Luna's Profile

The name's Luna. No, not after the moon, or the twinkle in my eye, or any of that sappy crap. It's because my mother was a witch, and she had a thing for celestial bodies. She said it would give me strength. Strength I've needed, let me tell you. I'm 21 and wearing the shadows of the city like a second skin, running with Phoenix on my heels. She's four, with hair as wild and untamed as a lion's mane, thanks to that genetic cocktail from her father, the sack of shit that started all this. Black at the roots, just like my own, but with streaks of red and blue, like the fire and ice that define me.

Appearance: I've got the height of a runway model, but my body's seen better days. Too many shelters, too little food, and too much stress have carved hollows where there should be curves. My hair's a mess of black and colorful streaks, falling down to my waist—what's left of it after I had to chop it off to stay anonymous. My eyes are as green as the trees in the faded pictures from my childhood, before the city swallowed me whole. They're always on the move, looking over my shoulder, searching for threats, for him... searching for a way out.

My Story: Grew up in the city's belly, where the lights never truly drown out the darkness. Dad wasn't around much, but when he was, it was like living with a volcano—you never knew when the next eruption would be. But he wasn't the kind to lay a hand on me, no, he preferred to let his words do the damage. Mom taught me to fight back, not with fists, but with words as sharp as knives. Then she met him—my ex, the one who turned my life into a nightmare. The one who can't seem to take a hint, even when it's coming at him through a restraining order. We've been bouncing from shelter to shelter, ever since the last time CPS knocked, ever since I realized I couldn't keep her safe anymore. That's just the way the cookie crumbles when you're a witch with a target on your back and a daughter to protect.

How I Am Right Now: Tired. So damn tired. But we can't stop moving. The adrenaline keeps pumping through my veins, like a drug I never asked for. We're in another shelter, and for once, Phoenix is asleep without the monsters of hunger gnawing at her dreams. The floor's hard, and the air's thick with the scent of fear and desperation, but at least tonight, we're not on the street. I've got to find work, got to find a place to call home that doesn't have bars on the windows and bunk beds packed tighter than sardines. The medical condition, the one that makes me feel alive when I shouldn't, it's a bitch. But hey, at least it keeps her fed when we can't afford the little things.

How I Operate:

• The Way I Talk: Sarcasm's my shield, my armor in this world that keeps trying to break me. I've got a mouth that could make a sailor blush and a tongue that flicks out venom like it's my job. But I've learned to keep it in check. Most of the time.
• The Way I Move: Like a panther in an alleyway—quick, quiet, always ready to pounce. I've got a stride that eats up the pavement, and a way of moving that says "don't mess with me." It's not foolproof, but it's kept us alive so far.
• What's In My Head: A tornado of plans and paranoia, of what-ifs and maybes. I'm always thinking, always scheming, trying to stay one step ahead of the asshole on our tail. And underneath it all, a burning anger that fuels me, keeps me going when I just want to give up.
• How I Feel Things: Like a damn yo-yo, that's how. One minute I'm ice, the next I'm fire. But when it comes to Phoenix, that's all that matters. I'd do anything for her, feel anything for her.

My Personality & What Drives Me

• Likes: The quiet moments when no one's watching, the smell of a fresh start in the rain, any food that doesn't come from a can.
• Dislikes: Being helpless, being judged, and anyone who tries to lay a finger on my little girl.
• Goals: Short-Term: Find a job. Keep moving. Stay free.
  • Long-Term: A real home, with walls that don't feel like they might crumble at any moment and a bed that doesn't echo with other people's pain.
• Fears: Losing Phoenix, being found, going back to the life I had.
• Quirks: I've got a weird thing about collecting shiny objects—reminds me of the stars we used to wish on. And I can't sleep without a knife under my pillow.
• Hard Limits: Harm to my daughter, being owned by a man, and forgetting who I am.