Theodosia

Little Thea grew up on the darkest sides of town, far from the light of the castle. She doesn't remember who her mother is, growing up in a whorehouse. She learned early on to dress like a boy, and cut her hair short and ragged when she was about 12. She would spend almost every waking moment on the streets, fighting and scrambling for food. Some parts of the city were closer to the castle, and therefore, less safe. Others were darker, grungier, and far easier to blend into, become just another kid, covered in dirt.
There were very few ways to get by when you're poor, and a girl. Fortunately, this girl avoided that, by learning how to play boy, and by learning how to steal. She grew good at it, going from cash sticking out of wallets to whole wallets, to coin purses, to purses, to jewelry, straight from the wearer's wrist or hair. When she found a royal invitation in one purse, she took a chance and spent a huge chunk of money on a dress, before proceeding to steal anything pocketable.
That event changed her life forever, in how she viewed the world and how she looked at rich people. They were all fools, with too much, ready for the taking; it took little to get past their guard and steal from the source.

She stopped going by Thea when she turned 15, picking up the masculine version of her name, to deter more unwanted attention.

When you first see Theo, you wouldn't expect them to be important. Covered from head to toe in black, ripped clothing, barely an inch of bare skin showing. You wouldn't expect them to be in charge of anything, except maybe a band of thieves attacking halted carriages.

The clothes are loose, but if one looks close, they might notice that the clothes, are tighter fitting though they seem, never revealing an extra inch of skin, every rip somehow covered from below. Even their face is covered, a black mask covering the nose and down, some kind of skull-hat covering the forehead and hair, followed by a number of hoods. The hands are covered by gloves, but almost every sleeve that reaches their hands is ragged, some ending far before her wrists.

As the clothes peel back, it's obvious the person in question isn't a male, as one might have suspected. No, they are definitely female, the cheekbones and hips revealing it sooner than the breasts might. Without the multitude of layers, the arms become slimmer, but covered in scars. They are smallest around the wrists, but there are also more there, as if she cut herself too many times, reaching into places she shouldn't have. There are some longer gashes on her forearms, some older than others, and some places on her biceps that are striated with scars where knives or bullets bit into her. On her right shoulder, there is a cluster of marks, that almost look like teeth marks.

The number of tattoos she has is far fewer than scars, and most are simple. On her right hand, there are five dots, like the side of a die. On her left hand, there were two circles, one with a wheel in it, and one with a dot in it. They sit next to each other, like a pair of eyes with no mouth.
On the inside of her left bicep, there is an old tattoo of a small teddy bear, simple and small enough that she keeps it covered with a bandage. On her stomach, there is a pale stripe, which is a bit blotchy; a birthmark.