Magpie

So little can be said for certain about the girl known only as Magpie -- and that’s exactly how she prefers it. Her true name? Forgotten or fabricated. Her age? Anyone’s guess. Her origins? Lost in a fog of half-truths and smirking deflection. Ask her any question about herself, and you’ll receive a coy shrug and a maddening response: "Who can really say?"   What is known is this: Magpie is a preternaturally gifted liar, and she cares for no one in this world but her twin brother, Raven.   Born under a shroud of mystery to superstitious human parents in a small farming hamlet, the twins came into the world with small curling horns and needle-sharp teeth, features that terrified their own flesh and blood, and sealed their fate as outcasts from their first breath. Why their parents allowed them to live is still a mystery, even to them. But while their lives were spared, any semblance of love was not. Kept hidden, treated like shameful secrets, and deprived of affection, the twins learned early on that the world offered no warmth.   Magpie never mourned the lack of connection, not when she had Raven. Their bond was unshakable, singular, and more than enough for her. Love from others was a concept best left to fools and romantics.   Everything changed the night Magpie was visited by a shadowy, otherworldly figure; a self-proclaimed ancestor with a voice like velvet and eyes like coals. This "Grandmother Dearest," as Magpie would come to call her, claimed to be the source of the twins’ peculiar heritage. Cloaked in promises of power and protection, she offered a pact: serve her will, and in return, receive a sliver of her strength. Magpie, ever curious and just reckless enough, accepted. Whether she regrets the decision is up for debate, as she certainly never says so aloud. But in rare moments of candor, she speaks of her patron with a complicated cocktail of affection, bitterness, and biting sarcasm.   Not long after, the twins vanished without a trace, abandoning their old life and embracing a nomadic existence fueled by sharp wit and sharper lies. With no one to answer to, they survived by becoming whoever the world needed them to be. Magpie learned quickly that concealment was power: a heavy hood to hide her horns, a tight-lipped grin to obscure her teeth, and just enough charm to make people lower their guard.   Her most profitable disguise? A fortune teller. Equal parts perceptive and performative, Magpie turned the art of deception into a lucrative career. Whether through intuition, subtle cues, or genuine infernal insight, she tells people exactly what they want to hear, all while quietly rifling through their coin purses. She feels no guilt. In fact, she finds it thrilling. If you’re foolish enough to trust a stranger draped in velvet and veils, well… that’s your mistake, not hers.   Magpie remains an elusive figure, part myth, part menace, part mirror held up to the world’s gullibility. And as for who she really is? Who can really say?