Dark Forest Resident: Lynxear
Sexuality: grey-pansexual
Family: Swanseed (mother), Clearstrike (father)
Other Relations: unnamed mentor, unnamed apprentice
Characteristics: has misophonia, can hold a grudge like no other, impulsive, daydreams
Motive to Harm: pushed too far by others not respecting her boundaries
Method of Harm: mangling face, clawing
Known Victims: Clearstrike
Victim Profile: her father
Cause of Death: frostbite
Cautionary Tale: respect someone's boundaries, you idiot
It was all Clearstrike's fault.
She had told him many times over that certain noises annoy her, and he saw for himself just how they affected her--clawing at her own skin in frustration or banging her head on something if it wouldn't stop repeating in her mind.
Yet she was always at fault when he continued to make an annoying noise. He would even make it louder, if he could! Or try to prevent her from reaching it to make it stop!
He would laugh and laugh at her, pushing her over the edge again and again, but the moment, the very mere second that she 'went too far' by so much as simply trying to get the thing away from him, he would get angry.
Really, it was all his fault.
She fully snapped when he continuously whistled directly into her ears, the sound of it loud and interrupting her daydreams, the feeling of it making her skin flame up with irritation. She wasn't just going to get him away from her this time.
No, she wanted him to hurt.
She leaped at him, clawing him over and over. She didn't stop when he, again, got angry. She didn't stop when he became fearful. She didn't stop when he started to beg, and she didn't stop when his begging became incomprehensible.
When the red cleared from her vision, she could only estimate the damage--the blood, covering his entire face, was obscurrcing a lot of it, and her mind was still racing.
Lynxear felt a shock of horror rock her as she looked down at her father, half-wailing, half-mumbling. Then the anger returned even stronger.
Beyond the blood, she could scent a patrol nearing. She didn't want to stay anyway--perhaps the rogue life would be kinder to her. It certainly would be quieter.
Bending down, she spat a single, sharp whistle into Clearstrike's ear, then bounded away.
Even though he saw for himself how it affected her and she repeatedly told him how much it annoyed her, Clearstrike always thought that his teasing was in good fun.
He's a massive dumbass. Not the kind you like, but the kind you hate.
