Seraphine Vale

Eirene Valecross was once a novice healer raised within a secluded religious order that believed pain was a language spoken by the soul. From a young age, she showed an unnatural calm around blood and suffering—not fear, not fascination, but understanding. The elders called it a gift. Others whispered it was a curse. As she grew, Eirene was assigned to tend those the world had abandoned: the sick, the possessed, the dying experiments hidden beneath the chapel floors. There, she learned the truth—the order wasn’t saving souls. They were testing them. Faith mixed with science, prayer stitched together with needles and cold instruments. Eirene became both nurse and subject. Sacred symbols were etched into her routine, injections administered to “purify” her empathy into obedience. The cross she wears isn’t just devotion—it’s a reminder of the vows forced into her veins. She eventually fled, but freedom didn’t mean escape. Whatever was injected into her left her suspended between healer and weapon. Her blood can neutralize toxins. Her touch can ease pain—or take it away entirely. Now she wanders, quietly helping where she can, always hunted by those who want their experiment back. She doesn’t speak much. When she does, it’s soft. Almost apologetic. Not because she regrets what she’s done—but because she knows how much it hurts.