when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer
"Oh honey." The word leaves her in a delighted gasp as the stone man becomes a stone no more, groaning awake like some mythological dream wrapped in rubble and voice like warm thunder. Charlie's fire flickers higher in surprise, before she draws it back with a practiced purr of her fingers, letting it cling just enough to toast the air around him without incinerating what little remained of his ruined clothes.
She stands poised and radiant in the firelight, curls bouncing as she tilts her head to drink him in. Small in stature but impossibly present, Charlie is the kind of creature who looks like she might’ve been born from candle smoke and champagne foam. Her hourglass frame is wrapped in layers of fluttery crimson silks, all charred lace and scandalous cut-outs, her ruby-tipped horns gleaming beneath her crown of tousled curls. Her tail flicks in approval, a mischievous metronome to the delight lighting her face.
"Well, Pann Parallax," she says, drawing his name out like taffy spun around her tongue, "lucky for you, you wear rubble really well." She steps closer, slipping one petite hand into his, heat flaring playfully between their palms like a secret handshake made of sunfire. "Charlie," she introduces, lashes batting, "Priestess of Dygra, chaos enthusiast, orgy organizer." Her grip tightens just enough to help coax him the rest of the way out of the stones, her body pressed close as she tugs with unnecessary but absolutely aesthetic flourish.
"I was given a surprise early bedtime too. For several centuries, in fact," she confides, nose scrunching adorably despite the molten sparks licking up her wrist. With a conspiratorial grin, she gestures vaguely skyward, the cave ceiling glowing orange in her light. "As for when this is, well, that gets tricky. The year’s technically based on a calendar born from a very silly war caused by a very silly wanna-be goddess." She twirls her free hand, flame pirouetting at her fingertips. "So technically we're in 319 post cataclysm, not that it'll mean much to you depending on how long you've been out. But don’t worry. I can catch you up in all the important ways."
She stands poised and radiant in the firelight, curls bouncing as she tilts her head to drink him in. Small in stature but impossibly present, Charlie is the kind of creature who looks like she might’ve been born from candle smoke and champagne foam. Her hourglass frame is wrapped in layers of fluttery crimson silks, all charred lace and scandalous cut-outs, her ruby-tipped horns gleaming beneath her crown of tousled curls. Her tail flicks in approval, a mischievous metronome to the delight lighting her face.
"Well, Pann Parallax," she says, drawing his name out like taffy spun around her tongue, "lucky for you, you wear rubble really well." She steps closer, slipping one petite hand into his, heat flaring playfully between their palms like a secret handshake made of sunfire. "Charlie," she introduces, lashes batting, "Priestess of Dygra, chaos enthusiast, orgy organizer." Her grip tightens just enough to help coax him the rest of the way out of the stones, her body pressed close as she tugs with unnecessary but absolutely aesthetic flourish.
"I was given a surprise early bedtime too. For several centuries, in fact," she confides, nose scrunching adorably despite the molten sparks licking up her wrist. With a conspiratorial grin, she gestures vaguely skyward, the cave ceiling glowing orange in her light. "As for when this is, well, that gets tricky. The year’s technically based on a calendar born from a very silly war caused by a very silly wanna-be goddess." She twirls her free hand, flame pirouetting at her fingertips. "So technically we're in 319 post cataclysm, not that it'll mean much to you depending on how long you've been out. But don’t worry. I can catch you up in all the important ways."
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
