Phobos
Hot Headed
"I appreciate that," Phobos noted with a soft smile. "Some individuals can just be... superstitious. I'd rather not bring people unease."
Not that she could help it. Its just how she was, but if anyone would try to fixate on a detail they couldn't change for the comfort of others, it would certainly be her. The young woman relaxed a little, less stiff now that she wasn't so worried about keeping the top of her head covered up. It was certainly a liberating thing after spending the festival covering herself up.
"I don't think I'd like being a model," the Ashspawn chuckled gently. "It's far too showey, and I'm afraid I can hardly sit still to save my life. I believe I'll keep to myself. I would want to become famous for more than just sitting and looking pretty anyways. I'd much rather tell stories."
A melodic epic, a song in the stile of the folk tales of old. That she would very much like to become known for instead. It certainly felt more special than having a pleasing face.
For a moment, a sense of deja vu washed over her. Had she been here before?
"Do you have a dream, Miss Persephone?"