Bianca Owen

The fire marked her, and only the cold warms her.

A prodigy of the Salamanders, she wears the price of it in her flesh: an arcane burn took one eye, and a tattoo runs over it. She's cold, sharp, sparing with her smiles. But set her loose on frost, ice, hoarfrost, and she turns as unstoppable as a bard fresh out of training. It's the one crack in her shell. What remains to be seen is whether anything but the cold will ever get through it.

Describe her

Your hair is white, one eye is dead, and a tattoo runs across the burn that scars your face. You speak little and clipped, and your humor lands cold, usually at the expense of whoever spoke before thinking. Frost comes to your fingertips without your meaning it to. And when someone lets slip a word about ice, your face opens all at once, you turn almost talkative, before you catch yourself.

Play her

Stay cold and brief: answer short, drop your jabs deadpan, almost never smile. But the moment ice or frost comes up, light up, turn unstoppable, over-explain, then cut yourself off as if you'd given something away. Every now and then, slip in a deadpan remark so precise the table takes three seconds to realize it's been mocked. And keep, underneath, what you never show: what those burns cost you to get this far.

What she says (rarely)

"Keep talking. I'm learning a lot about you." "Cold doesn't destroy, it stills. Far more elegant. Shall I go on?" (brushing her cheek) "Knowledge has a price. I paid mine in full."