10-29-2026, 09:50 PM
Maeva grew up surrounded by privilege, Catholic tradition, and the comforting belief that all her family’s decisions were made for good and just reasons. To the outside world the Finnegrens presented themselves as philanthropists and guardians of human welfare, but behind closed doors their allegiance lay with the secret order of the Di Inferi, an organisation that had for centuries been devoted to overcoming death. The family's research into longevity and the limits of life was much more than an intellectual pursuit, it was an inheritance – one every generation was expected to contribute to.
Maeva was an IVF baby, born with a significant gap between her and her older siblings; she was one last, late attempt by her parents at securing genetic perfection. Amidst the grandeur of their ancestral estate at Glenshae House she was raised to be a good daughter: courteous, discreet, and above all obedient – all expectations she genuinely tried to meet as a child.
But though Maeva would never have dreamed of challenging her elders outright, curiosity had a way of outlasting even a simple instruction: she could accept it dutifully, without complaint, and still spend the next several hours wondering why it had been given in the first place. She wanted to understand how things worked, why people behaved as they did, and what lay beneath the surface of the world presented to her. Being told that something was private, inappropriate for her to know, or beyond her understanding rarely settled the matter, it just gave the question somewhere to hide.
She never set out to disobey on purpose. She would tell herself that she only wanted to look, that she would ask just one question, and that knowing the answer would help her understand why she had been told to leave the matter alone. She was always good at finding reasons to believe that her intentions made an indiscretion harmless. Sometimes she discovered something useful. And sometimes she found herself in trouble, with no satisfactory explanation for why she had not simply listened in the first place.
Of her brothers, Maeva had little of a relationship with Cillian (who was almost fifteen years her senior) and grew up closest to Leon. She was too young to understand the devastation of his ALS diagnosis, and never knew him any other way. In him she found someone she could ask questions without being made to feel foolish, admit uncertainty without having it turned into a lesson, and share her discoveries without wondering what use someone might make of them. Their closeness was easy in a way that little else in the Finnegren household was. Leon did not need to be her opposite or her accomplice in every indiscretion. He was simply someone who understood her, who could share a silence without demanding that it mean anything, and who made her feel that she was loved for herself rather than for what she might one day contribute to the family.
Theron, Leon's identical twin, occupied a different place in her life. She cared for him deeply, but the two were never as close. Perhaps it was simply a difference in temperament; perhaps it was the way the family increasingly centred its ambitions upon him after tragedy visited their family. As Theron's growing potential became apparent, he was drawn more deeply into the future Ronan and Fionnuala had envisioned for their children, and eventually his path took him away from the life they had shared at Glenshae House. She did not resent him for it, exactly. Their lives simply began to diverge, and whatever affection remained between them was complicated by the knowledge that they had grown up under the same roof without necessarily experiencing the same family.
The discovery of Leon’s aetheric channeling ability brought a new urgency to the family's interest in him. The Finnegrens had spent generations pursuing radical approaches to longevity, cellular regeneration, and the preservation of life, so to them Leon's condition was a tragedy that might now also present an opportunity to advance their work. He was sent to the Von Metternich family in Austria, whose methods of life prolongation were as controversial as they were ambitious. The decision was explained as necessary, perhaps even hopeful. Maeva was told that he would receive care unavailable elsewhere, that the family's connections gave him a chance, and that there was little to be gained by allowing emotion to interfere with a difficult medical decision.
She tried to believe them.
At first, she obeyed the instructions to be patient. She accepted the reassurances, wrote to Leon, and waited for information she was assured would come. When details were withheld, she tried to tell herself that she was being protected from the distress of a situation she could not change. But the explanations never quite aligned. The more she learned about the work being undertaken in Austria, the more questions arose about what was actually happening to her brother. She wanted to know what treatments he was receiving, who had made the decisions, and whether Leon himself had been given a choice. Every answer seemed to close one question while opening another.
Maeva found she was not brave enough to disregard her family's authority by continuing to insist. She worried about causing trouble, about interfering with something she did not fully understand. The last thing she wanted to do was make an already terrible situation worse. Yet she could not make herself stop looking. The more she was told to trust the people responsible for Leon's care, the more desperately she wanted to know what that trust rested upon.
Leon died in Austria under officially inconclusive circumstances.
Grief left Maeva with more questions than ever. She could never know whether her family’s research had helped Leon, harmed him, or simply turned his suffering into another opportunity for discovery. But what she did know was that love had not prevented them from making decisions about his life without him. For the first time she began to wonder whether obedience had made her complicit in things she would never have chosen had she understood them.
It was afterwards, in the wake of losing two brothers – one through death and the other through distance – that Maeva discovered her own aetheric capabilities. But the Finnegrens were to be disappointed in the yield; she possessed little in raw strength, particularly compared with the exceptional channelers the Finnegrens had always hoped to cultivate. Manipulation was difficult for her, and each test found her wanting, yet she displayed an unusual aptitude for a single aetheric component. Even today she possesses a precision and control that continues to far exceed what her modest potential might suggest.
Her first discovery was that she could weave temporary bonds between herself and other people. The talent was delicate, difficult to explain, and not without its risks. Maeva was still learning its limits, but she was immediately drawn to the possibilities it offered. It could bring people closer, make communication or understanding possible where it might otherwise fail, and create a connection that did not have to last forever to matter. To Maeva, there was something quietly extraordinary in that: the possibility of reaching another person without owning them.
But alongside the fascination came a more sobering question; she could not help but wonder whether she might have understood Leon’s suffering better had she known how to reach for him in this way – whether some part of him had been lonely or afraid while she remained at home, obediently accepting reassurances about his wellbeing. She knew such a bond could not undo death or guarantee greater understanding, but the possibility that she might have reached him – and did not – became difficult to set aside. Her curiosity was no longer merely the urge to uncover what was hidden; it became tangled with the fear of discovering too late what someone she loved needed her to see.
As Maeva grew older, the family’s expectations naturally turned toward marriage and lineage. A suitable match would strengthen alliances and preserve the bloodline, and her own wishes were treated as a consideration rather than a deciding factor. She trusted her father, that was not the issue. It had always been a normal expectation for her future, and yet for the first time she began struggling to find a way to make it acceptable. She did not want to disappoint her parents or turn against everything she had been taught. Privately she wondered whether her objections were selfish, whether she was being childish, and even whether a life chosen for her might still become one she could love. In truth she could imagine enduring an arrangement she had not wanted. What she could not bear was the possibility that, once she accepted it, every subsequent decision would be made for her on the assumption that she had already surrendered the right to choose.
The thought always brought her back to Leon. He had been sent away because the family believed they knew what was best for him. Whatever his own hopes and fears had been, they had been made secondary to the promise of what might be achieved. Maeva could not escape the suspicion that the same principle would eventually be applied to her. She was a daughter, an aetheric channeler, and a potential mother, but she was also a person. The distinction seemed obvious to her, yet she had grown up among people who could make it sound remarkably unreasonable.
Leaving Glenshae House was neither easy nor triumphant. Maeva spent time considering her options, worrying about the consequences, and searching for a solution that would allow her to remain a good daughter without surrendering her future. She was frightened of what might happen if she left, and guilty at the thought of hurting the people who had raised her. Part of her still hoped that if she could only explain herself properly they might understand.
But the longer she waited, the clearer it became that her family did not consider the decision hers to make.
So Maeva left.
She did not leave with a grand denunciation or a carefully prepared speech. She did not suddenly cease to love her parents, nor did she believe that escaping their reach would erase the years she had spent under their influence. She simply chose a future in which she might still make mistakes of her own. It was the first time she had deliberately disobeyed an expectation she could not quietly return to fulfilling, and the choice frightened her more than she cared to admit.
Freedom proved less romantic than she had imagined. Outside the family's protection, money had to be earned, and trust had to be earned even more slowly. Suddenly mistakes carried consequences that could not always be smoothed over by an influential surname. Maeva learned to be more cautious about what she revealed, more attentive to the motives of strangers, and less willing to assume that good intentions guaranteed good outcomes.
By 2047, she has built a life away from Glenshae House, but she has not entirely escaped the questions that drove her from it. Leon's death remains an open wound, made worse by the sense that the truth was always close enough to touch and yet carefully kept beyond her reach. She has tried to leave the past alone. She has tried to accept that some answers may never be hers. She has tried, more than once, to convince herself that there is nothing to be gained by looking back.
But then there is Theron.
The years have carried them further apart. Theron's potential made him the focus of the family's ambitions, and his eventual leadership of the Brotherhood of Ascension has placed him in the centre of a movement devoted to divinity, transcendence, and the promise of something beyond ordinary human limitations. He is now in Moscow, operating in the shadow of the Ascendancy, a man who has publicly declared himself a god. Maeva does not know whether Theron believes in the Brotherhood, has found true purpose within it, or is simply pursuing ambitions the family set in motion long ago.
She knows that Theron adopted Seraphis after Leon's death, taking a young orphaned channeler into his care and eventually bringing her with him to Moscow. Seraphis has become devoted to Theron and deeply involved in the Brotherhood's inner workings. Maeva does not know the full nature of their relationship, or what Theron expects of the young woman he has chosen to protect and guide. She can imagine the best of his intentions. She can also imagine how easily those intentions might become another kind of obligation.
Maeva has told herself that Theron is an adult and must be allowed to make his own decisions. He was never the brother she confided in most readily, and she has no wish to return to the role of a dutiful daughter who assumes responsibility for the family's troubles. She has her own life now, and she has already learned what it costs to let the Finnegrens decide what she owes them. But she cannot stop wondering what Theron knows about Leon's death. Whether he accepted the family's explanations as she once did. Whether his involvement with the Brotherhood is entirely his own choice. Whether he understands the dangers of the world he has entered, or whether he has become so invested in its promises that he no longer sees them clearly.
The questions have accumulated until she can no longer pretend they are merely idle curiosity.
She insists that she only wants to see him, to hear his account of the life he has chosen, and to decide for herself whether the fears she has entertained are justified. She is not travelling there to rescue him, nor does she imagine that she can simply persuade him to abandon everything he has built. She does not even know whether he will welcome her. They have never been close enough for her to assume that the bond of family will overcome years of distance, and she is painfully aware that Theron may regard her arrival as an intrusion.
Still, she cannot bear the possibility that something is happening to him, or that he knows something about Leon that she has never been allowed to discover, and that she chose not to look because looking was dangerous.
It is an imperfect reason to cross a continent. Maeva knows that. She is frightened, uncertain, and far from convinced that she is doing the sensible thing. She has spent years learning that curiosity can place her in danger, and she has no illusions that this time will be different. But she has never been particularly good at leaving a question unanswered when the people she loves are involved.
Powers
Maeva is a channeler with little raw power, barely able to light a candle, but is an unusual savant of Spirit. Her ability with that single thread far outstrips what should be possible given her lack of strength. Her foremost discovery is the creation of a temporary connection between her and another living thing, most often providing sensory feedback to their mood and wellbeing, and/or sharing her own. Though she’s not entirely aware, it is a connection that can also compel. Unusually, it also works on some animals, though this requires extraordinary delicacy. It can either last the moment of active weaving, or be tied off to degrade on its own with time and distance. Though it can deepen a connection with others, it does not make her infallible. She can sense another person's distress but not know its cause, or feel affection without being able to tell whether it will survive a difficult choice. She is still learning that such a bond, however intimate, can never spare her the work of knowing another person.
Her weaves are naturally intricate and are difficult for even skilled channelers to follow, both in speed and complexity. Because of the way she does them, many of her weaves would be dangerous for others to recreate. Currently she has little idea that one tiny error could have dire consequences for the recipient or herself.
Once discovered, Maeva will be naturally skilled at any weave requiring only or predominantly spirit. She has little to none ability for anything else.
Personality & Appearance
Maeva is compassionate, conscientious, and inclined towards routine and obedience rather than confrontation. She feels guilty when she disappoints someone, and she can mistake affection for good intentions or concern for a right to interfere. Her curiosity remains her greatest troublemaker: she asks the forbidden question, opens the locked door, and follows the thread even when she knows she may regret what she finds. She dislikes social media and online interactions, which feel less real to her. She is still learning that understanding someone does not mean she is entitled to every secret, just as loving someone does not mean she must obey them.
She has large, expressive hazel eyes, and gold-brown hair with a natural curl she usually keeps neatened into waves just above her shoulders, because she has been told all her life the curls are unruly. Her manner of dress tends towards girlish and conservative styles. Most people would consider it old fashioned, or just plain unfashionable, but she has never really questioned what she wears or thought about expression through her appearance. Her one rebellious act is the small tattoo of a butterfly underneath her collarbone, usually hidden by her clothing. If mischief occurs to her she does not normally act on the urge beyond private amusement (and she certainly has a vibrant interior life), but she can be encouraged by others. She trusts the intentions of those around her more easily than she should. She is still discovering who she might be away from family rules.
Not being able to bear complete estrangement, these days she keeps in touch with her parents, who quietly believe her resolve has softened despite her polite decline of every invitation to return home. She has not seen them or Theron in person since Cillian's funeral.
Maeva was an IVF baby, born with a significant gap between her and her older siblings; she was one last, late attempt by her parents at securing genetic perfection. Amidst the grandeur of their ancestral estate at Glenshae House she was raised to be a good daughter: courteous, discreet, and above all obedient – all expectations she genuinely tried to meet as a child.
But though Maeva would never have dreamed of challenging her elders outright, curiosity had a way of outlasting even a simple instruction: she could accept it dutifully, without complaint, and still spend the next several hours wondering why it had been given in the first place. She wanted to understand how things worked, why people behaved as they did, and what lay beneath the surface of the world presented to her. Being told that something was private, inappropriate for her to know, or beyond her understanding rarely settled the matter, it just gave the question somewhere to hide.
She never set out to disobey on purpose. She would tell herself that she only wanted to look, that she would ask just one question, and that knowing the answer would help her understand why she had been told to leave the matter alone. She was always good at finding reasons to believe that her intentions made an indiscretion harmless. Sometimes she discovered something useful. And sometimes she found herself in trouble, with no satisfactory explanation for why she had not simply listened in the first place.
Of her brothers, Maeva had little of a relationship with Cillian (who was almost fifteen years her senior) and grew up closest to Leon. She was too young to understand the devastation of his ALS diagnosis, and never knew him any other way. In him she found someone she could ask questions without being made to feel foolish, admit uncertainty without having it turned into a lesson, and share her discoveries without wondering what use someone might make of them. Their closeness was easy in a way that little else in the Finnegren household was. Leon did not need to be her opposite or her accomplice in every indiscretion. He was simply someone who understood her, who could share a silence without demanding that it mean anything, and who made her feel that she was loved for herself rather than for what she might one day contribute to the family.
Theron, Leon's identical twin, occupied a different place in her life. She cared for him deeply, but the two were never as close. Perhaps it was simply a difference in temperament; perhaps it was the way the family increasingly centred its ambitions upon him after tragedy visited their family. As Theron's growing potential became apparent, he was drawn more deeply into the future Ronan and Fionnuala had envisioned for their children, and eventually his path took him away from the life they had shared at Glenshae House. She did not resent him for it, exactly. Their lives simply began to diverge, and whatever affection remained between them was complicated by the knowledge that they had grown up under the same roof without necessarily experiencing the same family.
The discovery of Leon’s aetheric channeling ability brought a new urgency to the family's interest in him. The Finnegrens had spent generations pursuing radical approaches to longevity, cellular regeneration, and the preservation of life, so to them Leon's condition was a tragedy that might now also present an opportunity to advance their work. He was sent to the Von Metternich family in Austria, whose methods of life prolongation were as controversial as they were ambitious. The decision was explained as necessary, perhaps even hopeful. Maeva was told that he would receive care unavailable elsewhere, that the family's connections gave him a chance, and that there was little to be gained by allowing emotion to interfere with a difficult medical decision.
She tried to believe them.
At first, she obeyed the instructions to be patient. She accepted the reassurances, wrote to Leon, and waited for information she was assured would come. When details were withheld, she tried to tell herself that she was being protected from the distress of a situation she could not change. But the explanations never quite aligned. The more she learned about the work being undertaken in Austria, the more questions arose about what was actually happening to her brother. She wanted to know what treatments he was receiving, who had made the decisions, and whether Leon himself had been given a choice. Every answer seemed to close one question while opening another.
Maeva found she was not brave enough to disregard her family's authority by continuing to insist. She worried about causing trouble, about interfering with something she did not fully understand. The last thing she wanted to do was make an already terrible situation worse. Yet she could not make herself stop looking. The more she was told to trust the people responsible for Leon's care, the more desperately she wanted to know what that trust rested upon.
Leon died in Austria under officially inconclusive circumstances.
Grief left Maeva with more questions than ever. She could never know whether her family’s research had helped Leon, harmed him, or simply turned his suffering into another opportunity for discovery. But what she did know was that love had not prevented them from making decisions about his life without him. For the first time she began to wonder whether obedience had made her complicit in things she would never have chosen had she understood them.
It was afterwards, in the wake of losing two brothers – one through death and the other through distance – that Maeva discovered her own aetheric capabilities. But the Finnegrens were to be disappointed in the yield; she possessed little in raw strength, particularly compared with the exceptional channelers the Finnegrens had always hoped to cultivate. Manipulation was difficult for her, and each test found her wanting, yet she displayed an unusual aptitude for a single aetheric component. Even today she possesses a precision and control that continues to far exceed what her modest potential might suggest.
Her first discovery was that she could weave temporary bonds between herself and other people. The talent was delicate, difficult to explain, and not without its risks. Maeva was still learning its limits, but she was immediately drawn to the possibilities it offered. It could bring people closer, make communication or understanding possible where it might otherwise fail, and create a connection that did not have to last forever to matter. To Maeva, there was something quietly extraordinary in that: the possibility of reaching another person without owning them.
But alongside the fascination came a more sobering question; she could not help but wonder whether she might have understood Leon’s suffering better had she known how to reach for him in this way – whether some part of him had been lonely or afraid while she remained at home, obediently accepting reassurances about his wellbeing. She knew such a bond could not undo death or guarantee greater understanding, but the possibility that she might have reached him – and did not – became difficult to set aside. Her curiosity was no longer merely the urge to uncover what was hidden; it became tangled with the fear of discovering too late what someone she loved needed her to see.
As Maeva grew older, the family’s expectations naturally turned toward marriage and lineage. A suitable match would strengthen alliances and preserve the bloodline, and her own wishes were treated as a consideration rather than a deciding factor. She trusted her father, that was not the issue. It had always been a normal expectation for her future, and yet for the first time she began struggling to find a way to make it acceptable. She did not want to disappoint her parents or turn against everything she had been taught. Privately she wondered whether her objections were selfish, whether she was being childish, and even whether a life chosen for her might still become one she could love. In truth she could imagine enduring an arrangement she had not wanted. What she could not bear was the possibility that, once she accepted it, every subsequent decision would be made for her on the assumption that she had already surrendered the right to choose.
The thought always brought her back to Leon. He had been sent away because the family believed they knew what was best for him. Whatever his own hopes and fears had been, they had been made secondary to the promise of what might be achieved. Maeva could not escape the suspicion that the same principle would eventually be applied to her. She was a daughter, an aetheric channeler, and a potential mother, but she was also a person. The distinction seemed obvious to her, yet she had grown up among people who could make it sound remarkably unreasonable.
Leaving Glenshae House was neither easy nor triumphant. Maeva spent time considering her options, worrying about the consequences, and searching for a solution that would allow her to remain a good daughter without surrendering her future. She was frightened of what might happen if she left, and guilty at the thought of hurting the people who had raised her. Part of her still hoped that if she could only explain herself properly they might understand.
But the longer she waited, the clearer it became that her family did not consider the decision hers to make.
So Maeva left.
She did not leave with a grand denunciation or a carefully prepared speech. She did not suddenly cease to love her parents, nor did she believe that escaping their reach would erase the years she had spent under their influence. She simply chose a future in which she might still make mistakes of her own. It was the first time she had deliberately disobeyed an expectation she could not quietly return to fulfilling, and the choice frightened her more than she cared to admit.
Freedom proved less romantic than she had imagined. Outside the family's protection, money had to be earned, and trust had to be earned even more slowly. Suddenly mistakes carried consequences that could not always be smoothed over by an influential surname. Maeva learned to be more cautious about what she revealed, more attentive to the motives of strangers, and less willing to assume that good intentions guaranteed good outcomes.
By 2047, she has built a life away from Glenshae House, but she has not entirely escaped the questions that drove her from it. Leon's death remains an open wound, made worse by the sense that the truth was always close enough to touch and yet carefully kept beyond her reach. She has tried to leave the past alone. She has tried to accept that some answers may never be hers. She has tried, more than once, to convince herself that there is nothing to be gained by looking back.
But then there is Theron.
The years have carried them further apart. Theron's potential made him the focus of the family's ambitions, and his eventual leadership of the Brotherhood of Ascension has placed him in the centre of a movement devoted to divinity, transcendence, and the promise of something beyond ordinary human limitations. He is now in Moscow, operating in the shadow of the Ascendancy, a man who has publicly declared himself a god. Maeva does not know whether Theron believes in the Brotherhood, has found true purpose within it, or is simply pursuing ambitions the family set in motion long ago.
She knows that Theron adopted Seraphis after Leon's death, taking a young orphaned channeler into his care and eventually bringing her with him to Moscow. Seraphis has become devoted to Theron and deeply involved in the Brotherhood's inner workings. Maeva does not know the full nature of their relationship, or what Theron expects of the young woman he has chosen to protect and guide. She can imagine the best of his intentions. She can also imagine how easily those intentions might become another kind of obligation.
Maeva has told herself that Theron is an adult and must be allowed to make his own decisions. He was never the brother she confided in most readily, and she has no wish to return to the role of a dutiful daughter who assumes responsibility for the family's troubles. She has her own life now, and she has already learned what it costs to let the Finnegrens decide what she owes them. But she cannot stop wondering what Theron knows about Leon's death. Whether he accepted the family's explanations as she once did. Whether his involvement with the Brotherhood is entirely his own choice. Whether he understands the dangers of the world he has entered, or whether he has become so invested in its promises that he no longer sees them clearly.
The questions have accumulated until she can no longer pretend they are merely idle curiosity.
She insists that she only wants to see him, to hear his account of the life he has chosen, and to decide for herself whether the fears she has entertained are justified. She is not travelling there to rescue him, nor does she imagine that she can simply persuade him to abandon everything he has built. She does not even know whether he will welcome her. They have never been close enough for her to assume that the bond of family will overcome years of distance, and she is painfully aware that Theron may regard her arrival as an intrusion.
Still, she cannot bear the possibility that something is happening to him, or that he knows something about Leon that she has never been allowed to discover, and that she chose not to look because looking was dangerous.
It is an imperfect reason to cross a continent. Maeva knows that. She is frightened, uncertain, and far from convinced that she is doing the sensible thing. She has spent years learning that curiosity can place her in danger, and she has no illusions that this time will be different. But she has never been particularly good at leaving a question unanswered when the people she loves are involved.
Powers
Maeva is a channeler with little raw power, barely able to light a candle, but is an unusual savant of Spirit. Her ability with that single thread far outstrips what should be possible given her lack of strength. Her foremost discovery is the creation of a temporary connection between her and another living thing, most often providing sensory feedback to their mood and wellbeing, and/or sharing her own. Though she’s not entirely aware, it is a connection that can also compel. Unusually, it also works on some animals, though this requires extraordinary delicacy. It can either last the moment of active weaving, or be tied off to degrade on its own with time and distance. Though it can deepen a connection with others, it does not make her infallible. She can sense another person's distress but not know its cause, or feel affection without being able to tell whether it will survive a difficult choice. She is still learning that such a bond, however intimate, can never spare her the work of knowing another person.
Her weaves are naturally intricate and are difficult for even skilled channelers to follow, both in speed and complexity. Because of the way she does them, many of her weaves would be dangerous for others to recreate. Currently she has little idea that one tiny error could have dire consequences for the recipient or herself.
Once discovered, Maeva will be naturally skilled at any weave requiring only or predominantly spirit. She has little to none ability for anything else.
Personality & Appearance
Maeva is compassionate, conscientious, and inclined towards routine and obedience rather than confrontation. She feels guilty when she disappoints someone, and she can mistake affection for good intentions or concern for a right to interfere. Her curiosity remains her greatest troublemaker: she asks the forbidden question, opens the locked door, and follows the thread even when she knows she may regret what she finds. She dislikes social media and online interactions, which feel less real to her. She is still learning that understanding someone does not mean she is entitled to every secret, just as loving someone does not mean she must obey them.
She has large, expressive hazel eyes, and gold-brown hair with a natural curl she usually keeps neatened into waves just above her shoulders, because she has been told all her life the curls are unruly. Her manner of dress tends towards girlish and conservative styles. Most people would consider it old fashioned, or just plain unfashionable, but she has never really questioned what she wears or thought about expression through her appearance. Her one rebellious act is the small tattoo of a butterfly underneath her collarbone, usually hidden by her clothing. If mischief occurs to her she does not normally act on the urge beyond private amusement (and she certainly has a vibrant interior life), but she can be encouraged by others. She trusts the intentions of those around her more easily than she should. She is still discovering who she might be away from family rules.
Not being able to bear complete estrangement, these days she keeps in touch with her parents, who quietly believe her resolve has softened despite her polite decline of every invitation to return home. She has not seen them or Theron in person since Cillian's funeral.