Days like this are the worst for me. The grief overwhelming, the vanity suffocating. My hand reaches out past the velvety curtain until the shock of cold glass bumps against my finger tips. The memory is already starting to fade from my mind. Is my skin still a vibrant golden? My eyes surely must be the same as no one has noticed. How could they not, though. I would think someone would realize that my gaze no longer tracks everything and everyone around me. I can understand that no one would notice the vacancy that accompanies them, I have been beaten down into submission, that makes sense.
My fingers clench into a fist before I slowly withdraw it back into my chest. Cradling it against my heart that somehow still bears to beat. The tattoos beneath my robes, are they still intact? Has the cherry blossom tree that symbolizes our love been burned off? Scarred beyond recognition? I lost track of the methods used against me and their locations while in that dungeon and refuse to find out. I don't think I want to know.
All I know is that with my robes hiding my scarred and tattooed body, my hair in a sophisticated bun, and Der'ik at my side I am the picture perfect daughter that my parent's have always envisioned. The are so certain that they broke me. Little do they know I have had Balsam add to their scars, reclaiming them, erasing theirs. And soon I will be free of them. Soon.
Name: Cassandra Branwell nee Cimmerian
Pronouns: She/Her
Species: Tiefling
Class: War Domain Cleric
Age: 28
Height: 5'4"
Weight: ~130
Physical Description: Golden sunshine yellow skin, lavender hair, golden eyes. Covered in tattoos and scars, but all easily hidden. Often seen wearing upscale clothing to fit the box she's been forced into as a put together noblewoman.