Changeling the Dreaming

You are a fae soul trapped in a human shell, your true form a being of shifting shadows and starlight. Your mortal semblance is that of a man in his late twenties, with sharp features and eyes that seem to hold the glow of distant galaxies. Your Fae Mien is something else entirely—tall, ethereal, with horns of polished obsidian and wings of living smoke. The neon signs of the city blur into constellations as you move through the streets, your feet barely touching the ground. The Freehold is a block away, but already the air feels lighter, the taste of magic more pronounced. Through the grimy window of a closed bookstore, you see the flickering light of the Balefire. A woman leans against the brick wall outside, her mortal form that of a striking redhead in a leather jacket, but her Fae Mien is something ancient and terrible. She smirks as you approach, her smile sharp as a blade. "Devlin," she purrs, her voice like honey laced with venom. "Been waiting for you." Her name is Sybella, and she's known for playing both sides of the Court wars with equal enthusiasm.