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lovedfrost · 20 days

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( nesrin cavadzade, nonbinary, she/they ) — amongst the faces lining the staff portrait wall, you recognize VANYA SVETLA VYACHESLAVOVNA, the fourty-one year old professor within the school. having spent nine years as a member of the verum staff, students say that they’re reminiscent of the harsh winter but of the cold, but the warmth you seek within sanctuary ; beauty of the early morning frost, how it glistens and shines under soft sunlight ; the first flower after a brutal freeze, winter has not yet relented its grasp, but the color is returning to the lang / a lover above all else, but a bitter taste lingers against their blushed lips. their nurturing and honorable temperament brings color to these halls, but be warned, you may also find them to be martyrish and verbose. regardless, hopefully they’ll remain when it’s time for verum to open its doors again. graphic template cred.

BASICS

full name. vanya svetla vyancheslavovna. title. professor v. nicknames. vany, v. face claim: nesrin cavadzade. date of birth. october 1st. age. 42. zodiac. libra. gender. fem nonbinary. pronouns. she/they. sexuality. bisexual ( woman / fem-aligned leaning ). occupation. professor of human biology (etc) @ verum. languages. english, azerbaijani, russian, mandarin ( limited ).

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

height. 6'3ft. ( this is so serious. i am so serious. ) haircolor. dark brown. eye color. brown, with a slight blue glint in the light. tattoos. spine tattoo of flowers. piercings. earlobes. always wearing chunky earrings or large, thick loops.

PSYCHE

stability. stable (allegedly). intelligence. above average. positive traits. nurturing. honorable. scholarly. negative traits. martyrish. verbose. reserved. MBTI: ENFJ-T moral alignment. lawful good. temperment. sanguine-melancholic. sins. lust / greed / gluttony / sloth / pride / envy / wrath. virtues. chasity / charity / temperance / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice.

BACKSTORY TID-BIDS

TW MENTION: spousal death mention & the grief of it.

you were a child of cynefin, one deeply in love with the land. you never saw yourself setting foot from the familiar cobblestone, but you also never foresaw the death of your newlywed wife. it was sudden and much was your grief. the once welcoming sea-front now felt like it taunted you. the winding woods you'd spend time with her every morning on a walk now a prison. on cynefin, you were a renowned medic. excellent bedside manner, a smile many saw as warm even in the coldest temperature. you seemed to have a healing touch ; a careful hand, gentle fingers. you did, once. after your loss, your fingers seemed to hesitate when placed against an arm. after your loss, looking someone in the eye seemed to cause panic. there wasn't much left to you, was there? nothing but the grief. nothing but the misplaced anger towards once comforting waters, soil. everything felt devoid without your own personal sunshine. for what was winter without the hearth? what was the dawn of spring without the blossoming flowers? you felt yourself grow cold and this scared you. something had to be changed ...

you sought a distraction, desperate to free your mind of the throws of grief, of anger for the water claiming your beloved. you turned to the draw, the taste of khemia. you'd studied it at behest of her ; her intrigue of attuning something that brought you great distrust. but you couldn't deny your interest, could you? your interest in healing ideologies, the reflection of magic within human bodies and soul. you once were a nurse, weren't you? perhaps there were further ways to aide ; to find a peace physically. you seek out employment through verum, both an escape and in honor and turn your back on cynefin. only, you didn't know it would be what seemed like for good.

you excel in your field. you excel in distracting yourself. you were always the nurturing type. witnessing their interest ( and sometimes their disinterest ) of your field. there's enjoyment in sharing your knowledge and watering the flowers of future prospects. you do your best attempt at creating a bond between your students. you're someone they can lean on, reflect even their most mudane worries on you. you can shoulder it. you can give them comfort. you can quell their worries, shape their shortcomings into goals. it fills the once empty space within you. shaped like a body. shaped like a heart. but there's still a hole there, right? it's leaking. it spilling sea water at your feet.

there is a hole in your well. it comes in whispers, of beckons. it began in your first few months on verum grounds. wind seemed to whisper to you: return, child. your reflection seemed to ripple like the water of your childhood. your sleep erect with hallow forests, empty and overgrown. you didn't abandon cyenfin out of hate, but intense sadness. anger at your loss. you chalked it up to stress, to homesickness, but it only progressed further than this. even some of your students faces seemed lost to visions of water. you'd worried them once ; staring blankly into the sea of faces before your dissertation on human anatomy. you swear the voice of your once love is mixed within the calls ( remember me. remember us. remember your roots. ) / the shape of her in the corner of your eye. the shape of unfamiliar people ( you've swam far enough, return to the shore. you've gone without water long enough. come back. come back. )

you're still doing your best to ignore the calls, but it's getting heavy, isn't it? you're beginning to cough up the water in your lungs. a taste of salt lingers beneath your tongue. the smell of fresh leaves crosses your nose without origin. return, return. but you can't. you don't think you could ever.

focus on your pupils. focus on the future. they need it more than you.

#verum:intro

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