If there is one thing Elysia remembers about her life outside of the UnderHaven, it's running. A faint impression of never quite staying in one place for very long, unable to form meaningful relationships with others. Memories that stem from ugly old habits she wears like a second skin. A sense of wrongness, mornings spent staring at her reflection with unease, like the face she wears is not her own.. A restlessness, an itch burrowed beneath her skin, the discomfort of lingering in one place where others could see her. Turning to address someone who is no longer there.

To Elysia, the only thing that felt right was the pact to her patron, the beautiful Archfey Regalia. The only fragment of her past she still knew for certain existed, aside from her knowledge of magic and runes.

But Elysia spent more than enough time in the UnderHaven to feel as if she had properly carved her own place there, despite not being born there. She had been barely of adventuring age first stumbling in the city, and while her memories faded fast, it still took her years to stop jumping at shadows. The one relief was having both the funds and the means to garner more to secure her a home for a while. Enough that she had plenty of time to devote to her studies of runes, never satisfied with the meager knowledge she started with. Enough time holed up in her humble home to befriend the only person who stopped by her home- the city's mailman.

He was the only company Elysia kept for years, her ventures into society kept as brief as possible. She wasn't the type to like socializing with others, she abhorred it, talking. It was a reminder of that odd dissonance within herself, of ill-fit flesh. It was the precious gift of Lloyan's chaulkboard that encouraged Elysia to start lingering around people, outside her home. It was there she met a knight as silent as she. Someone Elysia found herself quickly enamored with, as someone who could understand her. It was all too easy for that excitement to lead her into insisting in teaching this Rusted Knight to write in languages he did not know, if only to share the joy Lloyan gave her with his beloved gift. Now her days consist of written conversations with the two Elysia would dare call friends, if not mostly spent in her home and makeshift workshop, where she carves runes into items and weaponry to sell- one has to make a living somehow.

It is a private, humble enough life, one.. almost enough to allow Elysia to forget of the gaping wound of missing memories, a life that insists in haunting her no matter how quickly she tries to run away from it. Always running, never able to hide for long.