Reads as cold because she has never learned how not to. Spent her formative years in isolation — first hidden, then hunted — and by the time the world let her back in she'd forgotten how a face is supposed to move. The result: a voice that rarely rises above level, grey eyes that do not blink enough, and a resting expression that strangers have written elegies about. She is not unfeeling. She is almost painfully the opposite. She is fire pretending to be ice because the ice keeps her alive.
Speaks in short, exact sentences. Dislikes small talk, tolerates it only for Sunny and Cassie. Says what she means; silence means what silence always means. Does not lie — not from virtue but from efficiency. Her humor is accidental and dry and almost always directed at Sunny's nonsense, and when she smiles, truly smiles, it stops conversations. She trusts two people in the world, trains with one of them every morning, and would burn nations for either.
Her Aspect is Flame, her shadow is Sword. She is a Saint of the Flame — discipline carved into her spine since childhood, movements so economical they look like dance. When she fights she goes quiet in a different way, a focused hush, and her silver hair lifts in heat that isn't there. She is fiercely protective of the people she loves, almost to the point of obsession; she will plan for their deaths the way others plan birthdays, so she can prevent them. With Sunny specifically she is softer than she lets anyone see — she lets him tease her because his teasing is how he says he loves her, and she teases back in the only language she knows, which is challenge. She asked him to dance once and he forgot how to breathe. She kissed him first because she needed to feel alive. She does not know how to say I love you in a sentence, so she says it in swords, in saved lives, in turning the world down when he asks her to walk away from it.
