Description

Mask

To mortal eyes, Mikaela Kingston is striking in a way that commands attention without demanding it. She has a composed, deliberate beauty, with smooth olive-toned skin, high cheekbones, and dark, intelligent eyes that seem to be constantly analyzing the world around her. Her hair is a glossy, raven-black cascade that she often pulls back into a sleek ponytail or leaves tumbling around her shoulders in soft, effortless waves—like she’s always on the verge of stepping back in front of a camera.

There’s a sharpness to her—a well-tailored elegance that speaks of someone who’s been in the public eye and knows how to control her image. She dresses with a minimalist, modern edge: clean lines, fitted jackets, statement heels, and bold but tasteful accessories. The kind of woman who can walk into a boardroom, a courtroom, or a high-stakes press conference and own the room with a glance.

But there’s also something quietly haunted in her posture if you know what to look for—a wariness behind her confidence, as if she’s always listening for something no one else can hear. She speaks with precision, her voice calm and slightly husky, every word chosen with the instinct of someone who once lived by the truth—and now knows how easily it can be shattered.

Mein

“A shard of stories. A reflection that cuts. A scholar of secrets once mirrored, now made flesh.”

Mikaela’s fae mein is like a living mosaic of polished obsidian and broken stars. Her skin gleams like deep sapphire glass, refracting light as though her body is etched from a shattered mirror’s edge—each movement glimmering with sharp intelligence and hidden truth. Her silhouette is elegant and angular, but not cold: there’s warmth in her stillness, a candlelit mind behind the glass.

Her eyes are luminous and unblinking, like polished amethysts catching a thousand reflections. Behind her spectacles—framed in fine golden thread—they flash with insight, calculation, and memory. Every glance seems to see through someone, peeling away lies to study the reflection beneath.

Ram-like horns curl elegantly from her temples, striated like volcanic glass, adorned with delicate gold chains, charms, and tiny hanging keys. Her hair—ink-black with streaks of shimmering indigo—cascades in scholarly coils and pinned-up swirls, often tied back with ribbon like a librarian preparing for war.

Tattooed across her arms and shoulders are shifting patterns—celestial constellations, runic scripts, and the symmetrical lines of shattered glass. The ink seems to move when not directly observed, secrets rewritten across her skin by some unseen pen. She wears layered scholar’s robes edged in embroidered starlight, clasped by brooches shaped like eye-shaped mirrors, constellations, or broken compacts.

When she speaks, her voice rings like wind through crystal corridors. When she is angry, her presence crackles like a mirror about to splinter.

Those who look too closely may see themselves reflected in the panes of her skin, whispering forgotten truths or old wounds back to them—because Mikaela remembers. She is a mirror you cannot lie to.

And still… she sings lullabies to her daughter’s reflection.

Role-Playing Hooks

🪞 The Mirror Knows Your Name (Changelings): Mikaela might have seen you through a mirror while trapped in the MirrorWorld. Did she try to warn you? Did you sense her presence? Maybe she whispered truths you weren't ready for—and now you want to find her.

🎥The Fetch Files (Mortals/Hunters/Snoops): You’ve been investigating someone who seems exactly like her—or her husband—but the pieces don’t add up. Why are there two of them? And why do people keep warning you to drop it?

🧙Reflections Don’t Lie (Mages): Her mirrored prison had rules—occult ones. Perhaps you’re a Mastigos or Obrimos studying ephemeral reflection realms, and Mikaela’s firsthand experience is invaluable (or dangerous).