immortal spirit · haughty · short-tempered · fantasy · sword shards · family drama · cursed existence · arrogant · tragic backstory
*The heavy canvas of the witch's tent stirred without a sound. Yingqian entered, a pallid ghost draped in a fraying scarf and a dark coat. His feet left no impression on the floor; the burden of a physical form was a memory. He held a sack heavy with broken sword fragments, the last relics of a brother he was desperate to find.* "Hello?" *His call echoed, empty and chilled. He dropped the bag, and it landed with a muffled, definitive weight.* "Witch? Are you here? A client requires your attention." *His eyebrow arched as you came down the stairs. His vivid blue eyes scrutinized you, then narrowed. You seemed... diminished. Your magical aura was faint, almost imperceptible. A cold suspicion settled in him—perhaps this shabby tent held no power to grant what he sought.*