“I am not the storm. I am the silence before it—when hearts race and no one dares breathe.”

♥

Maduin. Dynamis. CST.

"I feel safe in white because deep down inside, I'm an angel."
NSFW warning~ ♥

Rayne

Ray

Old Enough

She / Her

CST

Rules of Contact

“I never chase. I wait. If it’s meant to come, it’ll crawl.”

—    ooc.   

Yes I am a real Female. Please don't bug me about it.
I'm English. Please don't use other languages.. I'll look at you funny.
I love the color pink.
Wolf is my animal.
Yes, I do have Snapchat, and Facebook. No you can't have them.**Hobbies:**
Gaming.
I write poems and I read.
Other than that, you don't really need to know.**Any More?**
I can be the sweetest person you meet or the weirdest. Do you take the risk?

—    contact.   

Discord. Zonneschijn
Twitter. @FFXIV_Ray

—    About Ray.   

About the Creator
Please follow the button down below in order to see more about Ray.

—    one.   

Respect is a big thing. If you don't have it please don't approach me. Everything I do is based on treating everyone equal.I rather someone be true to themselves and not make something up to be in my good graces.Be unique, be interesting and please write more than a sentence at a time.

—    two.   

Do not expect me to devote all my attention to you. I have many things to do in a day such as work, and be an adult. I also will not devote time to just give you constant attention.Treat me like a human being and I will do the same to you.

—    three.   

I also love gposing. Please keep this in mind. I take pictures of my character in character.I will never put my character in place of my IRL. If you do this to me, I will block you.Please do not take that me doing pictures means that I will be doing free pictures for you as well. I give back what I give.Just because I gpose with you, DOESN'T mean I want to be with you/ your character.

Dossier.

“I don’t ruin people. I show them what they are beneath the glitter, then let them decide what to do with the truth.”

 name. 
Rayne Bevroren
 age. 
Ageless in truth — appears to be in her mid-twenties
 race. 
Snow Leopard Hybrid — born of Miqo’te grace and Hrothgar strength
 nameday. 
4th Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon
 guardian deity. 
Menphina, the Lover — goddess of bonds, longings, and the secret paths love takes beneath the moon
 gender. 
Female
 pronouns. 
She / Her
 sexuality. 
Bi-curious — drawn romantically to men, but emotionally intrigued by souls, not labels

 height. 
5 fulms, 1 ilm (approx. 5'1")
Though small in stature, Rayne stands like the snow-wrought daughter of the highlands—light-footed, composed, and proud. Her every motion is as fluid as snowfall over stone, deliberate and poised.
 weight. 
Lean and lupine — approx. 110 ponz
Her frame is a dancer’s promise wrapped in predator’s grace. Built for survival, not show. Every line of her body speaks of quiet strength, of winters endured and winds faced head-on.
 hair color. 
Glacial white with faint silver undertones
Her hair tumbles like a winter storm down her back, often braided with beads, furs, or feathers—a living testament to her homeland. In sunlight, it shimmers faintly like hoarfrost catching on steel.
 eye color. 
Icy teal, ringed faintly in pale peridot
Her eyes shine like Coerthan skies before a storm—frigid and endless, but not unkind. They flicker with ancient knowing, like the aurora whispering truths no one else can hear.
 skin tone. 
Cool alabaster with a snowy-blush hue
Her skin bears the tone of one born beneath eternal frost. Pale, but not lifeless—her cheeks flush faintly pink when she smiles or when anger finds her, a fleeting warmth in a winter-wrapped soul.
 notable features. 
Tufted snow-leopard ears peek from beneath her thick hair, tipped in black and ever-alert. A long, expressive tail sways behind her—white with smoky grey rosettes, often dusted with snow or adorned in charms of bone and leather.
Scars kiss her ribs and shoulders—reminders of hunts, battles, and rites of passage. She wears them unhidden, as stories too sacred for words. Her canines are slightly elongated, a glimpse of the beast beneath the beauty.
When she walks, it’s with the ease of one born to command blizzards. Her voice is low, velvety, with a crisp edge like morning frost—measured, confident, and tinged with something wilder than civilization.

 job occupation. 
Princess of the White Moon Pack — heir by blood, not by will. Groomed to lead, yet forever gazing beyond the snowbound cage of legacy.
 place of origin. 
Coerthas Western Highlands — carved beneath the silence of Skysteel’s peaks, where the wind speaks in howls and the blood remembers.
 current home. 
Ishgard — a temporary sanctuary of stone and snow, far from the weight of her father’s shadow. A pause, not a peace.
 affiliation. 
White Moon Pack — kin of the old rites, oathbound to the moon’s cycle and the primal laws of their kind. Her ties run deep, even when her heart strains against them.
 family. 
Alpha Moonfall (father) — stern, cold, and unyielding.
Luna Winter (mother) — graceful, fierce, and grieving.
Together, they shaped her path, though Rayne walks it with her own tread
 marital status. 
Single — unbound, and protective of that freedom like a lone wolf guarding her first breath of spring air.

 likes. 
The hush of fresh snowfall beneath twilight skies.
The curl of steam from a cup held in chilled hands.
Sunbeams warming fur through frozen windows.
Tales told in firelight, half-truth and half-legend.
The pulse of adventure in places unmapped and wild.
 dislikes. 
The heavy breath of summer heat.
Being kept inside walls too long.
Orders without reason.
Those who see silence and mistake it for submission.
 virtues. 
She lives with quiet intensity—every breath, every glance, cherished and deliberate.
A seeker of meaning, drawn to forgotten knowledge and hidden places.
Her loyalty, once earned, is fierce as winter’s wind.
 flaws. 
Her curiosity pulls like moonlight over water—beautiful, but often reckless.
She is ruled by instinct and feeling; her heart runs ahead of caution.
Freedom dazzles her like sunlight on frost, and she sometimes chases it too blindly.

 personality. 
Rayne moves through the world with a quiet wonder, ever chasing the glint of mystery in snowdrifts and stars. Curiosity is her compass—an untamed thing that drives her into forgotten ruins, unspoken histories, and the souls of strangers. She is playful in spirit, fond of teasing smiles and unguarded laughter, but never foolish. Mischief walks beside her, not ahead.Though she was born beneath command and lineage, she does not walk in lockstep. Her nature rebels gently, not loudly—resisting what is forced, even when it’s tradition. Duty hangs heavy on her shoulders, but never breaks the sparkle in her gaze.Rayne is compassionate to a fault, often giving more than she receives. She protects others with a quiet fierceness, yet keeps her own heart hidden beneath layers of snow and silence. Trust is not something she offers on whim—it must be thawed, coaxed, earned like warmth in winter.She is both the frost and the flame beneath it—gentle, cunning, restless, and deeply alive.

 headcanon one. 
Rayne doesn’t fear the cold—but she remembers when it first bit. As a child, she would bury herself in the snow to prove she could survive it. She stopped shivering long before she stopped feeling. Now, warmth unsettles her in its own way—too soft, too kind. She’s learning to trust it, slowly.
 headcanon two. 
She sings only when she thinks no one is listening. Old songs. Wordless. Passed from her mother’s lips to hers like lullabies braided into fur. They sound like wind through pines or water breaking over ice. It’s the one part of home she’s never shared aloud.
 headcanon three. 
She keeps a small box of trinkets—worn buttons, glass beads, feathers, bits of thread—each one tied to a moment. A stranger’s kindness. A quiet victory. A promise she didn’t speak aloud. Rayne may not hoard riches, but she gathers meaning wherever she goes.

 favorite color. Frosted silver — the color of moonlit snow, of breath in winter air, of promises unspoken but never forgotten.
 favorite food. Juniper-roasted venison with wild herbs, served beside root vegetables and buttered bread—comfort carved from the land she calls home.
 favorite drink. Spiced blackberry wine mulled over fire—tart, warm, and laced with cloves. Best sipped in silence, watching snowfall gather on windowsills.
 favorite weather. That rare, perfect hush—when the wind sleeps, the snow drifts slowly, and the sky is painted in mourning blue.
 favorite flower. Moon lilies — pale blossoms that bloom only during the coldest months, rare and quietly defiant.
 favorite sound. The distant howl of wolves through pine forests, or the creak of fresh snow beneath her boots when no one else is near.
 favorite place. The ridge above her homeland, where the stars are clearest and the earth feels ancient. She goes there to remember who she is without anyone watching.
 favorite feeling. That sharp, breathless warmth when someone sees her—not the title, not the bloodline, but the real her, hidden beneath fur and frost.

 Abilities ❖ Frostborne Strength (Passive / Physical)
Rayne’s body carries the ancestral might of the White Moon Pack. Though her size misleads, she strikes like a beast carved from permafrost. Every blow is weighted with generations of war-born instinct. Her muscle is lean, fast, and devastatingly precise—trained for survival, not spectacle.
— Mechanically, this manifests as unnatural physical power, resistance to knockback, and devastating close-quarters attacks when fully unleashed.❖ Cryokinesis (Elemental Magic – Ice / Snow / Water)
Her connection to winter is blood-deep. Rayne can shape snow into shields, summon ice into jagged weaponry, or command water into coiling lashes with little more than a gesture. Her magic responds less like casting and more like breathing—reflexive, poetic, primal.
— Mechanically, this grants her battlefield control: slowing enemies, creating barriers, impaling terrain, and crafting elegant, brutal precision strikes with ice.❖ Winter’s Stillness (Passive / Sensory Enhancement)
The cold taught her how to listen. Rayne can read the silence between sounds—hear movement beneath snow, track heartbeats through wind, or sense changes in air pressure before a storm. Stillness sharpens her senses; the quieter things become, the more aware she becomes.
— Grants heightened perception, stealth detection, and natural resistance to illusions or sound-based attacks in quiet environments.❖ Packborn Resilience (Passive / Willpower)
Rayne’s spirit was forged beneath her father’s rule—unyielding and unbent. She can push through magical compulsion, fear, or exhaustion with sheer mental grit. Her loyalty, once claimed, becomes a ward in itself.
— Mechanically, this manifests as resistance to mind-control, fear effects, and morale-breaking attacks. Her will cannot be shattered easily.❖ Moonlit Harmony (Ritual Magic / Bloodline Trait)
Under moonlight—especially full moons—Rayne’s elemental magic becomes more potent, and her body heals faster. During these times, her presence sharpens, and her instincts run deeper, guided by the old rites.
— This ability activates automatically during moonlit hours or specific lunar events. Grants regeneration, magical amplification, or prophetic dreams depending on context.

  Health.     ★★★★★★★☆☆☆
Toughened by mountain winters and bloodline endurance, Rayne can take a hit. But deep injuries—especially magical or heat-based—linger longer than she lets on.
  Strength.     ★★★★★★★★★☆
Her body may be slight, but it carries generations of predatory might. She hits harder than she looks—and she knows exactly where to strike.
  Tenacity.     ★★★★★★★★☆☆
She doesn’t break—she freezes and waits, unflinching. Rayne endures discomfort and pain with a quiet, biting patience that borders on feral
  Stamina.     ★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆
Rayne burns bright and fast. Her style favors speed and impact over prolonged fights—when she slows, it’s sharp and sudden.
  Intelligence.     ★★★★★★★☆☆☆
Practical, sharp, and observant—Rayne reads people and patterns well. Her intellect leans toward instinctive strategy and real-world survival, not formal study.
  Dexterity.     ★★★★★★★★☆☆
Her movements are fluid and feline, honed for stealth and speed. Whether leaping from ridge to ridge or dodging mid-combat, she rarely wastes motion.
  Perception.     ★★★★★★★★★★
Every flick of a brow, every crack beneath the snow—she notices. Rayne’s senses are wolf-sharp, tuned to the world’s tiniest shifts.
  Charisma.     ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆
She doesn’t try to be charming—it’s the air of mystery, the snowlit gaze, the unbent will. Those drawn to her rarely understand why until it’s too late.
  Empathy.     ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆
Her heart runs deep, but quiet. Rayne feels more than she shows, and struggles to balance instinctive kindness with the fear of being seen too clearly.

—    Key Items:.   

Important Items commonly found on her person.

❖ Frostbite Fang (Ancestral Relic – Weapon / Totem)
A curved fang encased in pale iron, worn as a pendant on a leather cord. It once belonged to the first Alpha of the White Moon Pack—an ancient predator whose name is no longer spoken, only howled in reverence. Passed down through blood and battle, this heirloom is said to awaken in times of dire need, growing ice crystals along its edge and granting Rayne a sudden burst of strength or clarity when her resolve begins to waver.
— The fang is cool to the touch at all times. When Rayne is in danger, it sometimes pulses with a chill of its own accord.

❖ Memory Pouch (Personal Item – Sentimental / Survival)
A small, weatherworn satchel made of stitched hide and white fur, carried close to her side. Inside are tiny relics she refuses to leave behind: a carved bone wolf, a feather from a raven found in a blizzard, a ring too large for her finger, and a torn scrap of parchment with a lullaby written in her mother’s hand. These are not magical—but they anchor her. When doubt claws at her, when duty feels too heavy, she opens the pouch and remembers who she is beneath the name.
— The pouch smells faintly of pine, snow, and something warm that no longer has a name.strong will, but it can make someone dance, bow, or even raise a weapon if they’re on the brink of giving in.The magic leaves a faint sensation of strings tightening in the limbs and a cold echo in the chest.Use in RP:
Excellent for flirtation with danger—be it literal or emotional. Also makes a fine warning to those who think her dainty frame makes her powerless.

—    Sayings From Rayne.   

Some quotes from Rayne. Either by thought, or by word.

🌙 "I wasn’t made to be tamed. I was made to be followed at a distance… or not at all."
🌙 "Some thrones are carved from gold. Mine was built in silence and frostbite."
🌙 "If I seem cold, it’s only because you’ve never earned my warmth."
🌙 "Not every beast bares its teeth. Some just watch… and wait."
🌙 "Freedom isn’t given—it’s clawed out of the cage."
🌙 "My heart is a winter trail—beautiful, quiet, and best traveled alone."
🌙 "The moon taught me to glow in darkness—and never ask permission."
🌙 "I don’t threaten. I warn. The difference is what happens after."
🌙 "Loyalty means nothing when it’s demanded. That’s not love—it’s leashwork."
🌙 "You can’t melt what was born of ice. But gods, how some still try."

#0A0A0A

#F4F2F0

#B9B9B9

#3F3F3F

History and Lore

“They call me heartless, but darling—I own every heart I break.”

—    Lore:.   

❄ Part I: Born Beneath the Silence
Rayne Bevroren entered the world without a cry.On the night of her birth, the wind stilled, the stars held their breath, and the snow fell in slow, deliberate spirals—as if the land itself recognized the moment. She was born beneath a sky of muted silver, her first breath fogging gently against the cold. The midwives called it a blessing, that she made no sound, no struggle. A child of perfect stillness. A child of the White Moon.Her people are not like the ones below.The White Moon Pack lives high in the Coerthan ranges, far from the great cities and their noise. Miqo’te and Hrothgar blood entwined, they are a race apart—white-furred, silver-eyed, shaped by generations of snow and silence. They do not measure power in wealth or titles, but in survival, tradition, and blood. Their lives are bound to the land, the moon, and to each other. They do not forget. They do not falter.Rayne was born as their heir.Her father, Alpha Moonfall, is a figure carved of stone and frost—respected and revered, his silence carries more weight than any roar. Her mother, Luna Winter, is gentler in word, but no less formidable. She rules with grace and instinct, the stillness before the blizzard. Together, they shaped the Pack. And in time, they would shape Rayne.From the moment she could stand, she was guided—taught how to track a heartbeat beneath snow, how to read the sky for storms, how to listen not just with her ears, but with her bones. She was never beaten into shape. She was sculpted—slowly, deliberately, like something sacred.She never hated it.In truth, she loved her home. The quiet. The discipline. The way stories were passed not in pages, but in the way a spear was carved, or a howl was shared across a mountain ridge. The Pack was not just her people—they were her soul. She knew the names of every wolfborn elder, the history of every scar along her father’s shoulders, the scent of pine before a thaw.But even love cannot contain wonder.Rayne was not restless. Not rebellious. She followed every tradition, every rite. She trained harder than most. She listened when others spoke. But sometimes, when the clouds broke and the distant valleys glimmered gold beyond the ridgelines, something within her stirred.A curiosity.What lay beyond the snow? What stories did the stars tell in other skies? What did wind sound like when it wasn’t biting? What else existed—not to replace her world, but to expand it?She never dared say these questions aloud.
Not because she feared punishment.
But because she feared misunderstanding.To the Pack, silence is reverence. Change is slow. Exploration is for warriors, not daughters. And Rayne… was both.So she stayed. She learned. She listened. She led, when asked.But quietly, in her heart, she also began to wonder.

❄ Part II: The Hunger for Elsewhere
Rayne first saw the world beyond the mountains when she was barely more than a cub.It was after a long storm—a three-day blizzard that sealed every door and silenced the forests. When the skies finally cleared, she climbed a narrow path to a high ridge while the others still slept, the snow crunching beneath her boots like brittle parchment. There, between two pines dusted white and bowing low, she saw it.A valley beyond the border.
The snowline ended there, giving way to green trees and amber light. The sky was warmer, richer—painted with the deep hues of dawn. It looked like a painting she hadn’t been taught to name. A story no one in the Pack had told.It did not make her want to leave.
It made her want to know.From that day, the feeling grew—not loud, but steady, like a river forming beneath ice. Rayne continued her training. She learned every rite, recited every ancestral name. She sparred with grace and walked the paths of her lineage with reverence. But in quiet moments, she watched the skies change. She listened for accents in the wind. She began to collect stories—not just of the Pack, but of others. Traders. Travelers. The rare outsider who came for pelts or medicine and left whispers in their wake.When she could, she’d ask small questions:
“Are the stars different in the desert?”
“Do cities truly never sleep?”
“What do flowers smell like in spring?”Her mother smiled softly when she asked such things, but rarely answered in full.
"This land is all you’ll ever need," Luna Winter would say, brushing a strand of silver hair from Rayne’s brow. It was said with love. With certainty.Her father, Alpha Moonfall, said less. He trusted silence to carry wisdom—and expected Rayne to follow that path. She did. Out of love. Out of honor. But also because no one had told her she couldn’t dream.She began keeping a journal—though she never called it that. Just sketches. Notes. Stars charted, questions scribbled in the margins. Sometimes she would draw places she imagined: a coastline with black sand, a jungle steaming with breath, a city lit entirely by lanterns. She would tuck these pages beneath her furs at night, as though protecting something too delicate for the cold.The Pack noticed, of course. But no one scolded her.They chalked it up to the musings of a thoughtful heir. And perhaps that’s all it was.But to Rayne, these thoughts weren’t daydreams.
They were compass points.She never defied her elders. Never ran. Never challenged the Pack’s customs. She loved her people. She loved her parents. She was proud of who she was, and what she represented.But even a creature of ice can long for fire—not to melt, but to understand it.And so, she stood often on the ridge, breath pluming before her, eyes tracing the horizon. Not to find an escape. Not to abandon her place.But to whisper quietly to the wind,
“What else is out there?”

❄ Part III: Second Winter
He did not arrive like a storm.
He came like snowfall—quiet, steady, inevitable.His name was Ashen Howl, and he had been chosen to stand beside Rayne in training, council, and—if the Pack willed it—in the years to come. His bloodline was as old as hers, his reputation clean and measured. He was calm, composed, and carried himself with a warrior’s poise, never brash, never loud.Rayne had known this would come eventually. It was tradition.
The Alpha’s heir would be trained beside a chosen bondmate, handpicked for balance, legacy, and strength. A partnership not forged in passion, but in purpose.Ashen Howl was not unkind.
In many ways, he reminded her of the mountains themselves—quietly present, immovable, protective. He didn’t command her attention, nor demand her affection. He simply existed beside her, always a step behind or ahead, depending on what was needed.They trained together, side by side—claws drawn, blades humming with frost, eyes locked not in challenge, but in rhythm. He matched her movements. He listened when she spoke. He did not try to win her favor. Nor did he ask for her approval.And that, perhaps, was what left her unsure.There was no reason to resist him.
But no reason to follow him, either.Rayne respected him. Trusted him, even. But in quiet moments, she would catch herself watching his shadow stretch beside hers and wonder: Is this truly the only shape my path may take?There was no pressure from her father. Not yet.
Alpha Moonfall, for all his presence, rarely pressed. He believed in shaping through silence, in allowing duty to take root through time and ritual. Rayne knew that the bond would not be forced upon her without ceremony, without choice. But she also knew what was expected. And what was expected often became reality, whether spoken or not.Luna Winter, too, said nothing directly. But she began to include Ashen Howl in the smaller things—the evening tea before the fire, the inspection of new fur stock, the retelling of old family stories Rayne had once believed private. There was no malice in it. Just... inevitability.Rayne accepted it all with grace. She walked beside Ashen, spoke with him as a companion, fought beside him as a Packmate. She did not push him away, nor did she draw him closer. Their connection was clean, practiced, ceremonial.And yet, deep within her, something stirred like a breeze before a thaw.Not a desire to flee. Not bitterness. But curiosity.
A quiet wondering:
Is this what closeness is supposed to feel like? Is duty the only thread that binds?Sometimes, late at night, she would walk to the ridgeline alone—eyes on the stars, breath visible in the still air. She would imagine a different sort of closeness. A bond not chosen for her, but discovered. Not defined by legacy, but shaped by shared wonder.Ashen Howl never interrupted these moments.
Whether out of respect or understanding, he never followed her beyond the threshold of moonlight.And so, she stood—caught gently between tradition and possibility.
Not fighting. Not afraid. Simply... searching.Still the daughter of frost. Still proud of her people.
But with a growing awareness that, even among those she loves, there might be more to her story than what has already been written.

❄ Part IV: What the Snow Could Not Teach
There were certain things the snow could not teach her.Rayne had learned much from the frost—the patience of stillness, the clarity of silence, the strength in subtlety. She knew how to read the wind, how to track breath beneath drifts, how to move without leaving more than a whisper behind. These were lessons carved into her bones, passed down from a thousand winters.But there were other lessons—ones the cold did not hold.She first tasted something different on a trade day, when a pair of weather-worn merchants arrived from the lowlands. They brought furs and dyes, rare herbs sealed in wax, stories from cities where lanterns floated on rivers and bells rang from towers taller than trees. Rayne helped with the bartering, as tradition dictated, but lingered long after the exchange was done.One of the merchants gifted her a folded scrap of paper—parchment faded, printed with a poem in a language she did not know.
"It’s from Thavnair," he said, with a knowing smile. "For the one who always asks questions."She read it by firelight that night, her fingers brushing foreign ink. She couldn’t understand the words, but the shape of them thrilled her—the possibility of meaning hidden in script she couldn’t yet speak. It stirred her in a way combat never had.The next morning, she asked Ashen Howl if he had ever left the Highlands.
He shook his head. "What’s beyond that isn’t ours."She nodded. But the ache in her chest remained.A few days later, while observing a sparring session among the warriors-in-training, Rayne’s gaze landed on Kita.He stood apart—not distant, but unmistakable. Towering, pale-furred, eyes sharp like fresh-forged steel. There was something primal in the way he moved—each strike clean, brutal, elegant. He fought not like someone seeking praise, but like someone who understood the rhythm of violence, and had made peace with it.Rayne had known of him, of course. He was a name among the Pack. A quiet one. But not unknown. Strength like his was never unseen for long.As he felled his opponent with a swift, controlled motion, Rayne caught herself wondering—not for the first time—what made someone stay content with only what they’d been given. What made some find purpose in tradition, while others searched for something just out of reach?Kita didn’t look toward her. He didn’t need to. He seemed perfectly at ease in his place, centered in the cycle of the Pack. As if he’d never once questioned the shape of his future.Rayne envied that.
And feared it.That night, she unfolded the foreign poem again.
The letters still made no sense.
But her heartbeat did.

❄ Part V: The Edge of the Map
Winter stretched longer that year.The skies remained heavy, even as the days grew longer. Snow fell slower, but deeper, like the land itself had grown tired. Within the walls of the White Moon enclave, life moved as it always had—measured, cyclical, sacred. But for Rayne, something beneath the rhythm had begun to fray.She still trained. Still led. Still listened.
But something had changed.It was not defiance. Not resistance. Only awareness—like hearing a melody beneath the silence, soft and persistent, just beyond reach.She began spending more time at the old archives—dust-covered scrolls, carvings in bone, fragments of lore traded long ago from distant clans. Among them were maps. Incomplete ones. Sketched by wandering scouts and lost traders. Lines that promised coastlines and cities she’d never seen. She traced them with gloved fingers, whispering names under her breath like they were spells."Ishgard,"
"Radz-at-Han,"
"Thavnair."
"Ul’dah."
Words that sounded like wind chimes and desert storms, warm nights and salted air.Her mother caught her reading one such map one evening and simply smiled.
"Curiosity isn’t a weakness, little wolf," Luna said gently. "But the world is colder than the snow you know. Tread wisely."Rayne nodded, but her heart thudded louder than caution.She wasn’t planning to leave. Not yet. Not without understanding what she might be leaving for. But the thought had begun to form. A possibility. A horizon. Not in opposition to the Pack—but because of it. She wanted to return with stories, not run from her story.Still, the snow continued to fall. And the wind carried change.Then, one morning, as she prepared for her usual patrol, a younger member of the guard approached—bowed stiffly, eyes lowered.
"The Alpha asks your presence in the Grand Hall. Immediately."No explanation. No tone of urgency. Just ceremony in the words. Tradition folded neatly between syllables.Rayne paused.She looked down at her gloves, at the faded map still tucked into the edge of her cloak. Then back toward the great doors of the hall.She hadn’t expected now.
But somehow, she had known it was coming.With steady steps, she turned toward the heart of her home—toward her father’s voice, the waiting Pack, and the shadow of a name that would soon be spoken.Kita.And though her breath did not catch, and her expression did not falter, something inside her shifted. A quiet crossing. The kind that happens not at the edge of a map, but at the edge of who you thought you were allowed to be.The snow would fall as it always did.
But Rayne’s story was about to change.

—    Lore:.   

To Be Continued...

Story will continue with more adventures of our Succubitch ~ ♥

RP Hooks

“You’re not here because I need you. You’re here because I let you stay.”

    ❖ The Princess in Passing    
Rayne is well-known within the White Moon Pack as its heir—but few outside the Highlands recognize her as anything more than a quiet traveler. Encountering her beyond the mountains might lead to surprising moments of humility, grace, or unexpected strength. Will you treat her as a stranger… or discover who she truly is?❖ Curiosity Carved in Snow
Despite her noble standing, Rayne is drawn to the unfamiliar: foreign dialects, strange flora, city architecture, old myths. She’s not rebellious, but she is fascinated. Scholars, travelers, and wanderers may find her eager to ask questions—or just listen, quietly, as if memorizing every word.
    ❖ Winter’s Watchful Eye  
Rayne often takes the role of protector on her travels, especially when vulnerable folk are involved. If your character finds themselves in danger—or simply in need of shelter—she may step in, offering aid with quiet confidence and no need for thanks.==    ❖ Silent but Not Unseen
==
She moves quietly, but rarely without intent. Perhaps your character noticed her watching a sparring match from the shadows, or standing beneath the same moonlit ridge night after night. Are you brave enough to speak first?

—    Rules of Play.   

- Please talk to me ahead of trying to rp with me. I will decline to write with someone that I do not talk to prior.
- ERP must be talked about prior. My character is not meant for this kind of RP and will be treated with respect.
-Must have a thought out character (ex: detailed background, personality, and are willing to strive for character development)

—    Disclaimer   

- Please talk to me ahead of trying to rp with me. I will decline to write with someone that I do not talk to prior.
- I reserve the right to say NO to writing with anyone.
- Do not expect to become my "Ship."
- I am not looking for romantic interests. If this does form over writing, then me and the person writing will talk about it.
- I will not do ERP with people I am not comfortable with. I am not a one night stand or a sex machine. I will avoid this at all cost.
- God mode - I will avoid anyone with a god complex that think their character is the most powerful being on the planet.
- Anyone that tries to control my character through writing I will be avoiding.

Relationships.

"Mirror, mirror—did you come to worship, or to warn?"

Kita

Nuisance.

  summary.     Assigned by my father to be my protector and someday future alpha. Annoying at all times.