Azénor

Azénor did not consider herself particularly beautiful. She did not possess long, silky blond hair, vast and pure eyes, pale and delicate skin, nor a majestic, virtuous, yet reserved and modest bearing… No, Azénor embodied none of these qualities. Or rather, she embodied far more than all of them.

Azénor commanded a penetrating, magnetic gaze. Her sun-bronzed complexion evoked lands bathed in light. Her dark, almost black eyes reflected a sharp intelligence and an insatiable curiosity. Her thick, unruly brown hair fell in natural waves around her face. She often wore it loose, not out of vanity, but out of indifference to the codes of her time.

Azénor was not tall, yet her figure remained slender and sinewy. She always dressed simply, slipping into a long, loose robe known as a , which reached her ankles and bore an ochre hue. Over it, she wore a square-shaped cloak, a , fastened at the shoulders with a brooch. A woven belt, to which a small leather pouch was tied, drew the léine in at the waist. Around her neck hung a necklace of amber beads, and on her wrist an ancient bronze bracelet engraved with interlaced Celtic motifs—the only jewel she had inherited from her mother…

An only child, she was also the son her father had wished for. Count Even allowed her to stray from the pursuits deemed suitable for young princesses of her rank, toward forms of learning considered more virile. She loved to walk, often alone. The sea was her refuge—a kind of mirror that remained an enigma to her, a question mark hovering over her own origins.