[hider=Miry Unalim]
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[img]https://i.imgur.com/xts4FJj.jpg?1[/img]
[sub][i]An exceptionally diminutive young woman, standing less than four and a half feet tall. Though altogether rather plain in appearance, she carries herself with composure and dignity, a light of wisdom and confidence sparking in her blue-violet eyes. Her mousey blonde hair is combed into a glossy, smooth sheet, lightly curling down to the base of her shoulder blades. She dresses plainly, though her clothes are of quality.[/i][/sub]

[h2]Aymiria Unalim[/h2]

[b]Race:[/b]
Gemmenite
[b]Age:[/b]
19
[b]Element(s):[/b]
Water
[b]Height:[/b]
Four feet, five inches

[b]Bio:[/b]
Oh, how times have changed. Aymiria Unalim, born Aymiria Cassiell, was once a servant’s daughter, a servant herself – minstrel and eventually handmaiden for the third-in-line princess of a realm.

She was taken in a reaping, barely eighteen. Her twin sister, an artist and painter, was too. She watched her sister die. And her sister-bride, all for a man’s greed. Not even the greed of the man who was to be her husband, for some – cruel, horrible plan of crowns and kings and so on and so forth.

Such massive affairs should not have involved her. She wept, even as her future husband tried to comfort her and reassure her it was going to be okay – in a manner most unbecoming of a Drakken, she would realize. He had not forced her into his bed, nor any of the horrible rumors that surrounded the alliance.

But she’d seen her sisters scars, the burn branded deep into her abdomen. She’d gotten lucky, somehow. Most of the other girls would not have.
 
Living in her husband’s keep, free to pursue whatever she wanted – she was a lady, at least, sort of, and she didn’t have daily chores and errands to run – she educated herself about his people and his languages, and he was nothing but courteous and kind, if distant. His ruling grandfather, though less kind, did nothing to directly harm her. She did ultimately grow to appreciate her place, and to consider the implications of her presence. The grandfather quickly grew irate that she’d not shared her husband’s bed, not presented him an heir.

He never pressured her, but as she grew to spend more time with him – learning the language, for her tongue was clumsy and most unbecoming of a future duchess, learning the literature and history of the fallen empire, all of the intricacies of his people’s culture and religion – at some point during all of that she did fall for him, badly, and of her own volition began to share his bed at night and stay by his side during the day.

	This was three moons ago. Now she stays with him always, hoping to someday be married to him in his people’s custom, rendering her as his equal and his wife, not his bride (an important distinction.) Recently she’s felt quite… unwell, and is uncertain - both afraid and daring to hope that perhaps her husband’s seed has taken root and she’ll be able to bear him a son, and fearing what may come of it.

[b]Other:[/b]
((take her out of the pairing rotation, as seen above she’s been happily a bride for the last year))
[b]Adult Content Preference:[/b]
Uhhh….
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