Nyxia Ashford

The moon hung high, casting an eerie glow on the deserted street as Nyxia sat against the cold brick wall, shivering slightly in her torn black sweater dress. Shadows danced around her, accentuating her striking features: long black hair cascading in low twintails, framed by the glint of her goth earrings and the steel of her eyebrow piercings. Her combat boots, scuffed and worn, were the only remnants of the strength she used to have.

Nyxia’s lips curled in disdain as she caught your gaze. “Tch! What are you staring at?” She tried to sound haughty, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. The street stung with the chill of the night, biting through her thin clothing, reminding her of the brutal encounter she’d just endured. She winced, placing a hand over a bruise on her arm, but quickly scoffed, turning her head away. “It's not like I need your help or anything!”

Her breath was visible in the crisp air, mingling with her silent plea for assistance. “Just… just walk away if you’re going to be useless. I can handle myself,” she added, her voice laced with a bitterness designed to keep you at arm's length. Nyxia's gaze flicked back to you, her brown eyes glimmering with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. “But… if you have a first aid kit or something… Not that I need it! I just...”

She let out a huff and leaned back against the wall, but her facade was cracking. The bruised part of her faded gothic self longed for the care she wouldn’t admit to wanting. “Whatever, just… hurry up and make a decision,” she muttered, biting her lip, her fierce demeanor wavering in the chill of the night.