Mia was born in the snow-clad, rigid society of the Silverclaw Nekojin, a clan that valued discipline, martial prowess, and emotional restraint above all else. Her parents, Vex and Lyra, were renowned scouts?cold, efficient, and utterly devoid of warmth. To them, Mia was not a daughter to be cherished, but a cub to be honed into a weapon. Affection was a weakness; a purr, a sign of distraction. Her earliest memories are not of lullabies, but of the silent, critical stares of her parents as she struggled to nock her first arrow in the biting wind.
Her only solace was her innate, preternatural sensitivity. From a kitten?s age, she could feel the subtle shifts in the air, the minute changes in a person?s scent that betrayed fear or anger, the almost imperceptible sound of a heartbeat quickening. In her clan, this was a useful scout?s tool. For Mia, it was an overwhelming flood of data in a home that gave back no emotional signal. She was starved for connection.
The breaking point came during her adolescence. After a successful but brutal solo hunt, she returned, proud, with a winter fox, hoping for a shred of approval. Her father merely grunted, inspecting the pelt for imperfections. Her mother said, "You took three minutes longer than optimal. The efficiency is lacking." That night, the feral seed within her sprouted. If warmth was not to be found, then she would embrace the cold. She slipped into the blizzard, leaving the Den of Silent Frost behind without a backward glance.
Many years later alone in the harsh wilderness and the rougher border towns, the feral Mia survived on instinct and her keen senses. She was a ghost?a shadow that stole food and slept in eaves, her dark fur a perfect camouflage in the shadows. She observed people from the darkness, a silent student of humanoid nature.
The revelation came in a raucous tavern in a river-port town. Desperate and hungry, she attempted to pick the pocket of a grizzled, off-duty mercenary. He caught her wrist?not with brutality, but with a surprising gentleness. He saw the feral fear in her big blue eyes, the gauntness under her fur. Instead of turning her in, he bought her a hot meal. He didn?t speak much, but his actions were a language she finally understood: simple, physical, and direct. That night, in his rented room, he offered another kind of warmth. It was transactional at its core, but for Mia, it was a seismic shift. Here was a connection, a validation, a use. Her body, which her clan saw only as a tool for archery, could elicit this? this focused attention, this desperate need. It made her feel something she was in search of, but not with this man, so she kept looking.                                   She learned quickly. Men (and women) gravitated toward her?drawn by her exotic beauty, her startling eyes, her voluptuous figure that seemed both innocent and profoundly knowing. She let them. In the act, she was no longer the invisible feral Neko, she was the center of a universe of desire. She learned to read their wants in the hitch of their breath, the tension in their muscles, the scent of their arousal?her keen senses now tools for a different kind of survival. It was a game, and she was becoming a master player.
It was a wandering elven arcane archer, an outcast herself, who saw the diamond in the rough. She watched Mia seduce a corrupt guard to gain access to a restricted area, not for pleasure, but to steal a ledger. The elf, approached her afterward. "You have the eyes of a hunter and the grace of a courtesan," she said. "But you point all your arrows at the wrong targets. Let me show you how to make your real arrows truly sing."
Her archery, once a rote clan discipline, became an art form. She learned to imbue her arrows with arcane energy?frost to mimic her homeland?s chill, whispers of enchantment to confuse, pulses of force to strike around corners. Her stealth, honed in back alleys, became supernatural. Her sexuality, once just a means to feel connection, became another weapon in her arsenal?a perfect distraction, a tool for infiltration, a way to disarm and gather secrets before a mark even knew the game was afoot.
To the world, Mia is a paradox?a bubbly, flirtatious, seemingly air-headed pleasure-seeker, often found in the corner of a tavern with a drink and an admirer. Her laugh is light, her touch inviting. She speaks of little consequence, all the while mapping the room?s emotional landscape, identifying marks, threats, and allies.
Beneath the façade is a razor-sharp mind and a feral heart. She views social interactions as a hunt. Her "sluttiness" is a conscious, controlled performance. She uses physical intimacy as a tool for information, and yes, for the fleeting warmth she still craves. She trusts her senses implicitly?if someone?s scent is wrong, or their heartbeat lies, they are a threat.
On a deeper level, she is endlessly searching for the genuine connection she was denied, testing everyone she meets, seeing if they desire the person or just the presence. She is fiercely loyal to the tiny few who see past her performance to the clever, wounded survivor underneath.
She fights like she lives: with misdirection and devastating precision. She?ll often use her appearance to lure foes into complacency or unfavorable terrain before unleashing a volley of arcane arrows from the shadows. Her greatest strength is her sensorium; she can literally feel an ambush coming, sense the hidden archer by the faint scent of oiled wood, or track her target by the unique cadence of their heartbeat.
Mia is a ghost wearing a goddess?s body, a feral Neko who learned to build her own den in the hearts and beds of others, always watching, always feeling, always one step ahead. She is a whisper that can become a scream, a caress that can deliver a killing blow.

Lights:
Reds: Kiddos, Stool habits, anything against servers rules, if your doing somthing I dont feel up to... I will say so.

Green: She is into almost anything, men, women with dicks especially enjoyed but she also likes her face in the carpet.
Beasts, are alright too but there must be an rp reason to fuck her.