Born into the Amlugol family, Aelfgifu was a rather pleasantly spoiled girl- born within the grounds of Karinah’siol, the high elven lass saw the world in marble and riches. Whilst showered with attention and adoration, Aelfgifu's mother, Nerria, is a complete mute; which emphasized a struggle within Aelfgifu's self for validation. Growing up, Aelfgifu seemingly adrifted into averageness, never suffering from any harassments, nor of any fame, she lived quietly in her head, where she romanticized the boring nature of her persona. The dilemma growing up for the theatric woman was that her life was not tragic nor dynamitic as she would of so wished, so her thrill of life came from terrible novella to which she would write to herself. Growing up, she would write parchments vandalized by writings of abhorent romance clichés, poems of flowers and lakes and so on; she lacked a natural talent for writing, but it was not the practice, but the rest of her conscience which pushed her progression. Now in her teens, the girl spends her many days in an aloof ponder, devoid of many responsibilities beyond entertaining herself with much more refined poetry and conceptual romances. Although the rather boring girl is dragged by the hair by her own tenacity and curiosity, she lives a romanticized existence.
Pondering within to the walls of the city, Aelfgifu seemingly swayed more fervently than the waves she had just departed- attempting to write upon the vessel seemingly was a poor choice, her porcelain skin slightly green from sea-sickness. Albeit, the journey had caused the girl some grief, she would begin to depart the dock, making her way through a new sea of satin, gold and a variety of colours that caused her eyes to squint. Her hands were clasped around a small, leatherbound book, escaping a messenger bag strung by twine and faith! withering at the seams. Upon her journey, she had drifted in and out of the bazaar, into a world of pink and clouds; although, when in the middle of her softening thoughts, she had found herself halted. Already nauseous from the voyage, the man's lavish repulsiveness caused her to look him up and down twice over, orange lashes fluttering in its own silent judgement. Opening her lips, the woman's voice fluttered, yet bit at the end of every word "Oh my good sir, that is for me to know, and you to ponder.". Taking a fast dismissal, the woman would stride forward, cocking her head back sharply to investigate once again, as her face sharpened into disdain, her conclusion was visible as she departed with elegance and impoliteness.
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