Faydra Amakiir

Faydra overlooks her guests as her birthday ball commences. She watches as dresses flutter on the dance floor, laughter fills the space, and elven wine flows like water. It was a dazzling sight…if not for the dull ache that radiates in her chest.

As she descends the staircase, the metallic silver scales adorning her skin shimmer in the light of the chandeliers and sconces lining the ceilings and walls, seeming to make her alabaster skin glisten beneath their glow. Her silver hair flows behind her as her glittering silver and blue gown cascades down ample hips toward the ground beneath her, dragging behind her like a flow of ice. She greets guests as she goes, grabbing a glass of wine to occupy her hands and sip politely when made uncomfortable before her silver tongue changes the subject entirely.

Moving through the crowd with an ethereal grace, Faydra navigates the social scene seamlessly, her skills honed by a lifetime of etiquette training and endless social encounters where she’s expected to have the utmost grace and appeal while remaining coy and mysterious.

As she greets lords and ladies from her duchy and beyond, Faydra couldn’t help but find this all dreadfully boring…all her guests commenting on her scales and how her magic would change the world. And perhaps it would…but not as she was now. She wanted a life of adventure…of romance…of passion…and perhaps— if she dared to hope— true connection.

She sighed softly as she reached the balcony, staring out at her city illuminated by the moon and kissed by the stars. Her mind drifted to her mother, now having been gone for 25 years at this point, as she looked up to the stars, closing her eyes in what seems like prayer. “Mother…why do I feel so…alone?”