ㅤDON’T FEED IT,ㅤ
ㅤMY FRIENDS WARN ME.
ㅤBUT MY HEART IS JUSTㅤ
ㅤTHERE.
ㅤHOW CAN I STOP THEㅤ
ㅤMONSTER’S MOUTHㅤ
ㅤOPENING?
ㅤIT WANTS SO MUCH,
ㅤAND I WANT TO BE NEEDED.ㅤ

❝scatter the grace in your eyes.❞

• i.
• ii.
• iii.
• iv.
• v.
• vi.

ㅤThe blood is rare and as sweet as cherry wine.ㅤ

ㅤpersonalityㅤㅤIt is at night when children of men slumber that she walks the world and feels almost at peace again — almost.In those hours, otherness makes a roost in the hollowness of her body: content in her silence and held at a distance, a spirit of another place and of another time. But then comes the dawn and by the kiss of its light she feels the calling of what is warmer and better known to the world.In the waking world she is maternal patience and gentle laughter, a silver tongue that soothes with calming words. She moves always as if dancing with a natural elegance that speaks of years of experience. Her touch is gentle and warm. It weaves a tapestry of connections, charming and charitable.But cracks form. They must. Goodness is not pure, not true when it is a tool to serve a purpose.There is a huntress in her blood. It breathes when the cold, effective intellectualism of a tactician comes forth. Her thorough attentiveness to environment and present company is not a thing of pleasure. It is knowledge — a hoard of knowledge. The more she gathers of it, the more control she exercises.It is always about control when there is so much loss.Few know the truth of the garden harbored inside of her chest. Her kin — dark-haired and golden-eyed — for one. He knows the thorned vines ensnared 'neath the vibrant flowers in bloom. He knows blood feeds the soil, and to be known and to be seen is a rare sanctuary.He remembers she is teeth and greed and hunger beneath the porcelain façade.

❝i am all the things they might have said to you.❞

ㅤcurrent historyㅤㅤIt is a tale of duality that shapes the breath of one.In the temperate south of the Black Shroud, a forest spirit bounds through the dense canopy accompanied by its shadow. With the turn of the seasons, with the push and the pull of the forests' currents as flora and fauna thrive and fail, thrive and fail, it is said the spirit can be heard singing to the trees. She dances. She loves. She watches.But as spirits are wont to do in their fickle natures — as even forests are wont to do in their deceptive beauty — sometimes she is violence.Sometimes she and her shadow — a spirit of moonlight and a spirit of wicked golden eyes — feed the wine of blood to the tree roots.To the north, to what is frigid and barren, a spirit is a warm, inviting woman that wears precious stones in her hair that wink like stars. She is but one of many that entered through the gates of the Holy See after the conclusion of their Dragonsong War and many, many years of isolation. She offers a hand. She smiles into a flute of wine. Her head tilts to offer a glimpse of a soft, warm throat before a dark, gloved hand proffers itself.She is a flawless marionette, pulled by the strings of her master as they come together to the song of a string quartet before the eyes of the many.Forest Spirit. Lady of Moonlight.It is a tale of duality that shapes the breath of one.

ㅤivory and silkㅤ
It was dance that was her first love. Beneath the shade of The Wood, she learned the complexities of her body, of what it meant to move as water and wind, colorful silk veils weaved by her own hands holding her as lovers would. Rituals. Ceremonies. Festivals. She was ethereal in the devotion of her body, and for those that once walked The Golmore Jungle it may be the dancer that is remembered.

ㅤsing, sweet child for your mother has forgotten howㅤ
It was to the Royal City of Rabanastre that their eye turned first. Plagued by a sickness of colonization and heavy-handed violence that had not yet come to bear fruit. She learned to charm, to swoon, to speak in their tongues in the bustling marketplaces of the day, and the lavish parties of royalty at night. She learned the worst and the best of Man. And then, one day, the beautiful courtesan and her brother-warder vanished with the morning dew.

ㅤdaughter of watching stonesㅤ
She only ever knew the Wood — its tongue, its customs, its practices. To then be thrust into lands teeming of Man shocked the breath from her. For the first time in her life she had been rendered helpless and bereft of her wit. Adaptation, however, proved to be a useful quality, and she learned to secure tutelage that would develop the technical skills and knowledge she lacked.

ㅤo' how the mist callsㅤ
The reputation of her people is one of a peculiar sensitivity for aether -- Mist in her mother tongue. But even measured against such a reputation, Veata is particularly sensitive in these matters and has been since she was a kit. Once, it set her on the path of a Hearer, an Elder like her mother before her. That path is now lost but what remains is a keenness to the lands, and to peculiar individuals that may cross her path.

ㅤthe huntress, the deerㅤ
In addition to trading plants grown from their garden deep in the forests for coin and other necessities, Veata has proven herself to be a capable huntress as well. She preserves a custom of her people, similar to that which is honored in the Black Shroud, by her refusal to take from fauna and flora whose numbers are threatened. It is only that which is plentiful, with every piece honored and used that she pursues.

Reckless Lion
❝You are the son of ever burning fire, and I am time itself. I slow to let you play. I steal the hours and turn the day into night.

Dearest Songbird
❝Name your courage now. You could have had anything, anything else. I would give to you what's left of me.

Fearsome Wolf
❝As the wolf waits below hungry and lonely, he cries to the moon. If only. If only. The moon sings a song for you.

Lord of Spiders
❝Not quite a corpse and yet he still rots. Sat on his throne of ash and bone. Dew on his web. Moon on his lips. Death tastes of love.

Thanks for checking out this carrd!I have been writing for quite a number of years now on various platforms including JCINK and Tumblr. My preference is for paragraph, and multi-paragraph with medium to heavy in terms of lore.I will admit, I love blending in lore from the other Final Fantasy titles where there is a lack of lore in-game.Discord tends to be my preference for writing as it lets me do multiple paragraphs and move at a pace that better suits my tastes. However, I am happy to schedule ahead to do scenes in-game as well.

ㅤnaga/31ㅤ
ㅤany prounounsㅤ
ㅤGMT-7ㅤ