the last daughter of the shadow-grin
female | eight | 38 inches | 100 pounds | no heart | no soul | gypsy loner
The darkness has never intimidated her, nor given her reason not to breathe as freely as she ever would. The emptiness is peace, the darkness is comfort and solace, the lack of wind brings her a stillness of soul that tempts her only further into the night. She is a glimmer of silver and moonshine, a dandy sight for anyone who appreciated svelte beauty.
She is her father’s daughter, The Shadow Grin having met with her for what she knew was the last time. His last ambitious journey to Nanrua entirely too solemn to not partake in. The brothers had gone too, the favored sons of favored sons, but she holds no more animosity that they were chosen than she held fear for the dark and still night as she entered the grotto.
She senses the other near, but her initial response is not entirely what the other might have wanted with consideration for the growl. It does, however, confirm his position in the nightly darkness and allows her to swivel her attention without altering the position of her body. His manners are unbecoming, but she cannot judge him without knowing him better - so her response is further neutrality in the face of open malcontentment.
Her eyes are like ice, a contrast of his (though it was hard to see in such near-utter dark. Her ears come to attention on her head, that same head tilting.
“No one by which a name would soothe your hackles...” she offers first, but does not leave him wanting for a more up front answer -- she could not lie, after all,
“I am called Sidhe.”
She does not demand the same in return, does not even question him on the matter. If he was more than passing in his interest in her, he would come to ask on his own time.
“Did I disturb your rest?” Idle question for an idle woman.
