𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

thank you for allowing me to take up space (again) ☁️ it's 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏! and meet 𝑺𝑶𝑵𝑮 𝑵𝑨𝑰𝑴𝑬𝑰, a girl who was raised to be perfect but never wanted to be. she's a beauty queen with a sharp tongue, a high-class socialite with an underground edge. she's got money, she's got charm, she's got a plushie collection. like this post to start a conversation! This is also @hdriyan's mun 𓃠

The red carpet of the Seoul Met Gala was a sea of blinding lights and the aggressive thwack-thwack-thwack of a hundred shutters firing in unison. It was definitely sensory overload, but Naimei stood tall, her spine a rigid line of practiced composure that made the jewelry pressing against her collarbone feel like a cold hand on her neck. Next to her stood Nayoung. Nayoung, who had vanished into the quiet for months, only to reappear exactly when the spotlight was at its brightest, looking as though the hiatus had been a spa retreat rather than a disappearance. To the cameras, they were picture perfect of 5th Gen standard, the Nation's Little Sisters. But the fact still stood that Nayoung had been gone, tucked away in the quiet, while Naimei and the others were drilling 16-bar dance breaks until their knees turned the color of overripe plums.

The lake bates its breath. Lantern-light fractures into a thousand quiet moons, each one bowing where she stands, white upon water. Xue-lan's voice transcends through the mist, a thread at first, then drawn taut between heaven and earth. She sings them an old song — of frost, of a woman who swallowed the moon and forgot the sun — and the court, eager and gilded, hears only what it has come to hear: purity. Harmony. Her voice falls like fine snow over lacquered smiles, and whispers bloom into praise. This is beauty, they think. This is stillness.

But stillness is a discipline, not a truth. One note bends (barely) and the night, faithless, petty thing, answers her wrong. A string trembles. A pulse missteps. She hears it all, every fracture dressed as music, and beneath it something older listens back, familiar as a shadow of a stranger at night. She gathers it, the flaw, the falter, the almost, and cups it neatly into herself. Her voice smooths the world. The water stills. The illusion does not break and applause soon follows, restrained and glittering, admiration paraded as diplomacy. Above it all, she remains offered, never given.

"A-Ma, please," Naimei, sharp, and weary, held the phone with a manicured grip that suggested she was born to hold a scepter. The heater in the back of the Maybach hummed, but it couldn't touch the chill settling in Naimei's marrow. She adjusted the collar of her vintage fur; inherited from a Shanghai socialite in the 1940s or something.

"Naimei, don't use business school terms to mask a lapse in judgment," her mother's voice dripped with that high-society disdain everyone 'loved.' "If you want a band, your father will buy you a studio in London. You don't need to share a practice room with boys." Naimei's remained eyes fixed on the silver-stamped folder on her lap. She thought of Lee Seung-ho's gaze during the briefing (dissecting the room’s ROI) and Takada Miru, whose quiet elegance always reminded Naimei of the girls she'd grown up with at boarding school.

[ ARCHIVE 1805 ] LOCATION: Hanyang, Korea | Sub-Level Pulleys STATUS: Submerged in Politics

🍃 SECTION I — Identity

Name: Bai Xue-Lan (白雪蘭), White Snow Orchid

Clan: House of Moon. Daughter of the Imperial Priesthood; you are a "Living Relic" from the forbidden peaks of the Qing Empire.

The Reputation: Rumor has it that your mother, a High Priestess, fed you crushed pearls and glacial water to keep your heart from stopping. She fears you are a harbinger of a long winter and kept your youth sequestered with 7 (Buddhist) nuns.

🦋 SECTION II — Aura

Color: Like a moon-rise. An absent glow to the untrained eye. A terrifying white of a mourning shroud or a sudden fog on a mountain pass.

Trigger: Your mother told you that in your previous life, you lived to sing, and write poetry. Now, when a gayageum string snaps or a singer goes off pitch, your "stillness" cracks.

The Interpretation: The Matchmakers believe your white aura signifies absolute purity, the ultimate "harmony" for a high-ranking nobleman. But it's not that you are pure, is it? You are so terrified of your own aura that you have become winter.

🌷 SECTION III — The Heart

Arrangement: You have been offered as a spiritual match for the King's youngest brother to stabilize the border. You are searching for a way to break the engagement without starting a war.

Memory: You remember the smell of ozone before a stage lift rises. You remember the feeling of heavy bass vibrating in your marrow, a sensation you try to replicate by standing too close to the ceremonial drums of the Pavilion.

FT. @hdmiru

naimei almost misses her.

she's half on her phone, half drifting, when something familiar pulls at her attention - not loud, not flashy, just steady. she looks up and blinks once.

oh.

miru.

she slows without really thinking about it, phone slipping into her pocket as she turns. miru's a few steps away, dressed low-key, posture straight like she's always got somewhere to be even if she doesn't. she looks calm. grounded. like the kind of person who notices everything but doesn’t feel the need to announce it.

naimei smiles, small and surprised. "hey," she says, a little lighter than usual. "this is… not where i expected to see you."

she shifts her weight, glancing around briefly, then back to miru - like she's making sure she's not imagining things. there's a beat where she just looks at her, curiosity plain instead of sharp.

"are you on your way somewhere, or did we just accidentally pick the same spot at the same time?"

her head tilts, expression easy, open.

FT. @hdseungho

naimara is late. she's always late. but seungho is the kind of demon who can wait through centuries and still look annoyed when you're five minutes behind, so the more she stalls, of course. the old warehouse is exactly where he said it would be. rotting, windows like missing teeth. she pushes the door open with two fingers, casual as a black cat. "wow," she calls into the dark, "you look great for a creature who prefers to haunt oligarch boardrooms." his white eye burns through the dim. no pupils, no warmth, just that bleached gaze she remembers too vividly.

she’d seen those eyes before. barely thirteen, barefoot on carpet too soft for their income bracket at the time. her magic still dormant, her senses soft, malleable and human, yet she'd felt her skull crack inside when he turned toward her. his skull-like face wasn’t hidden then, no glamour to spare her. her father's own voice had trembled behind closed doors. and after that visit… the family fortune grew teeth.

she shakes off the memory like dust. tonight isn't about the past.

FT. @hdmiru & @hdminah

naimara's laugh shatters it wide open, wild above gangnam's neon pulse. the moon hangs low enough to taste, a sugar pearl stuck between the city's teeth, and she's upside down on her broom again, hair streaming like a comet, eyes full of trouble. the traffic below looks like a thousand sleeping dragons in red and gold; she tips her broom so close to the rooftops that the tip of her boot kisses a billboard for bubble tea. "come on, slowpokes!" she yells, splitting the clouds. "what's the point of being witches if you're scared of a little turbulence?"

she flips [actually flips] one leg hooked around the broom, the other kicking free, sparks trailing from her heel as if the night itself were clapping. a startled pigeon bursts past, squawking like a chorus line. somewhere behind her, she can hear mirai and minae close behind her and that means she's absolutely going to try again.

🪞 SECTION I — Identity Name: songwen naimara (宋文耐玛拉) Age: 21 Species: shadow blooded witch House Affiliation: 🌒 THIRD EYE Role: student (+ fashion consultant, broom-racing champion, curfew violator) Background: naimara was born on the first spring storm of the year, thunder and temple bells overlapping. her mother called it "an omen of drama." the monks called it "a reopening of an old contract." she grew up between two worlds: incense and iphones, temple scrolls and trending sounds. her family ran a shrine that doubled as a teahouse, mortal tourists came for matcha, but those who could see came for blessings. naimara learned to swipe cards with one hand and trace sigils with the other. by the time she was 13, she could charm vending machines into giving free drinks and call breezes through city streets to make her commute faster. the letter from hyde academy arrived folded into a paper crane that flew in through her window during a thunderstorm. it landed on her laptop keyboard and spoke: "the winds remember you. come home, child." she packed before dawn.

🕯️ SECTION II — Aura & Style

Aesthetic / Monster Fit: a storm dressed in couture. naimara's magic manifests as ribbons of silver wind and glimmering motes of dust, twisting through her black hair like restless ghosts and spirits. she wears talisman-thread chokers and glossy black boots that click like metronomes. her broom (affectionately nicknamed cyclone) is enchanted with navigation charms, a spotify playlist, and an emergency espresso shot spell. her power isn't quiet. her spells arrive in gusts, her laughter flutters curtains, her presence hums like a hairdryer in the dark.

Powers & Weakness:

Power of Air: command over atmosphere, breath, whispers, life. she can fly, levitate, disperse toxins, she's telepathic and can bend sound waves.

Parrot Tongue: by breathing in someone's words, she can repeat them in any voice; useful for gossip between girl friends and to annoy harpies.

Wind Veil: a defense charm that renders her nearly invisible in motion.

Weaknesses: unstable emotional barometer, her mood writes the weather. the air listens to her too closely; when she panics, storms bloom. and she is allergic to stillness and boring, useless people.

Personality Shift: idol naimei was this composed, sculpted, shining trophy. witch naimara is a different creature, a manic pixie banshee with daddy issues. her laughter cuts; she is all movement, defiance, indulgence. harley quinn in a hanbok. she loves recklessly, fights beautifully, and cries so hard the lights flicker.

Motivation: she says she's here "for higher education and low-stakes dating pool," but beneath the wit is just a confused girl. she has a longing to understand why she was chosen to bear her family's legacy. some nights, when the storms whisper her name in ancient tongues, she feels the ache of duty, to protect her family, her coven, and to rewrite the stories that erased her history.

🌫️ SECTION III — Origins

every witch has a myth buried in her veins. hers is older than ink.

in the famous chronicles of HUA MULAN, there was said to be a companion (unnamed, unseen) who conjured storms on the northern plains, masking the army's retreat in fog. she was a wind-witch, born of a mountain temple and promised to air sprites. history forgot her. the empire erased her name, branding her an "unnatural phenomenon." but spirits have long memories. the 'wind general' (a sentient gust born from a dragon's last breath) carried the companion's soul through centuries, nesting it in the bodies of her descendants, waiting for one bold enough to reclaim it.

naimara was one of those in her line to remember, along with her grandmother and aunt. as a child, she dreamt of armor and battlefields, of riding through clouds beside a woman with a sword and hair like nightfall. when she asked her grandmother, the old crone only smiled: "our ancestor was not the warrior. she was the wind that carried her." now, between lectures and broom races, naimara writes essays on the importance of lost heroines and politics of historical erasure.

🕸️ SECTION IV — Arcane Mark

she joined a coven! the gaggle of five bear a mark, a sigil that binds their magic. naimara's mark spreads across her back in silver-white when she casts: a stylized swirl resembling both a typhoon and a chrysanthemum. in chinese folklore, it's called the seal of breath. when she releases too much energy, it glows through her clothes, an unintentional light show, really. she claims it's "a feature, not a bug." the mark also links her to her coven; five girls, each with a talisman representing an element and a shared transformation oath. naimara talisman is an agate pendant shaped like a feather, worn at her throat. it vibrates when her sisters are in danger, humming like windchimes before a storm.

🪄 SECTION V — Familiar

Name: yun (雲, "cloud") Form: a tiny dragon, no bigger than a teacup yorkshire, with pearly green scales that shimmer like mist. he's wingsless, folding neatly like a snake when he curls into a nap. eyes like thunderheads gleam, and his tail flickers into vapor whenever he gets excited or playful. yun once served hua mulan and the companion in the old dynasties, carrying messages and whispers of storms through battlefields. now, he lounges atop naimara's spellbooks, demanding bubble tea pearls and sunbeams. yun can speak human tongue, but prefers to communicate in soft chirps, puffs of smoke, and miniature lightning sparks that trace patterns in the air. sometimes he even texts naimara memes by tapping enchanted runes on her phone. the little guy has a wicked sense of humor. when her magic spins out of control, the tiny dragon flutters to her wrist, nips gently, and leaves faint spiral-shaped burnishes, reminders to breathe, center herself, and laugh at the chaos she can summon.

✨ SECTION VI — Transformation Sequence

when the coven transforms, naimara feels like she can finally exhale. the world holds its breath. air thickens around her, lifting strands of her hair as feathers unfurl from the ends. her pendant shatters into light, reforming into a glowing halo that spins like a turbine. the ground cracks beneath her as wind glyphs ignite in a circle. mandarin, hangul, kanji, thai script swirling together, forming the spell of unity. then the gust explodes upward, wrapping her in ribbons of translucent silk that coil into armor, colored bodice, storm-blue gloves, boots that spark like static, and fae wings. the final touch: her hair grows to waist-length. when she joins the others (fire, water, earth, quintessence [spirit], their combined light forms a sigil in the sky: 五魂一心, five souls, one heart.

to mortals, it looks like aurora. to witches, it's a warning.

🕷️ SECTION VII — The Blackout Effect

Do they remember the original HYDE? Or believe they’ve always lived here? Any glitch-visions / lingering memories? her memories are fractured, buried. naimara believes she's always been a hyde student, though sometimes she hears echoes; applause, cameras flashing, a melody, "you got me looking for attention~," she hums without knowing the words. in her dreams, she stands on a stage, wind machines blasting her hair, the same way she controls storms now. sometimes, her reflection glitches, in one mirror she's in her supernatural uniform, in another she's wearing hyper-stylized outfits for popstars. once, during a satanic ritual (don't ask; partying with witches from the west is WILD), she found a concert ticket stub folded inside her grimoire. the date read a year before she was born.

A rumor whispered about them in the dorms if you wake up at 3:33 AM and your window is open, you'll hear her broom outside, circling the dorms. some say she's patrolling for trouble. others say she's looking for her lost melody, the song that can break the reincarnation loop.

🌒 SECTION VIII — Lore Notes

The Eastern Star Coven: HYDE academy is allied with a central coven of east asian witches called, "church of twilight." naimara's branch focuses on preserving forgotten dark mythologies through magic and art. they host an annual festival where spells are disguised as k-pop acts.

Modern Tech & Witchcraft: naimara runs a broom-maintenance app called RIDE THE WIND. it syncs with weather APIs for optimal flight paths. she also codes protection charms into QR codes, scan one and your DMs become ghost-proof.

Academy Reputations: professors describe her as "a walking hazard, but academically perfect." students call her the typhoon in heels.

Her Coven of Five: (disclaimer because i followed the w.i.t.c.h. lore and spun the elemental roles at random for those who said they're interested, but please switch them up however you want and i'll edit accordingly)

@hdnaimei — AIR

@hdminah — FIRE (always singed)

@hdnayoung — WATER (passive-aggressive mermaid energy)

SPOT OPEN — EARTH (tattoos herbs into her skin)

@hdmiru — QUINTESSENCE (can talk to electronic objects)

yogether, they protect the barrier between hyde and the mortal world, sometimes through ritual, sometimes through performance art.

Personal Motto: "history forgot me once. i intend to be unforgettable."

Fun Fact, Actually Really, Really Sad Fact: she once accidentally summoned a minor wind god during finals. it graded her essay, left comments in calligraphy, and gave her an a-minus. she refuses to talk about it.