Sion Abinne

"I'll accept an apology for your accusation of miscalculation. No such hole in my plan exists."
An irritating grain of sand that refuses to be smoothed over, polished until it becomes of value. A mule that won't move forward, even when encouraged by a quick flick of a crop. Such metaphors are apt descriptors of Sion Abinne. A once-orphaned child, it seems years of etiquette training and gentle encouragement wasn't enough to fully mend years of aggression and ill behavior. Sion can surely act the part of a courteous, dignified lady - though if you were to ask any one of her four ex-husbands they'd all attest that she's a deeply, deeply unpleasant woman.

Appearance
Sion is a short-statured woman in her early thirties. She has dark hair flecked with streaks of gray & aging roots. Her face still seems youthful, sans a few wrinkles she has under her eyes. Despite how she may act, Sion is a lady. She'd never be seen in anything other than her luxurious, oftentimes impractical, gowns. Though the dresses she wears change, she'd never be seen without her fan & her adopted family's ring, practically glued to the middle finger of her right hand. More often than not that fan is fluttering in front of her mouth -- it seems she believes her crass, impolite words can be shoved back into her mouth with a polite gust of wind.

Backstory
Sion Abinne does not remember the name she was born with. She does not remember who she was with before she arrived at an orphanage somewhere outside Braintree. All she remembers is the orphanage, someone's hand in hers, the fog. She'd only seen it far away, out of the corner of her eye - and even then that was subjective, children see all sorts of things. Maybe it was a game, perhaps it wasn't real. But Sion was convinced that it had somehow travelled across the land and settled upon her memories. Before Sion Abinne was herself there was the fog.

When she inherited her name there was a new plague upon her. The family who'd taken her in was kind enough, eager to mold their child into a refined woman. But she had been raised in a gray building, running and fighting. She was not accustomed to sitting politely, holding her tongue. So they gave her a fan and told her it was magic, all she had to do was hold it in front of her face and nothing but kind words would pass through the delicately woven lace. They gave her a ring impressed with the family seal to wear on the middle finger of her right hand and told her that weight carried power, a reminder that her family was always with her, weighing on her. Sometimes at night she'd place it on her ring finger and admire the way it caught the light, the way it felt so right there. Sion would imagine she had a ring with her own crest on it, not one that had been forced upon her.

And then she had a failed marriage. Not once, but four times.

At her core, Sion is a deeply unpleasant woman. The fantasy of magic fans and rings that remind you of your duty - as a daughter, as a woman - only last so long. Magic does not exist, but illusions do. Sion Abinne can shroud herself in a thin layer of fog and create something that's appealing to look at, that holds her tongue. Sion Abinne is a deeply unpleasant woman.