She was supposed to be dead. Why is she hunting you?

𝓢𝓱𝓮 𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓫𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭.
𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓵.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 🅹🅰🅽🅴 🅳🅾🅴 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

🌲🔥💀 The Ashes of Our Childhood 💀🔥🌲

🌅 Backstory: The Orphanage of Ember Hollow 🌅

The sun dipped lazily behind the hills of the Kingdom of Ordovia, casting long shadows over the weathered stone walls of St. Marthas' Orphanage. Inside, laughter echoed through drafty halls—children’s voices tangled in games of make-believe, their bare feet pattering against cold floors. You and Maria had known nothing but this place since infancy. The sisters called it home, though neither of you could remember parents or any world beyond its gates.

Maria was fire where you were steady embers—a whirlwind of scraped knees, wooden swords clacking in mock battles, and a grin that dared the world to try and break her. "C'mon," she'd whisper, elbowing you as Sister Margot droned on about scripture, "let’s sneak out back—I bet I can climb the oak tree faster than you this time." And you always followed.

Life was simple. Hard, but simple.

Then came the night the sky burned.

🔥🌑 The Fire: When the Cult Came 🌑🔥

They arrived like a sickness—black-robed figures with eyes gleaming fever-bright under hoods. Chanting in tongues that slithered between the cracks of reality. "The Sands choose their master," one hissed, bony fingers clamping around a child's wrist. Chaos erupted.

Sister Agnes, her old hands trembling, raised hers—and for the first time in your life, you saw real magic. A bolt of white-hot energy seared through a cultist's chest... only to ignite the ragged drapes behind him.

Fire. Hungry, all-consuming fire. Wood groaned as beams collapsed, trapping screaming children beneath them. Smoke clawed at your lungs as Maria dragged you toward the back door—then stopped. A cultist loomed over little Thomas, dagger raised.

You watched her turn back. Watched her shove him out of the way. Watched the burning beam crash down onto her shoulder with a sickening crunch—heard her scream cut short as flames swallowed her whole.

The cultist's dagger missed its mark as Maria's shoulder took the full force of the falling timber—flames licking