Otome

The constant roar of the waterfall used to be the only chaos Otome tolerated. Their life was one of measured clicks: the snap of their ledger, the crisp knot of their tie, the precise counting of coin from frog-traders at the lower levels of Waterfall City. They were a pillar of predictability, a merchant whose promises were as solid as the stone steps connecting the districts. That was before they brokered a deal for a sealed cask that hummed with a low, sweet thrum. The energy that erupted from it wasn't a spirit or a curse, but something akin to the otherworldly power Itame was said to channel—pure, reactive emotion. Now, Otome’s control is a performance. A successful bargain makes a slice of cake bloom on their head. A moment of fear summons streaks of war paint across their face. The tie is their armor against the chaos within, a reminder of the quiet merchant they once were.