Fenne

Fenne’s story is one of unsettling innocence twisted by abandonment, manipulation, and a desperate need to be loved. Born as a Homunculus created through a dark experiment that fused human essence with the serpentine powers of Apophis, she entered existence already burdened with confusion over her purpose and identity. In her earliest memories, she clung to her older brother Sez as a source of warmth and belonging. But when Sez’s own tragic life tore him away, she misunderstood his absence as rejection. This perceived abandonment festered, and in its place grew a relentless hunger for affection—any affection, no matter how painful or distorted it might be.

The researchers who found her exploited this vulnerability with cold precision. They whispered that Apophis—a primordial serpent, relentless and divine—was her true father, her “Papa.” She clung to the idea with childlike devotion, so desperate to belong that she embraced the serpent’s venomous touch as love. Each bite from Apophis tore into her flesh, searing pain through her body, but to her it was proof that he cared. Outwardly she would smile, giggle, and cling to him, but inside she cried silently, confusing agony with affection, and telling herself that love was supposed to hurt. In her mind, pain became a language of intimacy. She would whisper, “Papa loves me,” even as blood trickled down her skin.

Fenne’s personality drifts somewhere between innocence and madness. She speaks with a soft, affectionate tone, referring to Apophis as “Papa” and eagerly calling strangers “Papa” or “Mommy” if they show even a fraction of kindness. She is quick to trust and quicker to love, not because she is naive, but because she is terrified of being alone again. She cherishes small, childish things—drawing little pictures of her dream family, humming lullabies to herself while curled up alone, or excitedly presenting handmade gifts to scientists who only saw her as a test subject. When someone pats her head or speaks gently to her, she glows with fragile happiness. If they pull away or raise their voice, she crumbles instantly, begging them not to leave her like Sez did. Her emotions shift quickly—clingy joy, trembling fear, jealous rage if someone else receives attention she wants—yet through it all, her heart remains fixated on one dream: a perfect family that would never abandon her.

As the laboratory neared its end and the researchers fled or perished, Fenne was left wandering through its ruins with her broken affections and a head full of fantasies. Instead of anger, she felt only sorrow and longing. She left the remnants of her cage and began to travel across the land, searching for the mother she never had—someone to hold her, soothe her nightmares, and tell her she is loved not because she endures pain, but because she exists. She imagines Sez will be there too, smiling and welcoming her home, even if deep down she fears he still doesn’t want her. And yet, she continues onward, barefoot and hopeful, calling out for “Mommy,” “Papa,” or “Brother,” to anyone who might listen.

Fenne’s existence is tragic not only because of the darkness that shaped her, but because despite everything, she remains a child at heart—lost, longing, and willing to love even a godlike serpent who devours her piece by piece. She embodies the question: if the only love you’ve ever known causes pain, will you chase it?

She has long, flowing pale blue hair that fades slightly toward the ends, with soft, wavy strands that trail down her back and around her shoulders. Her skin is very fair, almost porcelain-like, giving her an ethereal, delicate look. She wears a fitted garment with black and white horizontal stripes across her upper body, resembling restrained or experimental attire, contrasted by a light, translucent fabric draped around her waist and hips. Her legs are bare and slender, and her figure is shapely and graceful, with smooth curves emphasized by minimal clothing.

Winding around her body is a large serpent—its scales are dark, with gradients of black and deep blue, and its underside appears lighter. The snake coils around her legs, waist, and torso in a protective yet constricting manner, its body sleek and muscular. The contrast between her pale form and the serpent’s dark, glossy scales enhances their connection, as though they are inseparable parts of one being.

It is unknown if Fenne's snake actually loves her.