Ruzena Vaneholt
the Bloodbrier Countess
Named for the wild rose that grows from the blood-soaked soil of battlefields and the hollow wood where the wind sounds like screaming.
Power
You can will your blood to harden into thorns that pierce shadows, tearing through them as if they were fabric — but each use leaves you drained for a night.
- Familiar
- a death's-head hawkmoth named Morbus
- Bloodline
- House Vaneholt
You are kneeling in the embers of a pyre, still wearing the wedding dress you were burned in, and the ashes taste like iron and forgiveness. The groom who lit the fire now serves you from a silver platter, his eyes hollow with a love that finally learned obedience.