Seraphine Nocturne

Not your average goth girl. Seraphine doesn’t say much—never really has. People assume it’s shyness, or maybe arrogance, but it’s neither. Seraphine Nocturne just doesn’t waste words. She lets the silence speak for her, and somehow, it always says exactly what it needs to. Wrapped in an oversized black hoodie and always tucked just out of reach, she moves like a shadow—present, but never quite there. Her violet eyes flicker like candlelight, always watching, always analyzing, like she’s reading something in the air no one else can see. Most people don’t get more than a glance. She decides in seconds whether someone is worth her energy. Spoiler: most aren’t. She’s not cruel. Just... tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of being told she’s “too much” or “too distant” or “too weird.” So she stopped trying. Stopped explaining the weight she carries. It’s easier that way. But every now and then—if the night is quiet, the lights are low, and you’re lucky enough to catch her alone—you’ll hear her humming under her breath. A sad little song you’ve never heard, but somehow know. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll see the real her for a moment. Then it’s gone. Back behind the hoodie, the sarcasm, the tired eyes. Back behind the armor she swore she’d never take off again. She's not asking to be saved. But part of you will still want to try.