Briar

Briar is an excitable, interminably curious girl prone to overthinking; her mind often races too fast for the rest of her to keep up with it. This innate energy and thoughtfulness, along with her knack for management, makes her a surprisingly good leader—when she can overcome her awkward nature, that is. Years spent with only the company of her eccentric mother and the occasional shambling husk have left Briar with limited social skills; she frequently stumbles over her words, mumbles to herself, holds herself strangely, or is a little more touchy feely than is appropriate.

An upbringing like the one Briar experienced was never going to produce a well-adjusted girl, but she’s been working hard to learn and grow. She wears her emotions on her sleeve, and while she can get petty when upset, it isn’t difficult to earn her forgiveness. Briar’s education is a point of pride for her, so she likes to share what she knows with others, though she can be condescending without realizing it. She’s developed a savior complex over the years that compels her to help and look after others; this isn’t unfounded, as she is incredibly kind and generous, but it sometimes leads her to disregard the feelings and wishes of others in favor of doing what she thinks is in their best interest.

Briar’s early life is, for the most part, an uneventful procession from one moment into the next. As her mother Agatha tells it, she was born in the Pit with her roots already dug into the same wall where she remained well into her adulthood. Agatha raised her from a little sprout into the healthy chimera she is today, and with such a capable witch looking out for her, Briar wanted for very little. Though Agatha insisted on a rigorous course of study across a wide variety of disciplines that kept Briar busier than most children, she was always rewarded with praise, treats, and/or time to sew—her favorite activity even from a young age.

But despite the comfort she enjoyed surrounded by pillows and pretty trinkets and flowers in bloom, despite the near-constant stimulation of her mind, there was one hunger that always gnawed at her: a desire for companionship. The older she got, the more starved she became for a real friendship with someone her own age. This issue was only exacerbated by Agatha’s trips out getting longer, sometimes leaving Briar alone for days at a time.

When she finally expressed this frustration to her mother, her response wasn’t what Briar had hoped for; her roots were firmly planted, she reminded her, and what laid outside was not to come in. They fought over it, with Agatha eventually conceding to take one of Briar’s spare hands along with her the next time she went out. While Briar still felt cheated, it was hard to give her mother the cold shoulder for very long, so for a few years she had to continue to settle. She was a preteen before her loneliness really boiled over and she made up her mind to disobey Agatha, sneaking one hand out the door while her mother was away.

At first, Briar rarely snuck out, but she became bolder with time. The world outside was different from how she’d imagined it, strangely dark and cluttered; regardless, she felt compelled to explore it. Before long, she was bringing things back with her—broken things that badly needed mending, discarded toys, ratty clothes, small animals... This was when she discovered her unique affinity for healing flesh, which she would hone into a true craft through her teen years by secretly patching up the various mangled creatures she found.

Unfortunately, even her miraculous restorative powers couldn’t bring back the unresponsive souls of people already lost to the Pit. Most of her “projects” were laid to rest soon after, wreathed in flowers from the yard. Occasionally, though, she would come across a conscious human wandering the halls, lost and afraid. This is how Teddy, then Michel, and eventually Robin came to be a part of the chimera princess’ royal court.