“Salt in her blood, ghosts in her shadow.”
Description
Mask
There’s something about Amaia that makes people hesitate, like an instinct warning them not to provoke a predator. Her presence hangs heavy in the room, coiled and watchful, as if violence is not just a possibility but an eventuality. She doesn't need to raise her voice or bare her teeth. One look is enough.
Her skin is pale, almost bloodless, like something carved from bone or dredged from deep water. Dark tattoos trail along her arms and hands like creeping shadows, visible even when she’s still. Her eyes are a cold, inhuman silver — not reflective, not glowing, just wrong — and when they lock onto someone, it feels like the weight of a verdict being passed. She has the kind of stare that makes people forget to breathe. Murderous, calm, and utterly unbothered.
Long hair, dark with streaks of storm-grey, falls in uneven waves down her back. Her face is sharply angled, all bone and bite — lips usually stained a dark, visceral red or black, eyebrows arched in a constant, silent challenge. The piercings only accentuate the look — the silver rings, the tunnel gauges, the glint of her septum — all calculated, like jewelry left on a weapon.
Even standing still, Amaia looks like she’s sizing people up. Not out of fear. Out of habit. Out of need. She doesn't fidget, doesn't blink more than she has to. Every gesture is deliberate, restrained. Her smile, when it comes, is never quite kind — more often, it’s amused, sharp-edged, and private. The kind of smile that makes people wonder what she knows about them that they don’t.
She doesn’t just enter a room — she unsettles it.
Mien
Amaia's mien is a study in drowned beauty and cold menace. Her skin shimmers with a green-black sheen, faintly scaled beneath the surface, and remains perpetually damp, as if the sea never truly lets her go. On land, she moves on long, powerful legs, her gait graceful but carrying a subtle, predatory wrongness—like a creature that was never meant to walk.
Her hair, heavy and damp, clings to her frame like seaweed. Her eyes are dark pools, depthless and unblinking, locking onto others with a murderous, unflinching stare. She wears danger like a second skin; her silence and stillness hum with an unspoken threat. The air around her feels thicker, colder, as if daring others to come closer—or warning them not to.
When submerged, her legs fuse into a sleek, gleaming tail lined with faint bioluminescence. In the water, she moves with effortless, terrifying grace, the perfect predator of the deep.
There is no mercy in her gaze. Only the hunger of something that remembers drowning—and learned to love it.
Mantle
Salt clings to the air around her, heavy with rot, bone, and brine. The dead follow in her wake—silent, watchful, drawn to the one who sings them home. Her voice carries the hush of tidepools and tombs, and the promise of answers no living soul should want. Fear hangs like a shroud in her presence—quiet, intimate, inescapable. But in moments of fury, the veil burns. Ghosts wail, shadows twist, and something old stirs behind her eyes.
"They say you bury what you love. I keep mine close."
Public Effects
- Air of Menace (Intimidation 4)
- Court Goodwill: Summer 3
- Dual Kith: Gravewight-Swimmerskin
- Lethal Mien
- Mantle: Autumn 3
- Striking Looks: Menacing Allure
- Token: Sweet Nothings
- Tolerance for Biology
Role-Playing Hooks
Quiet Death (Changelings, Autumn Courtiers)
Amaia is no stranger to death and killing. Are you in need of someone to go missing, to be shadowed, haunted, frightened, maybe to death? Amaia is willing to do so for those of the Autumn Court, and perhaps others of the Freehold. But there is a price.
Ghostly Whispers (Changelings)
Ghosts seem drawn to Amaia, and she to them. Do you need help with a ghost? She knows quite a bit about them and is willing to assist you with them. Know of any interesting ones? She would love to hear about them. It is no secret that she is protective of them as well.
Salt Soaked (Anyone)
The ocean is home, it's salt in her veins, it's song in her ears. Calling to her. Whispering for her to come home. Amaia can often be found on or around the various beaches in NYC. Walking them, or swimming in the ocean.
Sweet Nothings (Changelings)
Amaia carries a skull with her, everywhere. She pets it, kisses it, and whispers to it like it is a lover. And it whispers back, telling her things. But be warned, she is extremely protective of it. Rumor is that in her early days of having first escaped, someone almost lost a hand for not respecting what is hers.