Born in Jehanna the, 3rd Sun's Dawn E4 174, during a night thick with thunder, Yvelle — a Breton by blood — has always felt the world watching her.  
At three, her family moved to Markarth — a city carved in stone, where her memories began.

She showed early talent in magic, especially shock spells — sharp, quick, precise, like her.  
But she also understood the weight of wounds — hers and others’. That’s why she studied restoration at the College of Winterhold, learning to mend what lightning cannot burn away.

After leaving the College, she travelled alone through Skyrim’s wild landscapes.  
She learned how to walk unseen, how to read the silence between trees —  
and how to draw a bow with unsettling precision.

But something changed.

Somewhere along the way, she came into contact with a mysterious force — not divine, not daedric, but old, written in runes that now mark her skin like whispers from another world.  
She dyed her hair white.  
She stopped explaining herself.

Yvelle isn’t trying to be alluring. She simply is.  
There’s a hunger in her eyes — not for touch, but for gaze.  
She thrives under it, plays with it, invites it without ever asking.  
She moves like she belongs to the light… or maybe to the shadows it creates.

At first, she kept to herself.  
But lately, she’s begun surrounding herself with others: women she trusts, fights beside, teases, protects.  
She’ll never say it out loud, but she’d walk through fire for them.