"I must be as strong as my mother."
11 | Human | No Mage-Eyes
P E R S O N A L I T Y
❖ resilient
❖ fierce
❖ distrustful
❖ frank
❖ resourceful
❖ intense
People are too quick to dismiss her as someone incapable of doing even the most menial of task, or they underestimate her, treat her as though she is so delicate she could break with a touch. Ylliana likes to take their misconceptions and shove it down their throats. Her mother once told her that the world is against someone like her, so she must fight tooth and nail to get what she deserves. She has taken this advice to heart.
She has remained steadfast and dogged through every hardship and obstacle thrown her way, but losing her mother has broken her. With no soothing voice to calm her, she is a tightly wound ball of rage and defiance and heartache. She feels too deeply and has no outlet for grief. Like a wary cat with its back arched and its hair on end, Ylliana will lash out at the slightest provocation.
A P P E A R A N C E
A waif of a girl, Ylliana is small and skinny and in drastic need of a proper meal. Her once round face has become slightly angular, the freckles dusting her cheeks and nose more prominent as they adjust to a smaller canvas. Back then, she heard people say (even if it was with disdain and envy) she was a "pretty little thing" who would grow up beautiful like her mother. Ylliana wonders if they would say the same thing now.
She used to have wonderful silky hair that she loved to twirl around her fingers, but without means to properly groom herself, it has grown duller and coarse. If her mother hadn't treasured it so, she would have hacked it off long ago. But she did and Ylliana would sooner cut off her little toe than entertain the idea of disheartening her mother. Her fingers could never thread each chestnut strand as deftly as her mother used to, however. With each attempt, what she ends up with instead is a tangled mess, far worse off than if she leaves it alone.
The tattered remains of her clothing have been hanging looser over her increasingly gaunt frame. Her cloak slips down her shoulder every so often, revealing the tears scattered across her worn linen shirt. The breeches she wears, clearly borrowed from someone much bigger, is cut off haphazardly at the cuffs and rolled up to her ankles. An old sash cinches her breeches at the waist and does well enough to keep them up.
If anything is striking about her, it is her blue eyes. Bright and intense, something about them makes people feel like they are being scrutinized, as though they piercing through soul and spirit.
H I S T O R Y
Born during a starless night, the darkness that welcomed Ylliana to the world would become her constant companion. Her mother recognized the signs of her failing sight when she was three months old and still heedless of distractions that should have caught an infant's attention. Bright trinkets dangling playfully overhead was met with futile squinting, if given notice at all, even though she responded well enough to the sounds around her.
More than anything, her mother was relieved to have diagnosed her disability early on. She was able to adapt their home to her needs, and Ylliana would grow up never needing help getting around. Still, it helped little that they lived in Glen Owen, of all places. The small town—nestled smack dab in the middle of a glen, a stone's throw away from the Great Southern Road—was infamously easy to upset. Everything scandalized them so, and there was her mother: unwed, pro-magic, a courtesan by night, raising a child with a disability.
They were more or less pariahs in the disparaging town, yet not once had Ylliana felt unloved or unwelcomed or any less. Her mother more than made up for all the rancor, and they surrounded themselves with the right sort of people. Everyone else was noise she could easily tune out.
Ylliana adopted her mother's resilience and thick skin and learned to survive in a world that seemed to conspire against her. Even so, nothing could have prepared her for one magical encounter in the woods.
She was running an errand with her mother that day, a quick trip to the next town over for some new garments. They were to return before sunset as usual and took the direct route through the woods, one she had come to know by heart. It was rare for her to get sidetracked—her mother taught her better—but there was something about the strange echoing noise that seized her curiosity.
It was such an odd sound, deep and haunting and kind of lonely, so unlike anything she's heard that she had to stray momentarily to investigate. Ylliana meant to return before her mother noticed, but ended up deep in the heart of the woods instead, so invested was she in this mystery. The sound kept moving further away, fading into the distance just as she ought to have reached its source. It would have been an affront to her very being to give up right then; she was all of nine years and twice as stubborn as she was the year prior.
Ylliana cannot completely recall what transpired when she finally reached it. No matter how hard she tries, she remembers only this: the sound was a voice. It asked for her name, for a wish, and then everything turned black.
Come nightfall, her wish hadn't been granted and Ylliana was both relieved and disappointed. Just as she resigned to believe the whole thing was merely another of her grand imaginings, however, there came the same strange haunting sound, echoing throughout the small cottage in which they lived. Ylliana dropped to the floor within seconds of hearing it, eyes burning and body aching. Even though her mother was screaming frantically, all she could focus on was the strange voice whispering in her ears.
According to her mother, she was out for nearly a week. When she finally came to, the world that greeted her was a different one. A vibrant one. The first thing she noticed was an eerie orb of light floating beside her, whence her mother's heartrending pleas ('wake up, little star, don't leave me alone') originated. She mentioned this to her mother after their teary reunion and they came to the conclusion that whatever it was she happened upon in the woods, it had granted her a miracle.
This newfound sight, borne from her simple wish to see her mother, hadn't been what she expected. Yes, she could see. But not like that, not like how others do. What she saw instead was essence, her mother explained. She still didn't get to see what her mother looked like, but she saw the light inside her. To Ylliana, it shone brighter than the rest; a pretty color that brought to mind a flower's sweet scent or a soothing lullaby. It made her feel safe and at home. The other orbs she spied floating about town were nowhere near as enchanting, and she happily took it to mean that the hateful people were what could be called ugly.
When word spread about her miraculous vision, the people of Glen Owen began to fear her, to fear the magic that was cast upon her. Ylliana made it worse by mistakenly believing she was helping when she shared her sight and the information she gleaned off it:
"Mister Percy's light is shrinking," she opined, a day before the man in question succumbed to a mysterious illness. "I think he's dying." They didn't deserve it, not one bit, but even so she had hoped her mother's reputation would be improved if she became of some use to the town. Instead, all she did was fuel the town's deep-seated hatred for magic and stir them into commotion.
After the foretold passing of Harold Percy, the town's beloved magistrate, the town fell into a state of disarray. People blamed Ylliana for his sudden death and demanded she be executed for her witching ways; there was no need for any trial, they agreed, as there was already proof enough in the magistrate's death.
She and her mother fled that night, even though the dangers of the efertide loomed in the horizon. At that point, the ancient curse had been the lesser of two evils. Oatcake, an ailing elderly librarian and among the few in the town whom her mother trusted, helped them escape to the Great Southern Road, but that was as far as he could take them. Even he was too fearful of what the night had in store.
Tempesta was the only place they could live in peace. The neighboring town of Harcourt would have already heard about the 'cursed child,' and although Mediolann and Nicodeme would have spared them days' worth of travel, there was no telling what they would do with someone touched by magic. Her mother was worried a bigger city would overwhelm Ylliana's senses as well. Although they were poorly equipped to travel, her mother used her wits and charm and they mostly got by with help from other travelers along the way.
Ylliana would reach Alonso alone in the back of a farmer's carriage, between crates of crops to be sold in the market that morning, angry and afraid and at a loss of what to do. They had been close, so close. After everything they've been through, it was the efertide that had managed to separate them.
I N V E N T O R Y
❖ a handkerchief her mother made for her; its raised stitched lettering supposedly says her name
❖ a small pouch with an empty coin purse and a piece of candy she's been saving for a special occasion
O T H E R
❖ Ylliana cannot read, but she loves listening to stories. She and Old Oatcake were such good friends because he read to her every afternoon.
❖ As an outcast in her narrow-minded town, she had very little exposure to children her own age and consequently isn't well-versed in social interaction. Besides her mother, she spent her time with an old librarian prone to flights of fancy and a brusque peddler that came to her town every so often, armed with not entirely age-appropriate stories.
