Priscilla

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Name: Priscilla Devlin
Age: Nineteen
Gender: Cisgender Female
Race:: Human
Ethnicity: Caucasian, Irish heritage
Status: Working Class
Belief: Agnostic | Doubtful
Alignment: True Neutral

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"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live, for the filth that spills from the heretic’s lips bring nothing but unlawful understanding of forbidden foresight. Mischief occupies a peculiar set of eyes, paired with a knowing smile on pale lips. She is an enigma to many, her own actions driven by the most primal of sins. It is best to be on one’s toes when conversing with Priscilla, for her intentions are not always pure, nor is her loyalty guaranteed to obtain."

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Height: Five foot, four inches
Build: Ectomorph | Petite | Waifish
Complexion: Alabaster, nearing pallid
Hair: Waist-length, white blonde, either left down or pinned up
Eyes: Almond, midnight blue orbs that hold a glimmer of devilment
Scent: Wet soil, pine, & lavender
Blood: AB Negative | Intoxicating, sweet, & faintly bitter
Aura: Soothing yet with an air of melancholy

Likes Adventure, causing mischief, danger, magic, nature, secrets, sweets

Dislikes Authority, confinement, fire, mundane routine, needless destruction, senseless lies, snakes

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There is something unsettling in regards of Priscilla. The scent of freshly turned earth clings to her skin like perfume, while the soothing aroma of lavender can be found on her breath. A peculiar light in those deep pools of blue make it seems as if the girl sees the world a different manner compared to others. One may say she is not right in the head, speaking to the air as one addresses a friend.

Her rank as a member of the lower class is apparent from her physique, the frame of her body creating the illusion of fragile health. Petite in stature, the woman possesses scrawny shoulders connected to long arms, round supple breasts of medium size, a thin waist with a slight curve to the hips, her ribs barely visible under her delicate skin, and slender legs that have experienced a lifetime of stimulation. Her pallid skin is akin to freshly fallen snow, an unnatural perfection to it as like a porcelain doll. Yet her calloused hands bring her status to light, the fingers deceptively thin and bony in certain ways. Barely a blemish lies underneath her attire, only a slight mole upon the inner of her left thigh. A mark that she frets over others seeing.

Her youthful appearance possesses a delicate narrowed jawline that brings her chin to a point, her nose dainty, with a slight tilt up to it, and a thin mouth with small, rosy lips. A smile can be commonly found on them, gentle, white teeth lined perfectly behind those soft lips. Indigo irises hold a depth to them, the light that reflects with in them shining like faint stars on the night sky. Her true age is hard to discern from her young appearance.

Priscilla keeps her hair up and out of the way in her work, allowing the waves of gold to surround her face and fall neatly around her arms when she finds herself in times of leisure. Her sense of style is dependent upon the era she finds herself in, wearing free flowing attire to allow fluent movement in her daily life. Achromatic tones decorate her frame, giving her an ethereal appearance. She prefers to go without shoes, finding the earth beneath them far more welcoming but may wrap cloth around them when walking along stone or rough surfaces. The maiden carries herself gracefully, back straight and head high. Each step seemingly weightless.

Her social skills is anything but lacking. She is careful when she speaks, often choosing to remain quiet and observe, preferring on standing on the sidelines but is known at times to speak up on occasion to vocalize her own thoughts with a voice of gay and a mischief nature, words kind and mulled over or cryptic and forbidding. Though when socializing, a trickster’s glare usually lingers in her eyes. A warning to most that the woman may be one step ahead of them. Priscilla treats every scenario with a whimsical nature, even in the face of death, but she will remain calm even when fate is not in her favor. Only bidding her time patiently, waiting for the right time to act and turn the tables subtly.

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