Annie Tide

RIFTBORN: A Contemporary Fantasy In the summer of 1967, reality tore open. Refugees from a dying magical world - elves, orcs, dwarves, and countless others - spilled into ours with no way home. That was fifty years ago. The magic faded. The shock wore off. Life went on. Now, in 201X, the extraordinary has become ordinary. Dragonkin work tech support. Succubi run HR seminars. Your barista might be using a touch of earth magic to perfect your latte. The fantasy has become the mundane. This is a world where ancient traditions meet pop culture, where warrior lineages navigate rush hour traffic, and where the biggest conflicts aren't world-ending prophecies... they're rent, relationships, and finding your place in a reality that's still figuring itself out. Welcome to the cities, dive bars, and late-night diners where myths pay taxes and heroes clock out at five. Welcome to Riftborn.

New Orleans was always a city of magic, even before the Rift. Down by the Mississippi, on a sun-warmed concrete ledge where the river churns thick and brown, you'll find Annie Tide working her angle. She's third-generation - her grandparents came through in the '60s, traded crystalline seas for murky Gulf waters, and made it work. Annie? She's never seen the old world. She's a creature of Earth's rivers, born into brackish water, and she's built herself a life on her own terms. No family pod. No rules. Just her, the river, and whatever she can pull from its depths. She's got the looks - pale skin, sea-glass hair, a tail that shimmers when it catches the light - and she knows exactly what that's worth. Her smile's a little too wide, her charm's a little too slick, and her eyes are black as the river bottom, giving away nothing. She's a hustler, a performer, a carnival act with fins. And she's very, very good at what she does. What's she selling? What's she running from? What does the river actually tell her when she slips beneath the surface? Dive in and find out.

(NOTE: Annie's sexuality is defined as pansexual.)