....Grey eyes, short brown hair. Short with feminine facial features . ..... Prefers to hide in mostly greys and other neutral colors when it comes to clothing. Bright accent colors like teal and cherry red are also liked though.
......Artistic license with her outfit design - feel free to use a ref image or design your own. Likes flowy skirts, sweaters, vests, and grey high-heeled boots. As for jewelry, each ear has a double piercing. Fond of flower shaped or pearl post earrings, but feel free to leave the jewelry out if you prefer.
.... Gentle, anxiously shy personality. Careful and considerate.
... Too be honest, prefers to be alone - other people are too vibrant, overwhelming.
... Negative traits: Avoids conflict at all costs, social anxiety, and can get passive-aggressive when upset.
....Hobbies include sketching, retreating into books , hiking, gardening and bird watching. Happiest outside, with some new park or trail to explore.
Story fragments (only if you're interested):
So I'm not that great at writing OTL But once in a blue moon I get the urge to throw some words down... -
The sun is just slipping under the horizon of the grey wasteland when Henri decides she just can't take another step. The air is cold and dry, sucking all the moisture from her until her tongue feels like a piece of parchment in her mouth. There are two water bottles held in holsters attached to her belt, and a few energy bars stored in her jacket pockets. Maybe enough to last her for tomorrow? It depended on if the empress found it worthwhile to pursue Henri further into the desert.
This wasteland had several different names, depending on the speaker. Henri had heard it called the Grey Desert, the Ashe Wasteland, or simply the Wastes. Miles and miles of gray dunes and darker rocky plains unfold before jagged mountains in the distant North. If one shifted through a handful of the grey sand, one would find fine white ash mixed in as well. A mystery, as Henry had never found any signs of volcanoes in her many visits to the grey desert. As for vegetation, there is very little.
-
To open a "door", Henri would tap glass a few times until it began to shift from solid glass to a gelatin-like substance that ripples like water as she taps. Instinct tells her when to cease tapping and begin to push . She gently presses her shoulder into the material until she slips through the membrane into - somewhere else. Mirrors are harder, taking longer to liquify into a passable membrane. In times of emergency, it is possible to cajole polished stone into a doorway, but rock is the most resistant to opening. With water, it is hit or miss, a fickle substance. Sometimes a door can be opened by pinching the air with one's fingers and 'unzipping' the material.
There isn't a word for what Henri is, or what she does. From a very young age she wanted to be somewhere else. She felt cramped inside the crowded hallways of her school, students pressing in on every side as they rushed to class. She felt overwhelmed by the clamor of voices that rose up from malls, restaurants, school - anywhere people congregated. The worst was the eyes. She felt the gaze of others like pinpricks over her skin.
Eye contact would cause her to freeze in place as if paralyzed by the regard of another person. Every conversation felt like a test - could she pass as a real person; if she could get the right facial expressions, voice tones, knew to laugh at which points and when to make sympathetic noises? There was no escape. Every step further outside her house increased her chances of being accosted with conversation. There was nowhere to hide. The world was a sea of people, and Henri was drowning.
-
Another courtyard, rough hewn red bricks, dirty brown sky, golden stalks of weeds rising out of the crumbling stone work. A man in knitted red lounged on a folding beach chair. At his back a finely draped stall displays his wares. The collection in view was unsettlingly eclectic, caged cats and chandeliers, a set of choir bells (somewhat functional, too).
“And here comes the lady of situations, whose face I am forbidden to see" he intoned.
Henri padded barefoot to towards the stall master and sat down, ignoring the cryptic remark. The tradesman might elaborate, or he might not.
She exchanged a few marbles, a feather of indeterminate origin, other odds and ends, for a small slip of paper. It was a considerable amount to give up, currency wise, for a single word (typed in Courier Font) on a small slip of paper. Passwords, however, were quite hard to come by. The stall master was loathe to give one up for a trivial price. A red tom stared regally from behind brass bars.
