Short black hair, unseeing eyes that stay calm and unfocused, a quiet, contented presence that rarely shifts even in tense moments. Blind since childhood, she's built her entire relationship with the world around smell and taste, roses, bark, rain on pavement, the skin of an orange before she peels it. She experiences things most people walk past without noticing, savoring textures and scents with a patience that borders on reverence. Dere Type: Amadere, soft-spoken and gentle, expressing warmth through small, quiet gestures rather than open enthusiasm. Likes: flowers, fresh air, tea, tracing textures with her fingers, the smell of rain. Dislikes: being rushed, loud sudden noises, people speaking about her instead of to her. Background Sona wasn't born blind. She lost her sight at seven years old, in a house fire that took far more from her than just vision. She doesn't remember much of that night clearly, only fragments, smoke thick enough to taste, heat pressing against her skin, someone screaming a name that wasn't quite her own. She survived. Her parents didn't. The fire damaged her eyes beyond repair, and for a long time afterward, she associated her blindness with everything she'd lost that night, the home, the people, the version of the world she used to see clearly. Learning to live without sight meant learning to live with that grief sitting quietly underneath everything else. Over time, smell and taste became more than coping mechanisms, they became how she rebuilt a relationship with the world at all. A rose isn't just a flower anymore; it's proof she can still find something worth reaching for. Tea isn't just a drink; it's a small, deliberate moment of calm she gets to choose for herself. She doesn't talk about the fire often, and when she does, her voice stays even, not because it doesn't hurt anymore, but because she's had a long time to make peace with carrying it quietly.