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▪ While she wasn't always this way in one word she could be described as 'bitter,' on bad days and described as a 'proper' lady on good days. Shes a rather polite person to those she doesn't know well enough to hate, always giving people the benefit of doubt but not going as far as to extend them second chances. She carries herself with an air of importance which clearly shows in the way she moves when off the job, nose pointed upwards like everyone else is beneath her and a pace that can only be matched with a slow jog. There is not many people she is genuinely nice to the short list currently consisting of her father, her parents in law, and her division captain. Otherwise she is usually distant when interacting with others, a way from keeping her already fragile heart secure and in one piece. But most of her bitter facade comes from her extremely short fuse for anger. Ever since she was bestowed a gift from a hangman's chest she has had trouble keeping her anger from bubbling past her lady like demeanor. On the job her emotions are widely varied because she has to wear different personas depending on the job at hand.

xxxxxxBorn as "Amelia M. D'Argent," her birth to much strain on her mother leaving her but one parent a George D'Argent. Her early childhood was spent listening to the musings of her father while he had off time from his work as a blacksmith. Her father always spun tales he claimed really happened, his father before him was there to witness the world before the great change. Her father claims by his good hammer that before all the crazy s**t went down the D'Argent's were a powerful family whose tree had roots digging deep into a country called England. This claim to a once dignified claim had ingrained itself deep into young Amelia's psyche, in a big part molding her into the woman she is today. So when her father offered to 'prentice her in the art of blacksmithing she turned him down flatly claiming, "Such a barbaric profession is beneath a lady of my stature." Part of her wanted more than anything to accept the offer if only so she could sped more time with her remaining parent but the bigger part of her, her massive ego, deemed she needed to spit on the offer and pursue a more lucrative career.

xxxxxxAt the age of eleven her father, having messed up his first attempt to bring his daughter under his craftsman wing, began to spark her interest in smithing by hiring a fencing teacher. Hoping to spark her interests in any form of weaponry he sacrificed their 'together time,' before dinner for her practices. To Amelia's surprise she took to the art of fencing like it was second nature to her. Her practices stayed just that until the faithful day that she snapped the foil's blade in half with an over aggressive forward strike into her teachers chest piece. This was the first time she voluntarily entered her fathers workshop. Feining being swamped with work he told her to observe him while he worked until she felt comfortable enough reforging her foil herself. That time didn't come until a few months later, her fencing being put on hold in the mean time much to her overworked teachers pleasure. If she was being honest with herself during just the first day of watching her father work she regretted her harsh words against the profession. Each strike against the glowing metal had to be perfect lest her father half to start the weapon all over, it was an art on a level she never would have expected. The day she took to re forging the foil was the day she was hooked on the raw release she got from pounding out her built up anger and angst against the equally as angry glowing metal. While she didn't officially begin working in the forge for a few more years she spent her off days of fencing helping her father with his work load.

xxxxxxAt the age of sixteen she had outclassed her fencing teacher, thus rendering his services null, which allowed her to devote all but one of her free days to her fathers forge. For the first few months she only helped with extra orders her father would have turned down if not for her hand, but after quickly growing tired with making weapons she turned her sights on more appealing designs. It started out as just rings, spiraling out to necklaces and the occasional chainmail for the Valkir Guard. Her thin and nimble fingers only helped to accelerate her skills with the tiny shapes, quickly she landed the attention of neighboring jewelry stores offering her a cut of their profits for every jeweled ring she brought to them. At first she was hesitant to take their offer as it felt like it would be a stab in her fathers back. But surprisingly he was all for it, telling her she needn't be shackled solely to his store... as long as she kept up with her share of the orders that came through she was free to freelance her skills to whomever she felt worthy of her skills. One particular job changed her life forever, and to her admittance for the better, it started off as a simple job working with the newest quack doctor to make a few frames for his new line of glasses lenses. She had to personally meet with each of the test subjects to get measurements for their facial structures. She prided herself on a tight but smooth fit to all of her crafts and these frames weren't going to change that. The first day came and went without incident, but on the second day in her meeting with the tenth client was far from mundane. It turned out the reason why this client needed one of the quacks experimental glasses was her genetic defect, Pupula Duplex. Her hair was a silky and chocolate colored brown, light shining perfectly off each strand of hair that layed out of place in her messy bun. The patch worked outfit that covered the girls modestly, while something Amelia would never wear, suited the girl perfectly each seem on par with the formers own craft. Her perfect brown eyes had their pupils pinched at the center giving the appearance of two per eye. Amelia found herself struggling to measure this clients face, finding herself quickly getting lost in those eyes. Her heart would skip a beat whenever the client spoke to her, forcing Amelia to fumble with her own words... something that never happened with her. The client quickly took the longing stares and inability to speak as disgust and not what Amelia quickly figured out was burning passion for this stranger. Nearing the end of their session the client abruptly stopped Amelia's feeble attempt at design sketching and made her way out of the building apparently hurt by the misunderstanding between the two.

xxxxxxWhen the client was gone Amelia quickly realized why the gorgeous girl had fled from her. After a long string of very un-lady like curses and various words she set down to make sure she did not screw up the job. It wasn't until the end of the week when her part of the job was completed did she learned the name of the maiden that stole her legendary composure, "Runill Álehtta." It wouldn't be another couple months until the two were fated to meet again. A fridged December night invaded Valkir, and it just so happened she was needed at one of the city gates to deliver a set of replacement chainmail. The delivery went down without a hitch, she was even paid extra for the rushed delivery the client claiming they wouldn't be in town on the original date. Amelia decided to take the long way home, she didn't mind the cold air nipping at her exposed flesh nor did she fear any degenerates that might see her as an easy target. Her metal tipped umbrella more than enough when combined with her own fencing skills. But during a stop at a bakery opened well past normal she finally met the girl that had made her thick of tongue. Standing just behind the counter was a apron dressed Runill, now sporting the frames Amelia had designed for her. Those striking pupils widened with what Amelia assumed was fear when they locked eyes, However she was quick with a apology she had written up months ago when their meeting was ended abruptly due to her social faux pas. She, much to her embarrassment, explained why she acted the way she did. Apparently Runill wasn't used to so many compliments as proven by how red her cheeks were by the end of the explanation. This was the begining of Amelia's courtship with the shy baker. It started with weekly visits to restock her father pantry. Quickly it turned into twice a week, then thrice a week, and ect until she was visiting daily in the morning for what had became her morning muffin.

xxxxxxShe couldn't tell you why she was so quickly obsessed with Runill, after all love at first sight is just a myth right? Clearly a young lady of her bloodline wouldn't dare be so foolish as to believe there was no one else for her but Runill. Fate seemed to have something to say on the matter as Amelia quickly lost interest with anyone who attempted to court her. None of them had 'it' like her dear friend Runill, the way her laugh carried off her lips and graced everyone's ears like she was singing an opera. Or the way her smile seemed to make the dim lighting of her bakery erupt and cast out every single shadow resting in the corners. Yes she was stricken, absolutely head over heels for the baker. Coming to the conclusion some months later her daily visits to the bakery quickly became more and more awkward as she kept catching herself staring or failing to complete sentences when the baker turned her eyes back to the blacksmith. Though it wasn't Amelia who was the first to confess her feelings, no it was that shy baker who always seemed immune to her flirtatious comments and hungry eyes. And just like that she had found the person she wanted to spend her remaining life with, but as to keep with social standards she restrained herself from jumping the baker then and there. Instead she admitted her mutual attraction, which in hindsight was incredibly obvious to anyone watching the pair.

xxxxxxA year later and Amelia popped the question, asking the Runill's hand in marriage. It must have came as a surprise, because Amelia managed to make her girlfriend stumble over her words for the first time. Waiting for Runill to complete a string of words with bated breath, she allowed herself to cheer with excitement when the baker gave up with words and merely nodded fiercely. After a rather explicit celebration on top of the bakery's counter, which we wont go into detail with, Runill asked for lessons in smithing. Claiming she wanted to make the wedding bands herself but also using it as a chance to gleam into Amelia's livelihood like said woman had done in Runills bakery helping with the Saturday rush. The blacksmith easily accepted the request after warning the baker it wouldn't be as easy as she made it seem. A month later and two bands of bronze were cast for the pair infused with Runills blood sweat and tears, figuratively that is... as Amelia was very protective in the forge. It was also the first time Amelia thought to introduce her fiancée to her smith of a father. He had noticed his daughters lack of concentration as of late and even had a inkling that she might be looking for someone to settle down with but he never expected their first meet to be midway though pouring molten mettle in his forge. Though it might have been the best way to introduce them, as he respected the bakers initiative in learning a new craft just to show love for his daughter. The days quickly sailed past the pair as the eve of their wedding approached. It was a small ceremony with the only guests being their parents and the quack doctor that brought them together, it was a surprise that he even showed since they sent his invitation last minute on a whim.

xxxxxxMarried life suited Amelia like a fitted glove. Having moved out of her fathers house and into the room above Runills bakery she was often greeted to the smell of freshly baked breads on the days she was allowed to sleep in. While she may have lived in the bakery she still kept up with her work in her fathers forge. She found that while smithing it no longer felt like she was smashing out an unending anger from inside her, in fact she hadn't felt the urge to give into that anger since she started seeing her now wife daily. But like all good things in life it came to an abrupt and heart wrenching end. Coming home from a long day stuck at the forge working on commissions. She didn't know why it felt like her skin was crawling against her muscles all day, nor did she know why the cold air seemed to bite her extra hard during the slow walk home practically urging her to run tot he bakery. Alas she kept her slow pace taking in the scenery of the night sky. She she reached home her mind finally made the connection with the omens hanging over her all day. She was greeted with broken window, glass laying all over the floorboards of the bakery, the counter display smashed in and the register laying on the floor. However all of the damage paled in comparison to the sight that awaited her next to the ovens. She didn't know how to handle herself, she threw her usual lady like mindset to the wind, on the floor bloodied and broken was her precious Runill. At the age of twenty-one Amelia was made a widow, her whole life seemed to come crashing down. Apparently if she would have gotten home when she usually did she would have been able to save her beloved, or so the medical examiner unintentionally determined along with time of death.

xxxxxxAll that anger that seemed to have vanished years ago seemed to hit her all at once anger towards herself for not listening to her nerves, anger at the murdered who must have seen a frail baker with vision impairments and saw her as an easy target, and guiltily at Runilll for leaving her all alone. Her commissions just stacked upon themselves as she worked herself towards an early grave, concern from her father only fueling her anger. It was her life to waste after all, why should he be able to tell her she wasn't allowed to work in his forge until she got a good nights sleep for the first time in a month. It was this anger that drove her steaming out of the city, armed only with her metal tipped umbrella. She stabbed at anything that crossed her path unable to see past the red that had filtered her vision. A few hours into her rampage she tripped over an odd chest in the middle of nowhere. While she took out her lingering frustration on the seemingly indestructible box her fathers stories of objects called Pandora's Box which could grant any wish. As the red started to fade she crumpled up in front of the box her now mangled umbrella cast aside next to her. In a ragged breath she begged for Runill back, back from the cruel grasp of fate that stole her away. She knew it was useless but she still had to try even against the one common rule that stuck with every story about the box's that said it, "cannot undo what has been done."

xxxxxxThe rule seemed to be true as she waited for what seemed like hours for her wife to be returned to her, eyes puffy and red as tears stained her pale skin. Placing her bloodied finger tips against the fated chest she whispered her second wish, "I wish power to make others hurt as much as me." The lid now opened she found it empty, nothing but the wooden bottom taunting her. She could swear she felt her heart crack then in there, the anger that had fizzled away found a new bundle of tinder sprouting into a quick flame of rage. What she failed to notice at the time was the chest was gone the moment her vision began to cloud. Picking her broke umbrella back up she gripped the ripped fabric tight as she began her journey back to Valkir. Walking down a moonlit road she visibly seethed as she ground her teeth and continuously gripped and un-gripped her free hand into a fist. Her resisted the urge to stab her bent metal into passerby's. Also failing to notice how her mere presence was effecting them when she walked by, their plain expressions twisting into anger.

xxxxxxAs quickly as that anger came to her it was doused for the second time that night when she spotted one of Runills aprons hanging off of a mans traveling pack. She locked eyes with the man when she stopped dead in her tracks, his face quickly falling into fear for a reason she couldn't decern then falling further as his expression began to mirror her own. She began to feel blood trickling down from her nose as the man began clutching at the fabric above his heart. Falling to his knees a trembling hand reached into his coat pocket pulling free a rusted knife. She watched blankly as the man hovered the tip above his heart, his eyes widening as he seemed to regain some control over himself, and the last words he would ever say exited his lips as the knife plunged into his chest. "Why am I doing this?" Seemed to ring in her ears as a dull ache set into her skull. Wiping the blood from her nose she finally realized where she had seen this man who ended his life in front of her. It was the man suspected in committing the break in at the bakery and murder of her wife.

xxxxxxWith a switch kick to his chin any chance of calling for help was cast aside as she began strutting her way back to the city leaving his body to cool for the buzzards. Later than night she began to go over the events that had unraveled in front of her. From the abnormally quick rise in her anger to the self preformed execution of the one man she could say she hated. Then her mind recalled the box sitting in the middle of nowhere, the wish she made... the stories were true she was given a gift from the gods themselves. Not knowing how to turn off this aura of emotions she seemed to be forcing on others she locked herself in room above the vacant bakery. This shut-in nature continued for a few days before concerns from her father reached a peak, he managed to convince her to tell him what was wrong. So she told him everything that happened, opting to exclude the suicide from he tale, and reaching the end her father just remained silent clearly having been feeling the emotion roller-coaster she went through. When he finally decided to share his opinions he suggested requesting help from the Valkir Guard claiming they'd most likely have the ability to help her get this under control.

xxxxxxAnd so she did, she strolled up to a member of the knights and the rest was history. After a lengthy interrogation she was extended a hand into the ranks provided she managed to get her Empathy under control, the officer having seen the potential for such an ability. While it did take longer than expected she learned how to real her gift in when she wasnt using it which was a huge blessing for her state of mind after weeks of constant headaches ranging from dull to crippling and even a few days of passing out when she was around one too many people. One it was under wraps her invitation to join was all but a done deal, she had to pick a division to focus her talents into. A huge part of her wanted to join the knights after all they did for her but she had to agree with some of their concerns that her ability only worked on humans and not the creatures they faced on a daily basis. And so she landed into the stealth division, where if she wasn't being modest she'd say she excels in oh who are we kidding she always says that. And here she is, a bitter and unassuming widow strutting the city streets keeping trouble makers in line.