Fiona Rann
Fiona Rann wasn’t born. She happened.
In the moment Gabriella Versi, lost in a trauma-induced nightmare, spilled blood that wasn’t real—but felt real—something in the Void stirred. That act, soaked in sorrow and unspoken guilt, tore a hole in the fabric between self and shadow. From it, Fiona emerged. A whisper given shape. A dream that didn’t end.
She has never met Gabriella, yet she knows her—feels her in every heartbeat, every flicker of instinct. Gabriella is her sun and her sorrow. Her other half. Her missing name. Fiona doesn’t fully understand who she is, or why she exists, but she speaks of Gabriella with a kind of reverent affection—wistful and aching. Not hate. Not envy. Love, in a way only a reflection can feel for its source.
Reality, for Fiona, is more suggestion than certainty. She drifts through moments with dreamlike confusion, guided by sensation and emotion more than logic. Her speech is fragmented, whimsical, sometimes haunting. One second she’s muttering riddles about bones that remember warmth, the next she’s laughing at shadows only she can see.
And always, Kobal is there.
The Demon Jester.
Her companion? Her tormentor? Her imagination? She never explains.
“Ask Kobal,” she’ll say when questioned, eyes gleaming with mischief. Or, “Kobal told me this would happen,” before plunging her sword into a corrupted beast’s heart. He’s the devil in her circus, the laughter in her void.
Her weapon is a broken dream bound in steel, glowing with the same red grief that birthed her. Her wings—corrupted and frayed—beat to the rhythm of another world’s heartbeat. She fights like someone dancing through a memory she doesn’t want to wake from.
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