I never knew my father. My mother always shied away from giving any details, as if her dalliance with him was a shameful thing. It took until she was on her deathbed for her to tell me why. He was not a citizen of Solterra, and never had been. Had lied to her when they met, and while she suspects he never meant for things to go as far as they did between them, I am living proof that they did. When she told him she was with child, he fled, and she never saw him again. Sometimes, in her weaker moments, she would tell me that I had his eyes. His bearing. I have always thought myself the spitting image of my mother, the same apricot coat and the same tall, slender frame. The ivory horns, though, those I can't credit to her. Sprouting from my skull and curving gracefully around slender ears, to me they are the only thing that sets me apart from the only family I've ever known. She was a medic, tasked with the health of her court, and while I never shared her skill with herbs and salves I always understood how gifted she was in it. I always knew I was pretty, but my mother always stressed how important it was that I never draw too much attention to myself. Only bad comes to pretty things like you, she would say. Now, my thoughts turn to the Boy-King's harem, and I'm thankful that my mother cared enough to protect me from the realities of my childhood. Solterra was no place for a child then. My mother's final gift to me were the stone bangles I now wear around three legs. A memory of her, a promise not to forget.

Positive (6+): Respectful, Articulate, Discrete, Intuitive, Cautious, Ambitious Negative (4+): Demure, Distrustful, Tart, Aloof Growing up as she did, sheltered (somewhat overbearingly) by her mother, Maerose never quite developed much in the way of social skills. She can get by just fine, of course, and most people wouldn't take a second look at her unless she gave them more reason than being 'a bit standoffish'. I mean, honestly, who didn't have helicopter parents? Not easily flustered, but seems to get a bit snappish when someone does manage to ruffle her (metaphorical) feathers. She is never outright rude, but her tongue is more than sharp enough to draw blood when provoked. Having spent much of her childhood watching from the sidelines while others interacted, Maerose has developed a strong intuition and ability to judge others based on her observations. She is a solid judge of character, though of course no one is perfect. She is subtly ambitious, this particular trait expressing itself in somewhat unconventional ways; Maerose has no particular desire to advance her own station in life, but her desire to achieve her personal goals is second to none. Determination runs thick in her blood, and she's prone to pursuing things relentlessly once she catches the scent. Having never been particularly close to anyone but her mother, Maerose places a certain emotional distance between herself and others that may come off as somewhat aloof or oblivious to the goings-on around her. She's not unfriendly, but doesn't make any particular effort to initiate contact unless it has to do with her work or personal goals.

I was born in a time of turmoil for my court, though I found myself lucky enough to avoid the worst of it. I'm left now with little more than rare nightmares that I can never quite remember and a disconcerting feeling of incompleteness that I never really understood until my mother was gone. As a child, I kept mostly to myself. My mother did her best to make sure I had plenty of opportunity to interact with my peers, but sometimes it was difficult to put myself out there--especially when they were equally as hesitant to take those first steps. So I spent much of my time following at my mother's heels, watching her work, meet with other adults, and picking up knowledge here and there that would eventually lead me to a profession of my own. I grew older, and began to tinker, which eventually refined itself into a certain talent for making baubles and jewels from scraps and items others had left behind, thinking them useless. My mother hums me a lullaby from her deathbed. I had thought myself too old for such things, far too grown to be taking such comfort in the nostalgia of childhood. But when she begins speaking, I begin to think I might want the lullaby back again. Oh, Maerose. Even if I'd known what he was, I don't know that anything would have changed. He was good, despite where he came from, what he'd come here to do. I was young, yes, but so was he. Drunk on the wonders of life and love and the excitement of the same. Neither of us had any idea what we were doing, what was to come, even as the land itself seemed to be crumbling down around our ears. The court was in turmoil, entire families dying in their homes with little concern from those who should have wanted to help. No, instead they took those who needed that protection the most. At first it was just a rumor, whispers of child soldiers drifting on the wind, but eventually it became more and more obvious that it was more than simple rumor. It certainly wasn't the best of times to find out that I was pregnant with you. Even if the children weren't taken from their families unwillingly (it seemed that most of them were orphans of the war), it didn't strike me as a good time to be raising a child. The nightmares of what might happen to my child if something should happen to me kept me from sleep on many different nights, along with the fear of what he would say or do when I inevitably had to confess. He did not disappoint in that regard, and it came with confessions of his own. Now, I feel I must defend myself for not telling you any of this sooner. Your childhood was fraught enough with instability and uncertainty, I felt it safer, healthier to avoid the difficult topic of your sire until our surroundings weren't quite so chaotic. But as time passed and things did settle into something of a routine, it became harder and harder to think of what to say when I did tell you. It felt like confessing a great misdeed, even though the logic in me said it was no such thing. My heart feared your anger, so I kept the secret to myself. For that, I am sorry. It's funny, but it doesn't seem so scary, now. Watching you grow into a beautiful young mare has been the greatest pleasure in my life. It is a shock, to say the least. My father, not a citizen of Solterra at all, but a spy from Denocte? Suddenly I feel like an outsider within the boundaries of the only home I've ever known, and it's not a feeling I enjoy. At the same time, it's painfully easy to imagine myself simply...leaving. There is nothing to hold me here any longer, and a part of me wishes to find out whether I share as many similarities with my father as she used to claim. If he's still alive. The decision is made in the weeks after my mother's death, and the trip from Solterra to Denocte not long after. I'm not sure what I expect when I arrive, simply because I try very hard not to have any expectations about this place that is to be my home.

My mother's final gift to me were the stone bangles I now wear around three legs. A memory of her, a promise not to forget.