( priscila quintanta / female/ she&her ) — ROMY BLUE THORNE has been living in Port Leiry for 25 YEARS. They currently work as a WAITRESS AT DOUGHFELLAS AND PART TIME STUDENT, and are TWENTY-SEVEN years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a HUMAN. They tend to be quite IMPULSIVE and STUBBORN, but can also be LOYAL and HONEST.
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Name: Romy Blue Thorne Occupation: Waitress at Doughfellas & Part-Time College Student Age & Birthday: Twenty-Seven | December 15th, 1998 Sexuality: Heterosexual Species: Human Hometown: Port Leiry Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits: Romy is a quietly intense, emotionally guarded soul who feels deeply but shows little, loyal to a fault, creatively driven, and drawn to the shadows—an observer of the world who carries her storms in silence.
TW: Death / Murder / Child Abduction
Romy Blue Thorne was born in Washington, though her memories of it are stitched together more from dreams than reality. When she was only two, her world shattered in a way most children are lucky never to experience. Her parents were killed in a violent, unexplained incident, and her older brother—only six at the time—vanished without a trace. Authorities called it a break-in gone wrong, but the truth never sat right with anyone, least of all Romy. The only memories she carries are more like impressions: screaming, shifting shadows, a cold presence that didn’t belong, and blood—so much blood. She’s never known for sure what was real and what her young mind created to survive.
After that night, Romy was taken in by her mother’s sister and raised in Port Leiry, a place where the fog never quite lifts and secrets sleep under the surface. Her aunt, a single mother and overworked nurse, raised Romy alongside her own son—a boy close in age to Romy’s missing brother. The two became inseparable, bonded by blood, shared grief, and the kind of unspoken loyalty that can only be built through survival. Romy grew up fast, stepping in wherever she could to help. By the time she was old enough to work, she was juggling jobs, school, and responsibilities most teens weren’t thinking about.
Now 27, Romy is a part-time college student and full-time realist. She still works to help support her aunt, despite having long outgrown the need to. Some habits never leave you. She’s fiercely independent but not unkind, though her patience wears thin with weakness—mostly because she knows she’ll always be the one who steps in. She keeps to herself, not out of shyness, but out of preservation. People call her mysterious, but Romy just doesn’t believe in wasting energy on people who won’t matter in the long run. She finds her release through sketching, reading, and music, each a safe space to put the things she doesn’t have the words for.
There’s always been something about Romy that feels slightly out of step with the world around her. It’s in the way she notices things other people don’t, the way she walks down certain streets and feels watched, or how she wakes from dreams that feel like memories. If the supernatural world ever revealed itself to her, it wouldn’t shatter her reality—it would explain it. It might even bring answers about her family, her brother, and the eerie patterns that have followed her all her life. Romy knows one thing for sure: every answer leads to more questions, and she’s no stranger to chasing ghosts.
More:
Romy always wears that old ring. To most, it's just a pretty heirloom, something sentimental. Her aunt gave it to her when she was a teenager, saying only, "This belonged to your mother. Don't ever take it off." Romy never questioned it. The ring felt like a piece of her mom she could keep close, a quiet legacy resting on her finger. What she doesn’t know is that the ring is more than just sentimental—it’s a verbena charm, an ancient protective talisman passed down through generations of her family. Woven with quiet power, it shields her from supernatural influences and wards off magic meant to harm or manipulate. The women in her family have always worn different charms in silence, never revealing their true purpose, only trusting the next generation to guard it with care.
Romy still carries the weight of that night—the blood, the screams, and her mother’s frantic voice urging her to hide, to stay quiet, to stay safe. The terror of that moment never truly leaves her, lingering in the depths of her nightmares. Sometimes, it’s so vivid it jolts her awake, her body trembling as she screams, cries, or gasps for air, the crushing weight of the memories pressing down on her chest. Other nights, the nightmares tear through her so violently that she wakes in a cold sweat, her lungs tight and fighting for breath, as though the darkness itself is suffocating her. There’s no end to it—only the endless loop of fear, grief, and haunting questions that swirl in her mind, trapping her in the same nightmare she can never escape. It’s a cycle that keeps her awake, always on edge, never fully free.
Because of the trauma from that night, Romy can’t handle seeing much blood—it’s a trigger she can’t avoid. A small cut or scrape is fine, but any excessive amount sends her into a spiral of panic. The sight of blood, especially in large quantities, floods her mind with memories she desperately tries to suppress: the blood, the screams, her mother’s voice. It all comes rushing back in a tidal wave, and before she knows it, her heart is racing, her chest tightening, and she’s fighting to keep herself grounded. This is one of the reasons she avoids the color red as much as possible—it’s not just a color to her, it’s a reminder of that night, of the blood she witnessed, of the terror she can’t forget. Even a touch of red in her life feels like a threat, so she keeps it at arm’s length, finding solace in muted tones and avoiding anything that might bring back memories she’d rather leave buried.
Romy has an undeniable love for animals, big or small, furry or hairless—if it has a heartbeat, it captures her heart. There’s something about the way animals can show affection without expectations that makes her melt every time. Whether it’s a stray cat wandering through her yard or a friendly dog she meets on her walks, Romy can’t help herself; she’s down on the ground, cooing and reaching out to pet it, her worries forgotten in an instant. She’s the person who will stop mid-step to kneel down and offer a quiet hand to a curious animal, instantly forming a connection. It’s not just the animals themselves, though, it’s the peace she feels when she’s surrounded by nature. She loves being in the quiet solitude of the outdoors, away from the noise of the world, with only the soft rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds in the air. Nature feels like a refuge to her, a place where the chaos of her mind can slow down, and for a little while, she can just exist in the simplicity of the moment. It’s where she feels the most at home.















