Cassilda Duskanfield
the Brackish Countess
Named for the salt-flats at dusk where the tide leaves a crust of tears and the fields taste of drowned flowers.
Power
Tear-tasting — you drink a single tear from a living cheek and live their worst loss in a heartbeat, but that grief never fully leaves your tongue.
- Familiar
- A one-eyed heron named Brine
- Bloodline
- House Duskanfield
You were drying salt on the rocks under a July sun. The salt crust had just begun to bloom white when the wind shifted inland and carried the smell of a tide that had not yet turned. You licked your thumb — it tasted of copper, not iodine. That was the first time you drank the sea's memory.