓̍̕͝u̴̯͔̩̪̹̱̬̲̱͈͒̀̐̐͌͝ŗ̷̛̛͚̻͎̼͖̭̟͓̭͈̹͇̥̻͔̀̃̀̇̇͝ͅȇ̴̢̮̤̺̪̥̜̰̯̱͉̪̻̖̺̙̩̜̓͊,̴̢̛͉̳̻͓͊̾̍̍̃̅͘ͅͅ ̸͚̰͈͍̍̋̋́͆̿̓̇̆̈́̑͝ȃ̸̗̼̤̹̳f̸̛̠͈̫̝̔̌͂̀̔̀́̄̂̍͆̌̾̀͂̈́̔͠ţ̴̢̛̮̫̤̼̞̯͑́̌́̐̈̔̍̏̍̀͠e̷̲̻̘̱̗̞͂͛̇̇͂̈̉͌̑̀̑̑̌̀r̸̢̹̳͓̟͖̗̬̽͋̂̉̽̋͛͆̈́̊͌̽ ̸̪͇̃̈̆̈̊̀͑̔̇̓̌̓́͂̌ǎ̵̢̢̖̳͉̯̬̗̦̠̥̳̱̖̈ͅl̸̢̼̞͕̫̠̽̿̀͋̔́́̿̊̍͘l̶̥̩̇̅̋̐̑͆̾̂̎̉͠͝.̴̧̦̭̮͍̗̭̠̖̰̱̖̩̈́͌̀̄̋͂̈́̍͛̾͊̌̀͐͝͝

In her teenage years, Stella's mother continued to push her to be the daughter she wanted her to be, needed her to be. This meant spending more and more time with Viktor Vallakovich, not just another noble child in the town of Vallaki, but more importantly the son of the burgomaster. It did not take long for Stella to piece together this was a scheme on her mother's part, to marry her off in an attempt to gain favor with the burgomaster.

Stella was a noble. This was Barovia. Her parents expected this of her. What else was she to do?

S̴̡̺͓̮̼͙̣̖͒̏̍̌͂͑̍̄̓̽̾̕͜ͅH̸͖̩̻̬͚̥̘̾̈́̃͒̐̃́̂̎̈́̍̾̀͒̕̚͝E̵̢͇̯̬̪̬̮̠͙͑͐̎̎̓̊͊̔͗̅͛̉͆̑́͘̕͝͠ ̴̛͙͈̊̉̀̀͆̂̊̂̓͐͜͠t̶̨͇̙̰̬͚̠̓̿̈́̃ö̵̪̰̖́͊̋̿̎̒̇͒͝l̴̨̤̫̖͍̋̈́ḑ̷͚͔̝̦͈͇̟̱̬̩̃̂̒̊̑̋͐̈́̎́̀͛͛̈̄̕͠ ̷̨̢̛̪̳͈̤͍̥̺͉͒̒̊̿͋̔̈́͊̉̑̍̑̿͘͝h̴̖͙͓̣̩͔̠͖̲̭̥͕̥͎̀̈́͊̈́̏͝ę̷͔̳̞͇͙͙̠̤̝̇̽̅̃̾͒̄͐͜͝ŕ̸̡̢̡̢̫̪̺͈̮̻̱̜̯̬͉̯̂͂́̿̈̆̑̒̾̇́̃̚͜ ̵̤̔̒́̋̈̆́̉̓͂͋̿̍̔͝t̵̡͉̳̥̊̽̄̋̕ơ̵̧̧̡̧̦̰̦̟̙̬͈̗̼̝̰̮͇̗͛̍͑̀͆̏̉̀̍͊̑̑̀̑͝ ̵̡̦̮͙̘̪̼̼͔̱̦̼̦͇̭̋͛̂̀̈̽̓̀̋͐̃̐̈͜r̴̳͚̣̀͌̆̐̈́̈́̍̄̑́̈̃̾̾͊̉̈͝͝ų̵̨̞͖̣͚̯̅n̷͎̝̮̩̺͚̪̜͕͓̺̔̑̌̓̈̈́̂͋̉͛̚̚̚̕͝͠ͅ.̴̛̖̲͎̲̲̣̟̭̩̞̳́̋͂́̏̅̏́ ̷̬̂̏́͂̓̎͆̈́S̵͉̺͈̘͇̻̺͉̥̳̺̻̭̺̃̈́͗̇̈̚͘Ḧ̸̨͙͇̲̦̹̭͉̮̰̩́͂̆͆̂̈́̅̾̄̓͐̎̔̊͊̎̋̚E̸̛͕͎̩̬̱͆̃͑̍̈͆͒̆͌͐́̚͜͠ ̵̧̨̛̱͎͙̲̫̣̹͓̦͖̤̲̙̫̼͆͋̀̆̓͗̒̽̐͜͝͝w̷̨̙͇͂́̓ǫ̵̡͚͍͖̥̱̤̘̖̪͇̏͆̇̎͜ͅu̷̢̘̩͙̟̺̙͓̭̪͈̘̜͑l̷̰̖͕̣͉̤̹̜̪̦̼̹͇͚̩͎͎̇̇̎̎̾̈́́̈́̈̽̃̈́͂̒̓̈́͒͜͝d̷̨̨̘̭̬͚̪̪͈̞̻̤͔̠̲̝̰̔̅̅̄̓̅̒̐͗͛́͜ ̸̛̛̬͖̤͇̰̜̩̣͉̝͕̇̑̿̈́̄́̅̂͑̄̇̔̏͂̚̚͜͜ķ̷̢͕̝̫͚̹̠͖̹̩̬͕̺͊̇͠ẽ̷͕͎͔̳͌̂͑̆͌̇̉̍́̕͝͝͝͝ȅ̴̡͍̹͙͚̭̠͕̰͉̙̻͙͓̠͔̒p̵̨̢̧̛͔͉̯̺̱͉͚̰͍͌̑̇͛̀̍͗͌̐̽̃͆͆̅͘͜͝͝ ̶̡̡̖̘̣͙̟̖̄̅ͅͅh̷͍͙̪̰͖͈̑͒̈́͆͗̀̂̌̾̏̏̍͑̓̆̕̚͜͝ḛ̵͓̰̓̊̓͐̆̈́̚͝r̵̛͖̭͉̳̻̅̀̽̊̏͒͛̈̎͌ ̵͕͇͚̜̲̩͚̳͎͋s̷͍̗͉͓̈́̅́͋̾̋̇͑͆͑̂͛̉͛̚̕͝͠a̵̡̧͔̖̭͕̬̜̐̐̄̐͗̓́̒͑̔͘͘͜͠f̶̟̩̥̤͍͕̈̑e̸̡̠̘̲̘̟̯̤̲̺̺͋̈́̽̋͂͌́̕͠.̷̝͎͍̙̤͇̹͍͇̱͚̯̲̘̬̻̻̭̂̃̈̅̑͌̒ͅ

Stella put her best effort into befriending Viktor, truly she did. Yet of all her visits to the burgomaster's mansion she could count any meaningful conversations they had on one hand. Mostly, Viktor ignored her. But she was astute enough to discern his interest in magic, certainly that he cared more about it than anyone, let alone her. Eventually, when they were alone one day, he asked if she would be willing to help with an experiment. While he tried to avoid the details, that she could guess it had to do with his magical studies, was only met with suspicion.

Perhaps that should have warned her.

But he was, in his own way, desperate, and she was too curious about magic. Besides, maybe this could be how they connected.

Viktor, it turned out, had no teacher. Instead, he learned magic from an old spellbook, found forgotten in the family library. But his comprehension of the magic it contained was severely flawed. In the imprudent way of a boy mimicking his elders, taking tools and treating them as toys, Viktor tried to cast a spell. The effects were not what he expected.

And though Stella survived the magic that wracked her body, it was not the bright young woman who was brought home to her mother, but a girl with the mind of a cat.

Four Years In Solitude

A New Barovia

Stella didn't remember much of that afternoon, of the magics cast on her. Or, for that matter, much of the next four years. In a way, this was almost a mercy.

All she really knew next was being held (restrained?) in a large person's arms, a worried face looking down at her. A person with remarkably large bat-like ears. As well as some other faces she had never seen before looking back at her. And something reeked, and she was afraid it was her.

Some panic, a long bath, and a change of (stolen?) clothes later, Stella learned that a group of four travelers had endeavored to restore her. Apparently, a seer told them they needed her to deal with some enormous problem, though that was entirely vague and not at all something she felt confident in aiding with.

It was that point some of the past four years came back to her and it was all unpleasant. She had tried to do what her family wanted, and for what? So they could drive her mad and lock her away? No. She was not doing that again. Now, she could do something for herself, and whatever it was, it would have nothing to do with her "family." Anywhere in Barovia would be better than Wachterhaus.

So she fled. She left Vallaki with these strangers who were slowly becoming friends. (Not before stealing some of her mother's wealth on the way out, of course. Viollca insisted it was her birthright at the very least.)

It was on the road with them that she witnessed true, competent acts of magic. Next to the simple dagger she'd been handed, what they were capable of was truly remarkable. So, faced with an onslaught of wolves upon the party, Stella made a choice.

Because when her senses were restored to he, so was Their voice. Ą̷̨̞͎̖͚̜̲̻͎̞̩̺̲̣̤̐͑̈́̓̃́́͆̉̏͋̉͠͠ń̵̢̪̉̒̃̉̋̎͒̓̌̈́͝ď̴̨̤͓͖̜̰̞͂̀̽̆͝ ̶̨̝͎͇̍̌̀f̴̧̩̖̜̘͙̮͓͚̱̪̣̖̣̝̗̗̝́͒̋͜͝ā̵̟̳͇̩͉͉͇͈͔̯̥͂̏̃̎͜c̶̪̮̦̝͖͊̋͆̈́͌̀̂̒̋̂̾̄̀̎̈̕̕̚è̶̜̞͈̰͖͇̥̙̞̟͓̌͝d̴̡̦͇̺̓͂̎̔ ̵̛̼̫͎͊͊̀̄̑͐̄͂̿́̐̍̈́͘ẁ̵͔͑͠͝i̸̤͑̾̔̈̆̅̌̊̐͗̿͊͗͛̄̀̕͘t̴̨̨̙̰̲̻̺̮̊͆̏͌̉́̕͜ḩ̸͖͚͕̯̮̤͈̪̩̲̄̉̂͐̔̓́͋̇̊̚͜͠͠͠͠ ̵̡̡͖̳̰̦͚̙̱̫̦͔̂̋́̑̐̅͑͆̒͐͂̈́̅̈͆͘͠͝t̴̺͇̪̤͖̹͈̘̳͎̦̆̊͐̈́̃̚͜͠h̵̛̭̦̫̔̄͌̀͛̀͒̚ę̴̻͗̾̇̍ͅ ̸̢͇̼̘͐̐̃̾̑d̵̯̩͙̳͕͍̞̯̍̀̂̾̃̈́̂ā̸̛̩̹̑͗̿̂̊̊̀͊͊̈͠͠͝͝n̷̼̘̯̞͕̻̱͕͒͐̃͜͝g̶̢̡̨̥̮͍̝̱̳̥̰̠̮͎̰͈̦͉͂̅͛̔̈͋͌͆͛̆͜ȩ̶̛̠̲͉̩͚͔̣͕̖̙̭̾͌̑̒́̓͊͑̑̊̿̈́̏̾͋̕͜͝͝r̸̨͎͚̬̳̹̮̔̉̈́̌̄̉̾̇͑̽͛̕̕͘͠s̵̮̾̄͊̈́͊̒̽͋̀̽͑̔̇́̚͝ ̵̺̮̥͇̻̯̩͉̄̈́͐͝ͅf̶̧̢̞͉͚̩̲͈̝̠͎̝͚̳͓̗͆̈̓͑͜a̴̞̋̑̒͘c̸̬̲̩̗̯̼̗̗͈̗͖͖̳͗̋͗̇̀ḯ̸̢̪̥̼̘̠͕̦̲̎̀̂̋̉̽͘̕͝ͅͅͅṉ̶̹̼̑̑̀͝ģ̴͍͙̣̝̥̬̙̜̐̃̄̓̓̃̃̇͐̑͐͛̈͋̄͘ ̴̙̉t̴̺͉̠̳͍̤̻̲̹̜̙́͜͜ḥ̸̡͈̥̺͈͓̭̽̇̎̏̃̔̑ȩ̶͎̬͈̮̠̪̭̩̦̣̬͈͇̖̬̜̒̇̽̂̆̒̎͛̚͜͠͝ ̸̧̢̯̠̘̙̮͍̭̟͙̼̮͍̘̼̣̱̬̓̒̇̋̐̀͝p̷̢̤̹̰͗̾͂̿͋͒̈́͆̾̉͗͝͝a̶̢̧̰̦̰̗͔̪̞̥̜̺̞̘̞̙̬̲͑̈́ͅr̴̛̙̬͛͋̅̿̆͐̽̽̋͆̿̅̅̏̕͝ţ̷͙̰͉̲̘̟͖̠͈̱̳̭̻̰̥̣̅͊̾́̀y̸͇͕̥̭͙̦̙̩̘͚̩̬͖͐͆̂̅̅̽̂͆̆̈́̽̑̓̍̀̕͘̕͝ͅ,̴̨̦̖̥̞̲͍̗̯̈̓̀̓̽̉̏͒̋͒̚ͅ ̴̡̨̛̪̫͕͖̪͉̰̠̝̥̳̲̃̌͊̂͒̽̏̑̓̐̓̾̌̽́͝͝͝ŝ̵̢̨̺̼͉͉̠͔̟̠̼͚̼͖̱͇͖́͐́͑́̑̚͘ͅh̴̨̡̘̣͚̩̫̞̱͙̻̬̄ͅe̶̢̞͔̠̭̯̝̭̭̦̫̠͙͙͔̳̎̉̉̀́̀̈́͂͆̇̄̓̋̿̚͠͝ͅ ̴̨̣̭̋̔ģ̵̢̩̪͙̼̬̟͚͎̝̲̹͔̣̀̈́͗̾̄̂̏̍͆̏͗̊̀͘̚͝͠ą̷̖͈͍̰̘̯̙̞̣͍̗̗̱͌͋͐̋̓̒̋̆͒͆͐̚͘͠v̴̨̡͖̭͎̤̱̺̼͆ͅé̷̗̯͉͎̰̪̯͑̿͆̇͒͐̑̑̇̒͝ ̴̨̧̖͇̰̦̦͓̤̘͚̩̖̥̯̈́̈́i̵̺̘̲͎͚̭̪͋͊͗̌̆̒̂̾̈́͗̎́̈́́̓͝ņ̸̡͍͚͉̬͎̳̼̅̉̏̇̔͘t̶͎̖̳͉̜͖̤̺̔́̓͒̔͋̇̋̋͛̓́̍̾̓͘͘̕͝ͅó̷̢̫͔̹͚̠̜̫͔͒̒̑̈́͋̌͘ ̵̨̤̖̱̣̘͎̊̈̒͊͝H̵̡̡̨͙̬̙̪͚̮̻͉͙̙̗̪̘̐̽̈̆̀͌ͅe̸̛̥̜͔̭̘͆̃̓͒͆̽̄̄̃̈́̉̀̿̚̚͝ř̸̡̮͖̘̑̿͂̈̏͆ ̸̧̟̱̝͉͎̖̻͖̖̟̪̪̪͚̬̃̐͆̍̑̆̾̔͒͌͂͑̀͝ͅẉ̸̛̺̰̻̓̌̀͌̀̏͛͆͛͋̑̓̇͜ő̸̜̖͍̯̎̆̇̇͌̔͛́́̕͜r̵̢̺̯̤̰̩͛͑̏̈́͑̎͠d̵̡̳̾̌̍̈́̇́̄̍̄͘͝s̵̛͍̤̓̔͐͐̆̈́̓͋͗̚.̸̛̱̪̈̿̈͒̐̇͑͒̅̓͒̂̑̐̊͊̐͜͠

Stella began weaving the shadows around her and used them as a conduit for her magic. It took time, but in the travels across Barovia her grasp on it grew stronger with every encounter they faced. Of all things, it felt natural.

I̵̠͍͓̖̘͎̣̼̦͑ͅt̴̘̪̘͆̇́͗̐͗͗͒͠ ̶̰̺̤̺̟̞͔͈̖̠̮̟̲̗̤̹̫́̋͗̂ͅw̵̢̡̹̯̣͍͔̙̰̻̼͌̈́́̈̎̏̐̈́̌̈́̚̚͠͠͠͝ͅā̷̢̡̦̯͚̯̻̺̬̲̒̑̊͂̐͊̓̇͛̉̎̊̎͂͆̀͝ͅs̴̡̡̨͇̥̼̯͉͖̘̺̘͇̟̱̜͖̝͙̿͌̄̈́̏̉̋̆̓̆̕͝ ̵̖̲̗̫̙̱͓̠̤̒͑̀̿ó̵̡̖̮̮̮͍̱͔͕̠͚̙̱̺͚͊͌̆͂͋͠ǹ̶̖̭̥͇͗̓͜ͅl̵̞͓͍̞̱͉̺̭̹̝͍̠̻̻̫̈́̎̿̒͗͘ͅy̷̢̰̞̮̻̦̻̆͌̈́͆͛̌ ̷̡̢̢̢̮͎̱͙͙̻̻̤͓̱͎̿͌͐̎̄̅͊̏͗̉͂̋́̉̂n̴͉̻̠̘̭̞̥͈͓͗͗̾͋̌̑̑̀̈́̏̒̚͝͝ͅͅą̶̮͕̱̖͖̞̝̰̮̲͙͖̘͈͍͔̔̇̀̾̋̓̓̿̾̏̃͐̇̔̑̃̕͠t̸̢̧̡͈͇̩̟̲̠͇͎̬̮̦̟̮̥̝̊͒ͅu̶̟̩͔̼̟̝̪̙̭͔̥͙͇̺͎̅̍̓͒̋̀͑̈́͂̾̀͛̆̚͠͠ͅr̴̛̙̯̪̤͖͓̞͖̝͋̍̓͛̽́̂̆̎͆̉͊̿̚͝a̸̡̱͍͕̘̘̙̹̬̙͓͔̘͙͍͛̈́̎̾̈́͊̍̎̕l̷̨͉̮͒̔̑́́͛̅̇ ̷͔̬͚͕̟̟̻͍̞̾̔̓̀̍̚̕͝ͅà̶̡̧̩͎͔̖̞͐̾͒̅̈̎͌͑͌̐͌͑͘͘̚͝͝͝f̴̪̝̼̻̮̘͙̼̲͕̾̓̈́t̴̢̫͔̩̬̮̹̻̥̖͈̬̼͉̩̰̭̀̈̓̎̅͊̔̊̈́͛̉̽̒̚͜͝ȩ̷̫̦͒̍͛̒̾̐̇̀̓̒̕̚͠͠ŗ̶̢̩̱̫̳̦͚͔̽̉̀̇̀̀͌͛̂̈́͒̉͑͜ ̴̫̹͕̙̺̦̙̮̬͙͕̙̫̤̙̪͛͆a̴̝̟̰̱̟͕̝͎̿͆̓́͗̎̋̉l̵̡̟͉̝̺̮̜̣̬͙̮̋́̀̀͒͌͛̔̕̕͝͠͝ͅl̸̳̓̓͐̌̒̉͒͋̋̚͝ͅ.̸͚͈͙̫̟̦̖̏̓̋̓͌̀́̇̀

Along with her magic, she grew closer to those around her. For once, she had a measure of control over her choices and it was deeply liberating. Her books had taken her on so many adventures, but with Remi, Viollca, Tadeas, and Omen, her own adventures eclipsed the print and pages.

And she got to punch Viktor in the face. It was a shame everyone stopped her from doing it twice.

Now, she has to write her own chapters and the empty pages are filled only with questions. What does she want? Where does she want to go? How does she feel about her new "family?" What could some seer in the woods have known of her? And all the things that whisper?

At the very least, if she is going to be part of some prophecy, she is going to give it her all to help her new friends first.