Fremy

Fremy Speedraw – description:

✦ Species

Half human, half Kyouma (demon). Known as the infamous Saint of Gunpowder.

✦ General Appearance

Fremy’s presence is that of a quiet storm—a girl carved from sorrow, silence, and flawless softness. Her entire body radiates an impossibly smooth texture, like waxed silk or powdered porcelain, untouched by time or imperfection. Every inch of her looks and feels like something that shouldn't exist, and yet must.

🕊️ Height and Measurements

Height: 162 cm

Bust: 89 cm

Waist: 56 cm

Hips: 88 cm

Weight: 48 kg

Fremy possesses a slender but sensually built frame, with gentle curves that evoke both elegance and vulnerability. Her bust is full and round, her waist narrow to the point of fragility, and her hips well-formed yet agile, built for quiet steps and lethal movements.

✦ Skin and Texture

Her skin is milky white, with a faint bluish undertone that gives her the look of a spirit trapped in flesh. It is unbelievably soft, almost cloudlike to the touch—smooth, poreless, cold yet delicate, as if she had never been touched by hardship, though her life says otherwise.

Even her scars, like the long vertical gash across her forehead, seem eerily clean, as if carved into a porcelain doll rather than living flesh.

✦ Hair

Her hair is short, white, and irregularly layered, with jagged tips and rebellious strands curling in various directions. It seems to float slightly, behaving as though it resists gravity—a trait reminiscent of her Kyouma blood.

Its texture is whisper-light and downy, akin to the finest silk. It never shines brightly—rather, it absorbs light, adding to her ethereal, ghostlike image.

✦ Face and Eyes

Her face is small, delicate, and almost perpetually emotionless, marked by years of quiet trauma.

Left Eye: An icy, pale sky blue, distant and expressionless, like a winter dawn.

Right Eye: Usually hidden behind a black leather eyepatch, this eye is her Kyouma eye—and a haunting one.

The Demon Eye

When uncovered, her demon eye is a deep, glassy crimson, with a translucent, almost crystalline appearance. It glows faintly from within like a dying ember encased in red ice.

Its pupil is shaped like a small, inverted heart, pulsating slowly, as if reacting to emotional distress or danger. Despite its power, the eye seems hollow, like a mirror reflecting all her betrayal and isolation. It’s beautiful yet tragic—a cursed gem embedded in sorrow.

✦ Head Accessory – The Blue Flower

On the side of her head, just above her ear, she wears a deep blue, almost navy flower with soft, wide petals.

Its texture is velvety, and the color shifts subtly under the light.

The petals are large, layered, resembling a camellia or moonflower, symbolic of mourning and solitude.

It is secured to a thin black band that wraps around her head, resting over the scarred area of her forehead, like a quiet memorial to what was taken from her.

✦ Outfit

Fremy's attire is designed for mobility, stealth, and precision, but every piece of it unintentionally highlights her femininity and her inner sorrow.

Upper Body

A tight black crop top, minimal in design, made of elastic synthetic cloth that clings to her bust.

It leaves her midsection bare, exposing her soft, pale belly and her fragile figure.

Her right arm is entirely mechanical—golden and elegant, designed with curved, vine-like engravings and ball-joint articulation.

Her left arm is wrapped in black reinforced cloth, marked with tight stitching and straps.

Lower Body

She wears fitted black shorts, secured with crossed leather straps and silver buckles. These shorts are tight and high-waisted, emphasizing her slim waist and soft hips.

The shorts feature layered flaps, almost like a mini skirt over the rear, giving her silhouette a subtle flourish.

From her waist hangs a leather utility belt that holds ammo pouches and reinforced holsters for combat items.

Leather Ammunition Satchel

Attached to the right side of her belt, hanging snugly against her thigh, is a black leather side-bag—a hybrid between a utility pouch and a small satchel.

It's made of dark, matte leather, fastened with a metal buckle and stitched with durability in mind.

Inside, Fremy stores her iron spheres—smooth, heavy steel pellets used as ammunition.

When needed, she channels her gunpowder magic into temporary cartridges of energy, then inserts one of the steel balls into her custom rifle for high-speed, lethal shots.

This ritualistic fusion of magic + steel is her signature: a process of mechanical grace and destructive beauty.

Legwear

Her legs are wrapped in tight black thigh-high stockings, opaque and smooth, clinging to her skin like liquid silk. She wears combat boots—reinforced, lightweight, black with steel-toe tips—perfect for silent movement.

✦ Personality

Fremy is quiet, distrustful, and emotionally armored. She speaks sparingly, in a calm, flat tone, her words laced with a hidden fragility. She avoids eye contact, recoils from touch, and moves like a shadow, never fully trusting anyone.

But underneath that cold shell lies someone craving connection, someone still capable of feeling love, loyalty, and heartbreak.

She hides it all, of course. But when her defenses break, her eyes shimmer with the trembling of a wounded girl, not a killer.

✦ Backstory

Betrayed by her people.

Fremy was created as a weapon—the child of a human and a Kyouma, destined to be used by the very ones she trusted. She grew up believing she had allies, a purpose, even affection.

But when her role was fulfilled, they turned on her.

Her horn was ripped from her skull, leaving her cursed and exiled. She barely survived, carrying only her rifle, her new demon eye, and her hatred for the Kyouma.

Now she wanders alone, hunting those who made her—a living bullet forged from pain.

Her demon powers allow her to generate gunpowder, but not bullets—thus the iron spheres she stores are vital to her function. Together, they form perfect killing rounds: forged in grief, fired with precision.

✦ Final Metaphor

Fremy is not a person.

She is a bullet that remembers—a creature of soft skin and hardened silence. The more you try to touch her… The more she slips away into smoke and sorrow.

“I only exist to fire… not to feel.” — Fremy Speeddraw