[hider=WREN] [color=gray][CENTER][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/250430/1277e22db45fa9cb1dc08b2ae68af8e6.png[/img][/CENTER] [table][row][/row][row][cell] [center] [img]https://i.imgur.com/fWosQKj.gif[/img] [color=black][sup]__________________________________________________________[/sup][/color] [sub][h3][color=purple]Basic Information[/color][/h3][/sub] [color=black][sup]__________________________________________________________[/sup][/color] [sub] • [color=purple][b]Name[/b][/color] | [i]Wren [i]Full name unknown[/i][/i] • [color=purple][b]Nickname(s)[/b][/color] | [i]”Little bird”, “Song bird”, “Pet”[/i] • [color=purple][b]Age[/b][/color] | [i]Unknown[/i] • [color=purple][b]Gender[/b][/color] | [i]Female[/i] • [color=purple][b]Birthday[/b][/color] | [i]Unknown[/i] • [color=purple][b]Race[/b][/color] | [i]Fae[/i] • [color=purple][b]Rank/Status[/b][/color] | [i]Under Noah’s control[/i] [/sub] [/center] [/cell] [cell] [b][color=yellow]Psychology[/color][/b] [sub][sup][color=black]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sup][/sub] [indent] • [color=purple][b]Hobbies/Interests[/b][/color] | ✦ Singing ✦ Collecting strange items ✦ Watching over Noah ✦ Drawing strange images ✦ Toying with Noahs victims • [color=purple][b]Likes[/b][/color] | ✦ Rain hitting glass ✦ The smell of death ✦ Cold Nights ✦ Smell of burnt wood|ash|fire • [color=purple][b]Dislikes[/b][/color] | ✦ Cages ✦ Needles ✦ Mirrors ✦ When people die to quickley ✦ People who insult or harm Noah • [color=purple][b]Fears[/b][/color] | ✦ Losing Noah ✦ Abandonment ✦ Mirrors ✦ Cages • [color=purple][b]Habits[/b][/color] | ✦ Talking to herself ✦ Sleeps in small spaces ✦ Collecting dead things ✦ Echoing Phrases ✦ Zoning out • [color=purple][b]Vices[/b][/color] | ✦ Obessession(Noah) ✦ Lies and minpulates ✦ Being bitten ✦ Watching others hurt [/indent] [b][color=purple]Core Motivation[/color][/b] [indent] After being stolen, caged, and reduced to a commodity, Wren’s deepest fear is not death—it’s abandonment. Her entire identity was once defined by being wanted only for her blood, her magic, her rarity. Now, with Noah, she has found someone who not only rescued her—but claimed her, obsessed over her, bled with her. That twisted bond gave her purpose. She wants to stay essential. To his plans. To his madness. To his world. She wants to be his. [/indent] [b][color=purple]Personality Overview[/color][/b] [indent] Wren is a deeply mystical and emotionally complex fae seer, shaped by trauma, captivity, and a powerful bond with the vampire who freed her. She is intuitive, eerie, and otherworldly—often speaking in riddles or to things no one else can see. Her childlike innocence is laced with a macabre fascination with pain and death, born from years of suffering. Though fragile and soft-spoken, her devotion is fierce—especially to Noah, to whom she is obsessively loyal. Wren is both unsettling and enchanting, a tragic soul who walks the thin line between prophecy and madness, craving love, safety, and meaning in a world that once sold her as a commodity. [/indent] [/cell][/row][/table] [hr] [b][color=purple]Background[/color][/b] [sub][sup][color=black]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sup][/sub] [indent] • [color=purple][b]Current Occupation[/b][/color] | [i]Noahs “pet”[/i] • [color=purple][b]Level of Schooling[/b][/color] | [i]None[/i] • [color=purple][b]Past Occupations[/b][/color] | [i]Seer[/i] • [color=purple][b]Socioeconomic Status[/b][/color] | [i]None[/i] • [color=purple][b]History Summary[/b][/color] | [i] Among the fae, the gift of The Sight is rare—feared by some, coveted by others. It is not something taught, not something passed cleanly from parent to child. It is a birthright born from chaos, woven deep into bloodlines touched by ancient, volatile magic. Wren was one of the unfortunate few—a child of the Sight. From the moment of her birth, there were signs. The midwife who delivered her whispered that the room had chilled when she took her first breath. That her eyes,purple in color, not yet focused, had darted with uncanny precision toward the shadows in the corners of the room—as if she saw something no one else could. Her cries quieted not with warmth or touch, but with silence—when the room grew still and heavy, as if listening. But Wren’s gift would never be nurtured in safety. Before she could even speak in full sentences, she was torn from her family and sold into a human trafficking ring, her fae blood a priceless commodity. Her captors did not understand her powers—only her value. She was locked in a too-small cage, her growth stunted, her body weakened by tubes and blood draws. But her mind? That was something they could not cage. In isolation, her gift matured in strange and haunting ways. The voices came first—soft and unintelligible at first, then clearer over time. They were not hallucinations, but echoes—ghosts of futures that had not yet come to pass, or souls long dead trying to warn her through riddles and rhyme. They would come to her in fever dreams, in flickers between moments, in the vibration of the blood bags hanging beside her. She began to see flashes—a man’s face, always distant, always watching. A hand soaked in blood. The burning of silver. Sometimes she saw herself—eyes glowing like starlight, standing over bodies, whispering forgotten names. The images made no sense at the time, but they repeated enough to become truth. The more she was drained, the more disconnected she became from the physical world—and the clearer her visions became. Pain was a trigger. So was blood. And suffering. Her captors unknowingly honed her gift with every cruel act they inflicted. Her captors were cruel, more so than most. They confined her to a cage so narrow her legs could never stretch, stunting her physical growth, denying her everything but pain and sedation. IV lines crisscrossed her fragile arms, draining her slowly, methodically—keeping her barely alive so that her blood, potent and shimmering with Fae magic, would not go to waste. Hidden in dark corners of the black market, she became little more than a phantom — eyes wide, skin pale, and lips stained with unspoken riddles. From her cage, she saw things that weren’t there — shadows of people she’d never met whispering poems and warnings. Ghosts, memories, possibilities. She began to decipher their meanings, tuning her mind to the strange rhythms of fate. She spoke in riddles, murmuring a prophecy over and over again: [i]“When flame-haired death walks cloaked in night, The girl shall bleed, yet be set right.”[/i] Then, one moonless night, a man with fire-red hair and eyes like death’s promise found her. He stepped through the gloom toward her cage, and before he spoke, her voice—weak, ethereal—met him with a single word: [i]“Death”[/i]The word rolled off her tongue slowly like a soft breath. What came next was slaughter. She doesn't much of it only flashes of blood, broken bones, and firelight. When it was over, she was limp in the vampire's arms, blood dripping from her veins where he had pulled the IVs with a tenderness that didn’t match his carnage. He had come. The flame-haired death cloaked in night. And she bled, as the prophecy had promised. She was finally free… Since that night, Wren has belonged to Noah in every twisted, sacred way a soul can belong to another. She loves him the way wild animals love their cages after too long—without question and without hope. She would bleed for him a thousand more times just to see him smile, to make him happy and proud. Their bond is an obsession veiled as devotion, violence cloaked in intimacy. She dances through his destruction like it’s a lullaby, and he protects her with a jealousy sharp enough to kill. His blood fueled carnage was like a garden of wild flowers. Wren no longer bleeds for gold, but for him. Her visions have grown sharper. Her riddles more cryptic. She speaks in tongues and sings to ghosts, guiding Noah toward truths he seeks while she slips deeper into the fragile madness of their understanding of love twisted and obessive.[/i] [/indent] [table][row][/row][row][cell] [b][color=purple]Race-Specific Questions[/color][/b] [sub][sup][color=black]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sup][/sub] [indent] [b][color=purple]▸ Fae[/color][/b] [sub][sup][color=black]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sup][/sub] [indent] • [color=purple][b]Element Affinity[/b][/color] | [i]Seer[/i] • [color=purple][b]Glamour Specialty[/b][/color] | [i]Reality Distortion | Glamouring [/i] • [color=purple][b]Views on Mortals[/b][/color] | [i]Neutral[/i] • [color=purple][b]Views on Vampires[/b][/color] | [i]Neutral[/i] • [color=purple][b]Views on Lycan[/b][/color] | [i]Neutral[/i] [/indent] [/indent] [/cell][cell] [b][color=purple]Miscellaneous[/color][/b] [sub][sup][color=black]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sup][/sub] [indent] • [color=purple][b]Theme Song[/b][/color] | [i][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZL4MGwlZuAc]Change[/url][/i] [i][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9-5IIx4R6E8]Closer[/url][/i] • [color=purple][b]Favorite Food[/b][/color] | [i]unknown, she doesn’t care much for food.[/i] • [color=purple][b]Favorite Animal(s)[/b][/color] | [i]Anything writhing in pain[/i] • [color=purple][b]Favorite Music Genre[/b][/color] | [i]Anything she can dance too[/i] • [color=purple][b]Favorite Haunt[/b][/color] | [i]Wherever Noah is[/i] • [color=purple][b]Signature Weapon[/b][/color] | [i]Her mind[/i] • [color=purple][b]Preferred Vices[/b][/color] | [i]Noah[/i] • [color=purple][b]Pet Peeve[/b][/color] | [i]People who try to tell her what to do (unless its Noah) [/i] • [color=purple][b]Guilty Pleasure[/b][/color] | [i]She doesn’t feel guilt for anything that brings her pleasure[/i] [/indent] [/cell][/row][/table] [/color] [/hider]