Personality

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- Soft soul, with a few rough edges.

- Wants to do good in the world and make a difference, but just not today (Maybe when she is older, as she tells herself)

- Smart and Quick Witted

- More of a Planner than a Do-er

- Youthfully naive of the world

- A smidge too trusting sometimes

WC: 52

CW: Parent Death, Passive Suicidal Ideation (both mentioned in passing)

History

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Magic has always fascinated the young child, who sat warm and safe by a cheery fire. Her parents laughed at her joy, watching her eyes light up as they swirled magic between their palms.

“Mama, will I ever learn how to do that?” the young girl asks one day, and watches as her mother’s smile falters. How could it not, looking at her exceptionally normal daughter? So plain, so ordinary, so unlike her mage parents.

“Perhaps some day, my girl,” her mother replied. It wasn’t unheard of, but…

Her home was one of love, one of joy. Of parents who loved their daughter unconditionally, despite her lack of any magic defining features. When magic should have been forming, instead she learned of herbs and gardens, of their uses in medicine, of how to coax the earth to grow when there were so many options. The simple, mundane magics of a non magic world.

So she grew, and was loved, and showed no signs of magic at all.

The tensions of the world were heating up, and the rumors of corrupted mages reached even the sleepy town in which she grew. It was a small town in the middle of green, rolling fields, a town that was on its way out. Her friends were her elderly neighbors, and she played with the wild creatures of the world. But her small town became even smaller, the conversations held behind her back more whispered.

Then the day came.

“I need to go,” her father said softly, thinking he talked too softly for the girl to hear. But she had noticed, and she listened. “We are mages of the Order, and I need to go and help.”

“You cannot,” her mother had pleaded. “We need you here, our daughter needs you here.”

“It is my duty. You may be called too, we have to be prepared for that. Make the plans when I go,” her father had replied, and as the young girl peeked between the stairs she saw her father cupping her mothers cheek and wiping away the tears, just as his own formed in his eyes.

And like that, her world became more strange. Her father had left, and her mother cried herself to sleep at night, trying desperately to be too quiet for the young girl to hear.

She began to spend more and more time with her elderly neighbors, but they were old and ailing. She brought them herbs, for what little they could do. With her father gone, there was always something more that needed done, so she stepped up. The days of play were gone.

It had been nearly a year since she last saw Father. And when mages showed up at their door, Mother had begged and cried and screamed. But there was a body, and not a body that looked like her father. It was a man that they buried with her fathers name, and mourned.

Bags were packed swiftly. The mages waited outside, and her Mother bent before her.

“Mama, where are you going?” the little girl cried.

“Mama has to go to work,” her mother replied, tears streaming down her own face.

“You can’t go, Mama! Who is going to look after me? I need you!”

“You are so brave, so strong, my sweet girl. This lady is going to stay with you,” Mother had replied. “She will keep you safe until I come home.”

The moons that passed after that were dull and colorless. The days were wane, the spring, normally so vibrant, a simple shell.

“I do not know why they kept you,” the Mage had said one day, looking on in disdain as the girl tended her herbs. “Not a speck of magic in you.”

“There is more to the world than magic,” the girl had responded.

“Not anything of any worth,” the Mage had replied.

The words stayed with the girl until her Mothers body was returned, broken and battered. It stayed with her as she was hastily buried, with no time to mourn, and the Mage took her to the city. It was with her as she was dropped off at the orphanage, and left. It was with her as a year passed, and she yearned for summer grown fields, and soft beds of herbs.

It was with her as she stared out into the winter snow and wished for the thousandth time she had been born a mage, only so she could die with her parents.

It was with her as she used the distraction of another orphan crying to escape to the streets, as she wandered from place to place, scrounging for food. It was with her always.

WC: 781