Few

Safe in the Steep Cliffs by Emancipator

“Every single soul is a poem.” —Michael Franti
A gentle soul, pure and incandescent. Her lithe body moves with all the grace of a doe. Her elegance lasts momentarily, only to be replaced by naivety and frequent clumsiness. Carried with particular caution and curiosity that consistently conflict, always trying to help others in need.

The instinct of a doe contorts with the soul of a human.
On her knees, crying out when another bleeds. Purple shadows where the Harten treads, innocence will turn against...

Those who give her death...
No rest; A soul and... what is...? It thinks, therefore, it is--Supreme intelligence. A call from the night, a feeling of dread, ancient protector of divine auras interlocked with thread. When all is lost, it takes her stead. Something unknown, unheard of, better left unsaid. Sometimes it is better to leave a path untread.

Watch your step, or you'll be torn to shreds.

[Major Plots Only. Will only happen upon character death/leading to resurrection.]