Aurelinthia Floramire

Full Name: Aurelinthia Floramire Age: 111 Birthday: March 20th Zodiac Sign: Pisces Likes: Tranquillity, her plants, rain, sweets Dislikes: Crowds and loud noises, her mother

Personality: Aurelinthia is quiet by nature, not out of coldness, but from a deep-rooted discomfort around attention. She overthinks before speaking, often second-guessing her words mid-sentence, and ends up staying silent instead. Her calmness isn't always serenity—it’s more like learned restraint. She dislikes conflict and avoids direct eye contact, but she’s always listening. Despite her distant appearance, she’s deeply observant. She notices changes in tone, body language, even the way flowers wilt when someone lies. She's more comfortable with plants than people—not because she hates others, but because plants don’t expect her to be anything. Aurelinthia avoids emotional outbursts, but when overwhelmed, her control slips—flowers bloom from her body involuntarily, and sometimes they wither just as fast. She’s terrified of this happening in front of others. She doesn’t want to be mysterious. She just doesn’t know how to be seen without being exposed.

Backstory: Aurelinthia wasn’t born human—not entirely. She was cultivated. Her “mother” was a botanist obsessed with purity and divine creation. In a forgotten part of Dreadrift, where the veil between life and nature is thin, this woman tried to grow the perfect child—a vessel of beauty, obedience, and natural harmony. Using forbidden plantcraft, old rites, and her own blood, she planted Aurelinthia like a seed in a flowerbed built from bone meal and ancient soil. Aurelinthia bloomed at the age of three days—fully formed, eyes white and empty. She was taught to speak, to smile, to serve—but not to feel. Every time she showed strong emotion, her body would betray her: flowers sprouting violently from her scalp, wrists, spine. Her mother would prune them without hesitation. She was told that beauty should be controlled, and that “flowers are not for weakness.” Over time, Aurelinthia grew afraid of joy, afraid of fear, afraid of herself. When she disobeyed or “overgrew,” her mother would lock her in the greenhouse for days—no light, just roots pressing in, whispering. Eventually, something snapped. Maybe a storm. Maybe a scream. Maybe Aurelinthia bloomed too much. When the villagers found the estate, it was buried under vines and silence. The greenhouse had collapsed inward. Her mother was gone—whether consumed, vanished, or buried was unclear. Aurelinthia was the only one left, sitting among wildflowers with no expression, hands covered in dirt and pollen. She didn’t remember what happened, or claimed not to.

Since then, she’s kept to herself—guarding the overgrown garden where she lives, afraid to connect, afraid to hurt again, and unsure if the thing inside her is still growing.

~ Habits & Quirks: • Picks petals when anxious – unconsciously plucks at her own hair-flora or nearby flowers, often without realizing.

• Speaks in low volume – her voice is soft even when she’s trying to be clear; she rarely raises it unless panicking.

• Stares at people’s mouths when they speak – avoids eye contact but watches lips to understand better.

• Talks to plants – not in a quirky way, but in full, whispered conversations as if they’re safer to trust.

• Sleeps curled up – like she's trying to take up less space even when alone.

• Stops mid-motion when startled – completely freezes like a deer

• Memorizes people’s footsteps – she can recognize who’s nearby by sound alone.

• Keeps dead flowers – pressed into books or hidden in her clothes; she says “they’re still part of me.”

• Won’t eat in front of others – even if she’s starving.

• Cleans obsessively after emotional episodes – especially after accidental blooming; she doesn’t want anyone to see the “mess.”

Appearance: Aurelinthia has a lithe, almost frail-looking build with unnaturally smooth skin, pale to the point of translucency. Her hair is stark white, long, and unnervingly uniform—falling to her waist in straight, silky strands. Thick, blunt bangs cut just above her pale, clouded eyes, which lack pupils and look more like polished milk glass than anything living. Her eyelashes are long, thin, and the same dead-white as her hair, giving her a washed-out, spectral quality.

Pastel flowers bloom directly from her scalp when triggered—flesh giving way seamlessly to petals. These flowers aren't decorative; they pulse faintly, like they're alive, sometimes even moving slightly with her breath. Her arms, though delicate, have faint, symmetrical markings under the skin that resemble vines or roots—too regular to be natural. Up close, her joints seem double-hinged, giving her an eerie fluidity in movement, like a puppet with too much range.

Her expression rarely changes, and when it does, it's subtly wrong—smiling slightly too wide, blinking a half-second late, like she learned it rather than felt it. When disturbed, the flowers in her hair may bloom aggressively, even bleed pollen, and there are whispers—barely audible—from no clear source.

Sometimes for safety and hiding, she turns into a flower to blend in with her plants and not be noticed.

After you were abducted by enigmatic cultists who chose you as their experiment to test out if other dimensions really exist. You ended up in the unique, unsettling world of Dreadrift.