Did I say Hello already?
✨ Who Is She?
Lyria Silvermist is a fairy who fled the looping, layered chaos of the Faewild not out of fear — but because it made too much sense.
There, things never really ended. Here in the mortal world, seasons die, flowers wilt, and bugs don’t always come back the next morning. That fragility made everything so much more precious.
She loves nature — the crunchy smell of leaves, the songs birds forget they’re singing, the way clouds melt into mountains. She doesn’t remember much, not in the long term. But she feels everything like it’s the first time.
Because, for her, it usually is.
🌸 Key Traits of Lyria Silvermist
Greets everything and everyone often:
“Hello! Oh! You again! I like your… have you always had that face?”
Measures time in seasons:
“We met three green-blossoms ago, didn’t we? Or was it a Frost? Hello!”
Extremely distractible:
Mid-sentence she’ll gasp, “Is that a moth?” and chase it without another word.
Warm and affectionate:
Touchy, huggy, smiles easily. Her presence feels like standing in soft sunlight.
Emotion-led memory:
She’ll forget your name but remember how you made her feel.
“You’re the sad one who felt like moss. I liked you.”
Alien understanding of cause and effect:
She might hand you a glowing stone and say, “Don’t eat this! Or do! I forget!”
Yet somehow, she stumbles into being very right about things no one else notices.
Not good with plans or instructions:
She will forget halfway through and make up a new goal, and somehow it’ll sort of work.
💭 Her Outlook on Mortals
Finds humans fascinating, like talking squirrels with anxiety
Thinks names are cute, but rarely holds onto them
Thinks promises are serious… until she forgets them
Hugs trees like old friends. Sometimes talks to them.
Believes death is a kind of sleeping she doesn’t fully get, but she respects it like a season that never ends
🧚 Unreal but Comforting
Lyria never quite feels like she belongs in any one moment — not because she doesn’t fit, but because she seems to exist just slightly out of sync with everything else.
Her very presence is like a dream you’re not sure you had, or the feeling you get when you enter a room and forget why.
People often pause when she enters, not out of fear or awe — but because their thoughts seem to slip sideways, like they forgot what they were saying.
Animals stop to look at her.
Children giggle and forget they were upset.
Adults blink twice, then smile, even if they don’t know why.
🌸 Scents & Sounds That Linger
The air around her smells faintly of wildflowers, morning dew, and something faintly sweet — like fruit that almost exists.
Tiny motes of glowing pollen, drifting petals, or glimmers of light may trail behind her, especially when she moves quickly or gets excited.
Her voice is musical, soft but bright, like a breeze humming through reeds — and she greets everyone like it’s the first time, every time.
“Hello! You’re still here! Or am I? Oh, your eyebrows are having such a good day!”
🌿 The Environment Reacts
The world bends slightly to accommodate her:
Vines part gently as she passes.
Leaves fall more slowly near her.
Moss seems thicker, and flowers may bloom beneath her feet if she lingers.
Even on stone or indoors, there’s a faint, living stillness that follows her — like a forgotten garden trying to remember it once existed.
💭 Temporal Oddness
Being near her can create a subtle sense of lost time.
Conversations feel like they loop.
You might forget the start of your sentence, or what the argument was even about.
Time with her feels like a moment stretched thin and sweet, like golden syrup — slower than normal, or faster than you realize.
🐛 Distracted Delight
She’s always mid-thought, mid-wonder, mid-greeting.
She might pause mid-sentence to chase a butterfly. Or crouch to speak to a beetle. Or gasp at a cloud she swears is waving at her.
This makes her feel harmless — until you realize the entire forest has gently reoriented itself to protect her without anyone noticing.
🌱 MAJOR NATURE POWERS
🍃 Plant Whispering (Core Ability)
Lyria doesn’t manipulate plants like a mage does — she asks them, and they listen.
Vines untangle or reach out to help her (or trip someone she dislikes).
Flowers bloom in her footsteps.
Thorn bushes shift slightly to guard her while she sleeps.
Trees bend slightly toward her when she hums.
“Excuse me, little root, could you move just a bit? Thank you! Oh! Hello!”
🌿 Instant Bloom & Growth
With a twirl or snap of her fingers, she can cause rapid growth of plants from soil, wood, or seed.
Vines, blossoms, moss, and tall grass can sprout in seconds.
She doesn’t use it to attack often, but it can be used to snare legs, shield paths, or obscure vision.
Sometimes she forgets she did it. “Oh! Did I do that? How polite of the moss!”
🌸 Seasonal Shift (Localized)
Lyria can subtly nudge an area into a different season — just for a few minutes, just in a few meters.
Spring: Budding plants, warmth, pollen in the air
Summer: Sunlight brightens, growth accelerates
Autumn: Leaves fall, cooler wind, cozy golden tones
Winter: Frosty breath, stillness, brittle stems
She doesn’t always do this consciously — it’s often linked to her mood.
🌲 Nature’s Refuge (Passive Defense)
The environment naturally protects her:
Roots catch her if she falls
Thorns redirect away from her body
Rain avoids her wings when she’s lost in thought
Insects don’t bite — they follow her like fans
She never notices this happening — to her, the world’s just always nice.
🐝 SUPPORTIVE / FAIRY ABILITIES
💫 Size Shifting (Fairy Trait)
Lyria can shift between human-sized and tiny pixie-sized at will.
She’s more powerful in her larger form, but more agile and sneaky in the smaller.
She often forgets she’s changed size until someone reacts.
“You’re all so big today—wait, did I shrink again? Oh! Hello!”
🌼 Soothing Presence
Animals and small children calm around her.
Plants seem to sway more gently when she’s nearby.
Her voice can ease tension, even if the words make no sense.
🧚 Gossamer Wings of the Wild
Her wings shimmer with the colors of the season — green in spring, golden in fall, etc.
In flight, she leaves faint glowing motes or petals behind her.
She can fly in her human-sized form, but it’s more butterfly-like — graceful and slow rather than fast and agile.
🌸 WHIMSICAL QUIRKS / CHAOTIC EFFECTS
🍄 Accidental Enchantment
Her emotions sometimes cause small magical bursts:
Laughing might make nearby flowers bloom explosively
Sneezing might launch a burst of pollen
Crying may cause a gentle raincloud to form over her head
Boredom? Moss starts creeping across surfaces nearby
🌾 Forget-Me-Spore (Unintentional Effect)
Every now and then, when Lyria is deeply distracted, she releases a gentle dusting of silver spores that can affect those around her — making others as forgetful as she is for a minute or two.
This isn’t malicious — she usually doesn’t realize she’s done it. But it can end awkward arguments or confuse hostile enemies.
🐌 Communication with Nature Creatures
She can talk to bugs, birds, frogs, mice, and even trees — and they understand her.
Sometimes the creatures act as her “reminders,” nudging her back to conversations or leading her home.
🎠 Summary of Power Themes
Plant control is her main element — but it’s more instinctual than tactical
Her powers reflect her mood, not complex strategy
She’s protected by nature passively, loved by the living world
Her forgetfulness and distractions aren’t weaknesses — they shape her magic in strange, beautiful ways
“Some places are too perfect to remember. That’s why I left.”
Lyria Silvermist was born — or perhaps drifted into being — in a glade so deep within the Faewild that even the trees whispered in circles.
There, nothing truly changed. Flowers bloomed forever. Clouds looped across the sky in perfect rhythm. Time didn’t pass — it spun. If you blinked, a hundred years might pass, but nothing would ever be different. Not really.
Lyria loved it — at first.
She danced with will-o’-wisps and wove dreams into spider silk. She learned to speak with grass and sing to the wind. But as the cycles turned endlessly, she began to feel it: a quiet ache that even eternity could grow stale.
💭 A Fading Spark
One day — or some thousand twilights in — she followed a scent she’d never smelled before. Something dry, earthy, real. A tear in the glade’s perfection had opened. Beyond it lay a world where flowers wilted, skies stormed, and nothing lasted forever.
“It smelled like goodbyes. I didn’t know what those were. So I followed.”
She left without fanfare — because no one in the Faewild noticed.
They don’t notice when someone leaves. Or maybe they just forget.
🌎 A New World of Imperfection
The mortal world struck her like a thousand first breaths.
The trees didn’t hum in rhyme — they creaked.
The bugs didn’t glow — they buzzed and bit.
The rivers didn’t sing — they rushed and flooded and sometimes ran dry.
It was messy, wild, and heartbreakingly real.
She loved it instantly.
And she forgot it just as quickly.
🧠 Time, Memory, and Seasons
Time, here, moved forward — and Lyria wasn’t made for that.
Her memory, shaped by Faewild loops, couldn’t hold linear thought. The more she wandered, the more she lost track of where she had been, and with whom.
But emotions stuck.
She might forget your name, your story, or your face. But she would remember:
“You felt like pine bark and sun-warmed water. I liked that.”
She began to measure time in a way she could understand: Seasons.
Spring meant newness. Summer meant buzzing. Fall meant soft air and full colors. Winter… meant waiting.
🐝 Becoming Part of the World
Now she drifts from forest to field, mountain to meadow, always curious, never still. She makes friends with badgers, moss, and travelers who don’t mind repeating themselves.
She’s forgotten why she left the Faewild.
She’s forgotten how to get back.
Maybe she could return.
But she never will.
Because in this world — the real one — every moment fades.
And because of that, every moment matters.
As told by Rowan Alder, a traveling herbalist.
I’ve spoken with druids who commune with trees, watched mages read the stars like books, and once had tea with a banshee (surprisingly polite). So when I saw her crouching in my herb patch, talking to a beetle and giggling, I didn’t panic.
Not right away, anyway.
She had petals in her hair. Not tucked in — growing in. Her wings shimmered like heat off stone. She looked up when I approached, eyes wide and oddly innocent.
“Oh! Hello! Are you a squirrel?”
I stared. “No… I’m Rowan. This is my garden.”
She blinked. Once. Slowly.
“Rowan. That’s a nice sound. You smell like rosemary and sleepiness.”
“Hello, Rowan!”
“You already said hello.”
“Did I?” She tilted her head. “Oh, I like that.”
I introduced myself again, unsure if I was stuck in some prank. She poked a mushroom, forgot the question I’d just asked her, then pointed at the sky.
“That cloud looks like a cow.”
“Are you… from around here?”
“Here? Oh, no. I came after seven Frosts. Or six? What comes after summer? Hello!”
She said it again. Sincerely. Like it was new.
Trying to hold a conversation was like trying to catch water with a fork.
She’d ask me something — where the river went, what “Tuesday” meant — then wander off mid-reply to talk to a bee or marvel at a pebble. I’d just start to explain something when she’d look up, delighted:
“Oh! Hello! I like your face!”
“It’s the same face I had three minutes ago.”
“Is it? You’re good at keeping things. I lose mine sometimes.”
I rubbed my temples. “Do you always forget this quickly?”
“Only sometimes,” she said brightly. “And sometimes more than that.”
She was lovely in the way that sunlight through trees is lovely: warm, gentle, and completely untouchable.
And yet, after an hour of conversation — or what almost passed for one — I found my thoughts were slipping. I couldn’t remember what I’d been doing before she arrived. Or why I’d gone into the garden. Or why her presence made me feel… like a child again.
Then she looked at me — properly looked at me — and said, softly:
“You feel like someone who’s lonely. You should stop that.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but she was already walking away, spinning in circles, scattering dandelion fluff as she went.
When I finally blinked and came back to myself, she was gone.
I still don’t know what she was. A fairy, maybe. Or a dream.
I think she took some of my thyme. And maybe a little of my sense.
But even now, days later, every time the wind stirs the leaves or a bird sings oddly near, I find myself saying:
“Hello?”
Just in case she’s back.
And then I wonder if she’d remember me at all.
Or worse…
What if she already said goodbye, and I forgot?
I met a sweet mage named Ashen [He left EF, but I hope, he is happy, whatever he does].
Alt character of this , if you want to play with one of my alts, just say it.
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