One diminutive fey, standing no taller than the ankles of an average person, appears as frail and unassuming as they come. Pathetic to her very core, she lacks any talent or capability in the magical arts?a rarity and a near tragedy among her kind. Utterly helpless in every conceivable way, it seems her continued survival is owed to nothing more than sheer, inexplicable dumb luck.

Yet, despite her unfortunate stature and pitiful existence, there is an undeniable charm to her. One can't help but imagine the elegance and radiance she might have embodied had she been born with a more conventional size. Her delicate features carry the promise of classic fey beauty?refined, otherworldly, and captivating. Trapped in her ever-so-tiny frame, she remains a bittersweet paradox: a creature of stunning potential overshadowed by her almost laughably small and fragile form.

Whether you pity her, admire her, or simply find her plight amusing, she seemingly laps up any sort of bemused attention~


Beneath her sunny disposition and childlike wonder lies an unfortunate truth: the tiny fey has developed an almost comical dependence on alcohol. Whether it?s a thimble-sized mug of mead, a drop of wine poured into a flower petal, or the dregs left in an abandoned flask, she always finds a way to imbibe.