Tout va bien. Tout va bien. Respirez.
Même comme Amélie répétait le mantra à elle-même, elle savait qu'il fonctionnait aussi bien que d'habitude – ce qui était à dire, pas du tout. Elle était perchée sur la couverture de feuilles molles dans le parc de Primas, enveloppée dans les plumes blanches molles d'une colombe. L'inconvénient des formes plus petites, cependant, était l'un des changements biologiques plus profonds – son rythme cardiaque était intrinsèquement plus rapide. Pas vraiment utile quand on essaie de se calmer.
La jeune Coréenne a tourné son attention vers l'intérieur, les yeux d'oiseaux jaunes glissent fermés et les plumes s'installent. Elle s'est concentrée sur ses battements cardiaques, respirant profondément et la laissant sortir deux fois plus lentement. Elle n'avait eu que peu de mois pour s'adapter à être dans le monde extérieur, donc elle a dû s'en tenir aux tactiques les plus basiques pour se calmer. De quelques centaines de battements par minute, son pouls se calmait lentement de trois cents, à deux cents, pour finalement un calme de cent bpm.
Amélie a ouvert les yeux, les ailes ayant fondu dans les bras, les plumes s'aplatissant dans une peau humaine lisse. Pour pas la première fois, elle était infiniment reconnaissante que ses vêtements semblaient se déplacer avec elle chaque fois qu'elle changeait de forme. Debout, elle s'est dépoussiérée et a levé le sac qu'elle avait utilisé comme nid quelques minutes plus tôt sur son épaule. Elle ne pouvait plus se cacher. Tôt ou tard, soit elle entre dans Primas elle-même, soit ils l'entraînent, soit elle en est sûre. Autant entrer sur ses deux pieds. Elle a juste essayé de vider son cerveau de n'importe quoi, sauf la carte qu'elle avait essayé de mémoriser, de garder la tête baissée et de marcher en avant. Bien sûr, elle ne comptait pas que la salle commune soit pleine quand elle est arrivée.
"Oh," elle s'est évanouie, surprise et embarrassée qu'elle ait été surprise. La première chose qu'elle avait remarquée était que plusieurs personnes se tenaient autour de la pièce; la seconde était que tout le monde était si grand. Elle-même est entrée un peu moins de cinq pieds; si elle allait être naine partout où elle allait, les choses allaient être encore plus difficiles. Les autres semblaient se présenter ; Amélie elle-même glissa dans le dos, pendant autour d'un des canapés et embrayant son sac. Si quelqu'un lui demandait, elle lui donnerait son nom, mais elle ne parlerait pas de ses pouvoirs avec des étrangers.
NAME—
Amelie Ki Song
AGE—
20
GENDER—
Female
APPEARANCE—

PERSONALITY—
Amelie has been called birdlike more than once—small, soft, and eager to stay away from any trouble, awakening protective instincts in just about anyone. She's almost painfully shy, stemming from a genuine fear of other people—in large crowds, she can become almost nonverbal, choosing to sign or mime instead. It takes a lot of work to get to her clever, compassionate, fiercely protective core, but once her considerable defenses are down she'll support her friends, subtly but totally. Her loyalties aren't unconditional, but those bonds she does have are very strong. Understandably, she suffers from PTSD and an anxiety disorder, both from being a child soldier on the front lines, and what came after.
She wasn't like this before the war and her subsequent experiences. She was always outgoing, loud even, joking with friends and charming strangers. Any who knew her before would be shocked at the change after almost a decade. Deep, deep down though, there's a seed of rage and bitterness festering, held down for the moment by fear and self-distrust.
HISTORY—
For some of the heroes of the War, the transition from child soldier to civilian was difficult—sometimes, impossible. Amelie never got the chance to try. She was one of the youngest fighters in the War, still in her pre-teens when conflict first erupted, and lost her immediate family to the ashes—convenient, that no one questioned where she'd gone when she disappeared.
Being a lab rat was an excruciating process, one she tries not to dwell on and never speaks of, even if to this day she insists the scientists were just trying to do their jobs. Most of the time spent in the facility was in isolation—her keepers were worried about her impersonating one of them and escaping, so they largely kept her in solitary, only bringing her out to perform some test or another. This treatment contributed to her quietness today, and her fear of sudden noises—the slam of her cell door opening without warning still haunts her nightmares.
She doesn't entirely remember leaving the facility, or the circumstances of her departure—she thinks she remembers fires blazing and alarms wailing, but that could just be a fever dream. She seems sure that one of the small needle scars on her arms hides a tracker, and lives in fear that those who used her before will one day come to take her back for more tests. A Primas official approached her in the scant weeks after she gained her freedom when she was still homeless on the streets, and although she has little trust for any kind of authority these days, she had little other choice.
ABILITIES—
Amelie is a powerful shapeshifter—or, she would be powerful, if she weren't so afraid of herself. Back during the War, her form morphing from a white tiger to a massive polar bear to an albino constricting snake as necessary was a common sight at some minor battles; nowadays, transformations are extremely rare, and only into largely harmless forms. She hasn't mimicked a person since before the War. Most of this is due to her conditioning—the technicians at the facility wanted to duplicate her powers, not have to deal with her rebellion, so they made sure she understood that her abilities were evil. Using them extensively is physically painful these days, although that's almost entirely psychosomatic. On a smaller scale, though, Amelie is also afraid of herself. She clearly remembers the gleam of blood on her own massive claws at an age when she should have been worrying about her freshman year of high school—in contrast, she avoids violence at all costs now, and thinks of that side of herself as a monster. It'll take time and effort to work past the mental blocks she's put up.
For now, she only uses a few forms regularly: a small white dove that can be seen in the park on the hospital campus, a large white moth, and on occasion a white ferret. She's lost many of the finer skills she developed during the War, such as shifting select parts of herself, or copying a person exactly. Deep down, though, she misses the confidence and power of her larger, deadlier forms.
BELONGINGS—
None other than the necessities, aside from the downy feathers, small scales, and animal hairs that always seem to cling to her pockets.