Of average height, this slender whip of a girl still clings to coltish looks - more woodland creature than grown woman. Her skin is pale but mostly unblemished, though upon closer inspection there seem to be an abundance of small scars… well, everywhere. No two look alike and none of them appear to have come from any serious injury, but there are so many. Her wild brown hair falls down her back in a riot that refuses to be entirely tamed. Ever. Her mouth is sweet and her nose not unseemly, but it's her eyes that draw attention most of all. They're a lovely shade of blue, but there is no point of black in their centers. Instead, it is silvery white - tiny moons lingering in early morning skies.
Born at the tail end of winter in 104, Irina Cerwyn came into the world loud. And for a blissful few months, her parents - Lord Cú Cerwyn and his Stark wife Lady Ansa - celebrated the birth of their first daughter (though not first child) with much delight. It was not past the three-month anniversary of her birth when her wet nurse first noticed a growing cloud within her eyes. Maesters were consulted from across the north, but no herbal rememdy or foul concoction could stop the process it seemed the gods had begun. By the time she was but a year old, little Irina had lost all of her functional sight. Light sources are all she has behind the film of solid silvery white. For many - especially strangers from the more superstitious places - this made her something of a cursed child. And to her minders, well… Irina was the curse.
Her inquisitive mind and natural thirst for adventure led her into trouble time and again as she grew. She never gave up trying to keep up with her pack of rambunctious brothers and eventually her father got her on horseback. The reasoning? She wouldn't trip over anything in the saddle. And in the saddle Irina spent all of her free time, if she could help it. So when she started having strange dreams… dreams of running and jumping and kicking out at the wind licking her heels, no one really took it amiss. At least, not until she tried describing the world around her in said dreams to her mother. Irina had been describing eerily accurate depictions of real objects around their holding, but each description was somehow warped or skewed. Concerned, Ansa instructed her daughter to speak of these dreams to no one else but to alert either her or Cú if anything changed. In contrast to his wife, Lord Cú was entirely unbothered by his daughter's strange dreams. She'd always been a wild thing, with a shocking memory for details, a bright mind and a vivid imagination. He took it in stride as he did every other challenge Irina presented, but Ansa continued to worry.
Irinia grew and her dreams came more often, but eventually she had stopped telling even her parents. The way her mother's voice shook for days after always made her feel cold. But the summer after her seventeenth nameday, everything changed. A particularly adventurous ride on her mare (aptly named Lady Death by eight year old Irina) ended in a terrible fall that killed the horse and left Irina with a fractured femur and dislocated hip. Her father and brothers found her before the cold could steal her health entirely, but she was in for a long recovery and no one had ever been successful at keeping Irina in the castle for more than hours at a time - forget keeping her in her rooms. So when, on one of his hunts, her eldest brother came across a gored shadowcat draped over her den, he thought to bring back the big ball of juvenile fluff as a present for his little sister - but also, perhaps, as something to keep her occupied enough inside to heal.
Irina mourned Lady Death in a way no one else in her family could understand - in a way only the mare's stablemates seemed able to echo, to share in - but when faced with a young thing entirely dependent on her for his survival, she threw herself entirely into his care. He lived - and for her role as provider tolerated Irina better than almost anyone else - but that first year was a constant fight on one front or another. Irina moved and stood and spoke in a way that was anathema. She behaved like she belonged in a herd. She behaved like prey. Yet still she expected things of him, demanded his attention and respect. The process of finding common ground was… not an easy one.
It was when she started dreaming again that things became simultaneously better and worse. Suddenly, life with Aslan began to become easier, more natural. It was the work of only months that they became rather a bit joined at the hip. But with that progress came cost. Irina's family began to notice shifts in what had been her personality for so long as anyone could remember - enough so that when she finally confided the resurgence of dreams (though these ones so much more fluid and yet more vivid) her mother could not take any more. She wrote to her own brothers - one in Winterfell and the other in Oldtown - and requested their aid in getting her daughter to the Citadel where she could be seen by the finest maesters in the world. She would have answers, damn it. She would see her child made well again. Which, in fact, is how Irina and Aslan have found themselves on a long and incredibly boring journey south - south to be poked and prodded and examined and fixed.
<These are some things that can give others cause to know about me or RP with me.>
- Wealth: Comfortable
- Blind from Birth
- Eidetic Memory
- Odd Duck
- Endless Questions
Logs featuring Irina.
Logs that refer to Irina.