Profile of Sybil

She is bathed in a cloak the color of freshly fallen snow, the color crisp and pure as it drapes her hips and clings to her shoulders. But the purity of her pelt is tainted, stained with a color so dark you could get lost in its depths. A black mask paints her face, dripping down her throat and chest, splashing across her belly and the underside of her tail. Perhaps more striking than her contrasting pelt is her eyes. Lighter than the color of the sky, her eyes are a pale shade of blue. Though the color may be pale, it is no less vibrant.

She stands at an average 32 inches and weights a fit 120lbs. Tall and lean, she is built for speed and agility rather than brute strength. Her features are delicate, deceptively so, pulling you in with her full lips and easy smile. Light on her feet, she moves with an easy grace and a quiet confidence about her.

A pretty face is the only thing pretty about her. She comes across as indifferent, casually aloof and she holds no qualms about manuevering you like a chess piece. Once you've served your purpose, she moves you to the backburner, out of her way but not forgotten. Combined with her ambition, she is a force of nature, a dog with a bone. Until she has what she wants, she is unstoppable. Well trained and well educated, not much goes unnoticed beneath her keen gaze.

Her story is not a fairtale, it is full of despair. Abandoned at a young age, she was cast aside by those who were suppose to love her. She did was she needed to survive, stealing what she could to fill her belly and sneaking through the shadows in search of a safe place to sleep. It was dumb luck that another would stumble upon her skeletal frame, but it was careful manipulation that had him taking her in. Raised by a member of the Imperial Army, she endured a militaristic upbringing, one intent on making her a perfect soldier. Over the years, he forged her into exactly what he wanted, a carefully constructed weapon. But there was an undeniable wild streak in her, a part of her that wanted more. It wasn't until her benefactor didn't return one day that she was able to step from shadows.

Diligent, she worked hard to be the ideal soldier, to climb the ranks, to know that her name was spoken with respect. Nothing would completely exstinguish that itch, that urge to wonder if there was more to life than serving one wolf, one army. Such a thought was never ushered outloud. It would, however, send her down dark alleys, speak in whispers, deal in dark currency.

When you worked in the shadows, it was only a matter of time before the light would shine on your choices. Questionable circumstances would attempt to trip her up, they would taint her record and push her further into the world of crime. With a paw in each world, she rose each morning with two faces, one with trained stoicism, the other dangerously warm and inviting. Forever at war with each other, she stands at a fork in the road, a decision between the two halves of her. She works hard to keep appearances in both worlds, to serve herself and the crown, but surely it’s only a matter of time before one slips up.