contemplate or wish away —

—   if i asked you not to stay.

[devolusion]

#NIYA : DON'T RELAX / I'LL CUT THE SMILE OFF YOUR FACE!

a low - activity multimuse blog for canon & original characters from genshin impact, written by rain. sideblog to lovestender. anti - hyv. headcanon - based, not spoiler free. RULES & MUSE LIST.

[devolusion]

@puppetrys : NIYAJIRA KISS / always accepting kissing!

It starts as sparring, which Elysia has said is the wrong word for whatever it is that Kujira and Niya do, which is to say that it's less about either of them getting better and more about both of them getting hurt. The last time they did it, Kujira just about shattered Niya's arm, and Niya had laughed like it was funny. It starts as sparring, and ends with Niya on top of Kujira, pinning her, staring down at her with cheeks flushed and chest heaving from exertion, eyes huge and hungry, grinning, challenging, mean.

"You lose, Jira," Niya says, a lying sing - song, but the sharpness is softened by the glee, by an almost childish excitement, as if they'd shed years and traumas just by virtue of proximity. Kujira groans and tries to move, and Niya pushes them back down, movement not - quite - sparring anymore.

( a thought / not a kindness, exactly, but a thought / kujira under other people. niya isn't usually jealous. it's fun, to feel something serrated and new. but the not - kindness isn't about that, it's about the fact that kujira is —— )

Niya watches her, posture shifting, breath shifting. Hah.

( kujira is letting them. )

Kujira tries to sit up again, and this time when Niya pushes her back down, they follow, close, close, slow, maybe to tease, maybe so she can stop them if she wants —— until their lips press to hers. To see if Kujira will keep letting them. To see how their lips feel. To erase the bad times. To tease and mock. Because they've wanted to kiss her for a long time.

Kujira lets them. Niya sits up, smirk widening, hungry, teeth flashing. They want more of her mouth. They say, "I win."

[devolusion]

@puppetrys : obligatory 69 / niya & kujira / reflections of idle days by the hamilton reed quartet.

It isn't fair to her — truly — and even Niya knows it. But it's hard not imagine Maria in Kujira's place, if only for moments. It's hard now, a rare sun - soaked day, no violence, no bloodshed. It's the closest Niya has come to seeing Kujira as a human being, this replacing - her - with - one, but Niya, even as warped as they are, knows that's shit. But they can't stop, or don't care enough to. It's hard to know, even to them.

"This is nice," Niya says and then, unceremoniously, flops back to lay in the tall grass, as if there's no reason for either to be on guard against the other, as if there's nothing complicated. Niya grins up at the person who is not her dead lover, and smiles. "Feels like it's been ages since we've got this much sun."

[puppetrys]

@devolusion, for niya : ❝ i had it handled. ❞ not that it matters in the end. what's done is done, dead is dead. family ties were scattered with the ash on the wind long, long before this. kujira rips out her sword without a glance at the broken face below her, without a flinch at the still-warm blood that pools under her feet. her attention is focused on niya, perched upon a pile of bodies. ( they'd called her sister, before they'd died / she closed their eyes, before they went limp. ) their gaze isn't quite a glare, but—— almost. ❝ why the hell did you jump in? ❞

[devolusion]

She can't help but wonder if Kujira truly doesn't know, or if she's just pretending because it's easier —— Niya grins down at her, sharp teeth on display, all mean - sweet condescending cruelty. Maybe she did it because she loves killing, and loves killing the Fatui most of all. Maybe she did it to show off, she can't help how much she loves to perform. Maybe, just maybe, although Niya does not see Kujira as a person, although Niya is so unkind and gross and bloodthirsy and inhuman, it was an act of kindness. It's a truly awful thing to kill your siblings all alone. Better someone else wear at least some of their blood on their hands.

Or maybe it's just another one of those unpredictable whims. Niya's smile widens, pale eyes almost glowing.

"You just seemed like you were having soooo much fun, I didn't wanna miss out!" Their's blood in their teeth, and there's more after a beat as Niya licks some poor fucker's blood off the back of their hand. "Don't look so mad, Kujira! I just wanna play with you. You'll make me think you don't like me."

[puppetrys]

elysia—— doesn't necessarily draw into herself, no. nothing so abrupt or really instantaneous. but kujira does notice the way she pauses, staring down at their arm. ( unconsciously, their eyes flicker to elysia's own arm, the metal and wiring hidden beneath her clothes. is it simply déjà vu? ) ❝ no—— it's, um. implanted, i guess. ❞ not that they know the specifics, just—— ❝ it's a part of me. ❞

( on purpose, maybe, as a leash. at the very least, father the knave hasn't let him know where they are. one last act of love, perhaps, but it does nothing to lessen the prey-like fear that remains in kujira's heart. a defected fatuus is dangerous by nature, privy to sensitive information and knowledge.

a defected fatuus is also the perfect captive. there's no compassion left for those caught. )

❝ it's fine, ❞ they add on. the worst thing is they really do mean it; elysia's not the first person to warn her of the pain. ( heavy limbs, gritted teeth, drinks to alleviate the sting. ) ❝ nothing i haven't felt before. just give me a heads up before doing anything big so i can prepare myself. ❞

[devolusion]

Elysia imagines she could probably fix that —— the fact that it can't be removed, that is. No, that's wrong. She knows she could undo it, but just because it would feel like a fix to her doesn't mean it would to Kujira. She'll ask later. She won't assume. ( mind whirs. it would be bloody but easy to do. anything not to think of the similarities. it occurs to her that kujira doesn't know about the rest of her prostheses. ) For now, she just nods, grimacing a little at the cruelty of it, but —— she's known the Fatui were cruel for a while. She's known Dottore was / is —— stop.

"Okay. I might be able to alleviate the pain, if you'll give me permission to do some things that aren't strictly necessary to fix the damage itself." The way the nerves connect is almost identical to how her own nerves did, a few models back. Of course. You'll never be half the engineer or scientist I am, or ——

Their eyes raise back to Kujira's for a moment / they find their smile, and mostly mean it. Then they start laying out the tools they need. "The big issue is that one of the primary control systems is damaged, so your prosthesis can't convert the signals from the rest of you to your arm. Restoring it will be what causes the pain, but I can...pinch off the affected nerves if you're comfortable with that. It won't be a challenge to restore them once the worst is over. But I understand if you'd rather I didn't do more than is strictly necessary."

[puppetrys]

they're not stubborn. kujira knows they don't have the steady hand or technical prowess required to fix something as complex as their arm, knows that they should take elysia's offer, but for a moment—— they hesitate. ( the faint memory of blinding lights, heavy limbs—— and always, always, pain. ) ❝ ... i don't know what happened, ❞ they finally say, walking across the room to sit down next to @devolusion. they use their left hand to maneuver their right arm on top of the table, the dull thud echoing in the room. ❝ think one of the mages short-circuited it. hurts like a bitch. ❞

[devolusion]

When Kujira's arm lands on the table, Elysia's posture and expression shift in an instant, exhausted - but - well - meaning - woman giving way to scientist, to engineer, to the focused, knowing intuition of the best damn maker Teyvat has probably ever seen, gods included. She's got her toolbox — her small one — with her already. "I'm gonna have to open it up," Elysia says, not asking for permission — because if Kujira wasn't going to give it, they wouldn't have their arm in front of her — but as a warning. She's not a butcher. ( the faint memory of blinding lights, heavy limbs —— pain. )

When she opens it, she's so focused it takes the realization a moment to process. Elysia is a genius. It's not surprising, in and of itself, that what she's looking at should be familiar. But. But. But.

Gold eyes widen, lips part. There is a moment, brief — questioning ( when? ) and then of realization ( second time, when i got broke escaping alone ) — and then the shock gets put away, like everything else. Of course. It's not worth thinking about.

"It's an easy fix," Elysia says, only a little numb, eyes only a little dimmed. Of course. Of course. If they think about the fact that he'd gotten enough glimpses for this level of mimicry, even before the dissection, they'll kill themself on the spot. So they don't. Just put it all away. "But it'll hurt a lot if we leave the arm on. Can yours be removed?"

[gonchayas-a5]

winter is just another season to him.  the cold cannot cut him down or disease him with necrosis.  it cannot make him ill or feeble or weak.  but it can for other people,  and kostyantyn can still remember a time where he was small and powerless,  vulnerable to the snow and all it’s brethren.  they cannot warm her hands—  not anymore,  the corpse of their god has made sure of that—  but they are not heartless. not with children. they can give @devolusion a small courtesy.

❝    oi, come here.  you’re shivering.    ❞ kostyantyn reaches for her hand,  beckons her;  hopes he doesn’t make it any worse,  even with his hands gloved.    ❝    do you want to borrow my scarf? i wouldn’t mind.    ❞

[devolusion]

Small, quietly ashamed, "I'm sorry, Monsieur." She thought she'd been hiding it better — little Sylvie frowns down at her feet as she nevertheless moves closer and takes Kostya's hand, hoping they won't notice the way her fingers are turning purple. She doesn't want to be a burden, or cause concern. Mostly she just wants to disappear, to be so utterly without needs and so very helpful that no one will need to remember she's there.

But she can't. She tries to stop shivering with all her might. "I'm —— I can be strong." She's cold, of course, but the trembling has as much to do with the silence the plants cannot help but offer her in wintertime. It's a strange aloneness. But she doesn't want to seem weak to anyone. Especially to Kostya, who is always forced to be so strong.

[devolusion]

updated ely refs lets fucking go

additional notes under the cut:

quite fastidious about their appearance; wears at least a little makeup most days, cares for their hair and skin a lot, etc. doesn't consider themself super feminine, that being said, and the self - care is less rooted in wanting to be pretty / beautiful ( though that's some of it ) and more a desire to care for intentionally the parts of their body that remain organic, given that their numerous prostheses require a lot of intentional time and focus. if they're not careful, it's easy to end up giving all their time and attention to their prostheses and none to the rest of them.

they have a "glove" of skin-line material they way pull onto their prosthesis hand that makes it appear more human like in situations where the gloves would draw questions. it's fairly durable but often gets caught in the joints due to needing to be very tight, so they don't wear it often if they can avoid it.

the keyhole shape on their chest matches the shape of the elemental cartridges that elysia can load into their firearms; elysia can load them into herself, which allows her to use her hand as a rudimentary elemental cannon. she's only done this twice, however, and dislikes doing it; she hates using her body as a weapon. in the future, when she's no longer at risk, she plans to build that feature out of herself.

she has a thin but padded bra-line garment she'll wear under clothes when she's fucking someone who doesn't know about the prostheses; it's just so that if they'r groping at her chest through her shirt they aren't given any reason to question why her tits are solid. generally speaking, she'll request that people she's sleeping with don't touch her chest — with strangers, to keep from being discovered. with lovers, because she's got some complexes about it.

used to have a nose ring; it closed up. she's also got a clit piercing :)

[devolusion]

New Character Info Unlocked!  Previous.

Niya — Story V Unlocked.

Most Cicin mages go mad early, a result of the brutal experiments and magic they undergo to augment their abilities; Lizabeta, while certainly not sane, had her sister to cling to.  

Her search for Serafima saved her from the kind of loss of self that the other Cicin Mages experienced.  Even in the moments where she forgot her own name, she always remembered that she had a sister to find.

Eventually, unable to get answers amongst her peers, she began prodding the Harbingers for information.  Her superior, Scaramouche, expected unquestioning loyalty and obedience from those under his command, and thus resented her demands.  He challenged her to a fight, lulled her into a false sense of confidence, and then handily defeated her, torturing and badly scarring her.

In what seemed at the time like an act of kindness but quickly exposed itself as an act of cruelty, he offered her a “hint” to her search — a Ruin Guard’s identification code.

It didn’t take the mage long to learn the truth after; her sister had been deemed ineffectual after a mission failure, and had thus been handed to Dottore to be used as fodder for his experiments.

Feigning obedience prompted by a crushed spirit, Lizabeta kept a low profile for two months, during which time she gathered what resources she would need.  She found the machine that housed, in some capacity, her sister, and destroyed it.   Then, she simply disappeared, fleeing to Liyue and adopting a new goal: kill the harbingers and avenge her sister.  She adopted a new name along with this new purpose.

It was in this way that the woman named Niya was born.

Voiceline “About Family...”

I don’t know what happened to my parents after I disappeared.  They were interrogated, I’m sure, to try and find me.  Probably tortured.  Maybe killed.  I could find out, but I don’t care, so I haven’t bothered.

Voiceline “About The Fatui — II”

You know, before my sister disappeared, I had grand dreams of becoming a Harbinger?  That’s kinda funny, huh?  Ha ha ha...

[devolusion]

elysia valentine <3

[gonchayas-a5]

'i don't want to talk about — dottore.' — ely @devolusion yknow

they’re on the couch when he finds the courage to ask.  

he’s sitting upright.  she’s laying down,  her head nestled comfortably on his lap,  allowing him to rake his fingers through her short hair for the first time in what seems like ages.  the question itself has ruminated for weeks, but they haven’t had the strength to prompt it until now. ( there was better things to deal with before this point. piecing her back together took time. living through the fallout and scrubbing his skin of blood took longer. ) what did he do to you?  when you were there,  i mean.  it’s asked without much consideration,  without much thought, and they regret it when she seems to freeze up.  @devolusion’s body seizes, tensing beneath their grasp,  and he sees it in her face just how much she hates the vague, unspoken reminder of that man’s epithet. ( kostyantyn hates himself for speaking his name.  hates that they were ever trapped in a world where his name must be said. )

there’s a tense silence there, of no fault but his own negligence. they’ve stopped moving to give her time to find her voice, give her time to think about what she wants to say. guilt bears down at the base of their throat, threatening to cut, but still, they don’t try to speak. she opens her mouth. nothing comes out, not at first. but then she says she doesn’t want to talk about dottore and the sound is the worst answer he could’ve received for how telling it is. kostyantyn looks away to some nameless space in the room, unresponsive. if words could kill.

❝ alright, ❞ he eventually murmurs. alright. that’s okay. they can live with that. he’ll have to. his hand caresses her hair, comforting, trying to relieve in whatever way he could think of. all men must live with their failures at some point or another, anyway. ❝ we don’t have to talk about it. ❞

[devolusion]

“Bad dream?” the mage asks; Lumine only nods, quiet as ever, as she leaves her tent.  Niya smiles, a strangely sympathetic thing, and pats the log next to her, inviting them to sit.  Lumine eyes the offer with a measure of distrust that Niya can’t really fault them for, but, perhaps too exhausted to protest, does as she’s asked.  Niya’s attention returns to the dark horizon, scanning for threats, and Lumine stares at the fire, eyes swimming, seeing nothing.

For a long, long time, it’s just summer night silence — the crackling fire and their breath and the sound of frogs and crickets, somewhere in the distance.  Then, Niya says, perhaps afraid of the quiet, "you know, selfish as it is, I’m glad you had a bad dream.”  Lumine looks back to her, eyes huge and almost seeming to glow in the dim light, and Niya smiles at the lack of offense there.  “Watch was getting pretty boring all by myself.”

Lumine is silent for a long moment.  Niya’s used to how they have to mull before they speak.  But then, they say, voice a whisper, “I dreamt of my brother.”  Their eyes and focus return to the fire, so they miss something shift in the assassin’s eyes — a flicker of soft, changing intention.

“The brother you’re looking for,” Niya says, voice quiet.  Lumine merely nods.  Niya’s head tilts back, and she stares at the sky, the stars.  She remembers the meaning of a name — god’s oath.  A funny joke.  She remembers the meaning of another name, too — the one that burns.

“Did I ever tell you that I used to have a sister?” she asks, knowing she hasn’t.  She doesn’t tell anyone.  Niya doesn’t look down from the sky, but she can feel Lumine’s gaze snap back to her, picture her huge eyes and parted lips.  Nobody else could know this; nobody but this hero, with their hopeless kindness.  Niya knows they won’t tell.  “I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this to the rest of our merry band of misfits, but I did.  She was two years older than me, and my best friend.  We were always together.  Us against the world.”  Niya smiles towards the sky.  There’s no cruelty in it.  Something sadder, though.  “You remind me of her.”

One that burns.  It’s quiet again.  One that burns.

Lumine breaks the heavy silence this time, asking the question Niya knew they would.  “Used to have a sister?”

The smile falls.  Niya doesn’t feel like pretending.  It’s not like before, when everything was funny, even if it hurt.  Especially if it hurt.  “Yeah.  She died a few years back.”

“Oh.”

Niya finally looks down; the traveler’s retreated into their own battered heart, staring at their small hands in their lap, expression blank and eyes empty.  Imagining an unhappy ending, perhaps.  Niya’s hand reaches, careful, and rests over theirs.  Her head ducks to catch the other’s eyes.

“I couldn’t help my big sister,” Niya says, voice clear and free of pain.  The scars beneath her sleeves ache.  “So that’s why I’m gonna do everything I can to be sure we can help your big brother.  Okay?”

Maybe there’s a heart left in her, Niya muses.  There must be, given the way the organ swells, unsteady and unused to offering kindness, at the helpless smile that steals across their traveler’s mouth.  Lumine nods.

One who burns.  “Okay,” Lumine says, eyes alight and swimming.  Niya keeps smiling.

[devolusion]

The bitch is cowering by the time she finds him.

Her hair and eyes are wild by the time she does; shortswords slick with blood and body much the same.  He thought his guards would protect him, cute little dogs, barking when they died.  Silly man.  He knows what she’s capable of.  What they’re all capable of, and she hasn’t been free so terribly long, so it’s the same thing.

She stalks through the halls; there are no more guards.  Either all hiding from the monster or dead or ran to get help.  It doesn’t matter.  The nameless mage moves through the halls like a ghost, smiling, body and movements tight and mechanical and utterly within her control.

The bitch is cowering in a corner when the door swings open, and Niya’s smiling, and then their eyes land on him and they’re not smiling any longer.

The bitch has the gall to cower.

The shortswords connect in the center and are a polearm once more while she crosses the room, long steps, utterly in control.  He curls into the corner of the room where he sits, crying and trying to speak but nothing comes out, this bitch, this pathetic nothing has the gall to be afraid of the toy he built.

They want to ask him lots of questions, but they forget that until the blade is slicing cleanly through his throat, not killing him but certainly stopping speech.  He falls, grasping at his bleeding neck, gurgling nothing - sounds.  They wanted to ask him lots of questions.  They wanted to make it slow.  They guess they still can.

“You seem surprised, doc,” Niya says, still not smiling, utterly in control.  “You can’t be that shocked; you practically built us.  You know I’m stronger than any of the pets you keep around here.”

He doesn’t answer, of course.  They’re not even sure he’s listening, just holding at his throat like that’ll help.  Niya drops to a knee so their eyes can catch, grabbing his should and easily hoisting him back to sit up.  “Do you remember me?  If you tell me you do and I believe you, I’ll save you.”

Now he’s listening.  Dying men are desperate, and maybe he just wants to believe her.  His eyes focus on her, squinting, desperate, still holding his hands to his throat to stem the bleeding.  He probably can’t remember her; he broke so many of them, after all.  His eyes are panicked.  He’s so afraid, it’s sort of funny.  Did she look like that when he played?

“Please hold still,” she says softly, half crawling into his lap, closer, closer, his eyes are so huge and he’s so afraid.  Her face is close to his, but it’s the opposite of intimate.  Airy and all wrong, “It’s hard to gather data when you writhe like that, Lizabeta.”

His eyes widen.

“Oh, there’s that smile,” she purrs, head ducking, mouth pressing to some of the smeared blood on his throat.  He’s not smiling, but the Lizabeta of the memory had, and the name seems to have stuck.  “Are you having fun?”

They feel him nod against their mouth, and Niya smiles, knows he’s not saying yes, I’m having fun, but yes, I remember.

Dr. Nakar Sidorov, head scientist of the department that Niya spent her first two years as a Cicin Mage under, the man who saw her potential, the man who personally oversaw their experimentation for much of the dead mage’s career, who smiled when she screamed and writhed and broke, remembers her.

Niya smiles against his throat.  “Gooood boy.  I promised I’d save you, didn’t I?”

He nods again.

“Do you remember, early on, my first few weeks in your care?”  He nods but she knows he’s lying now, but it doesn’t matter.  She pulls away, smiling hugely, mouth smeared with his blood, and no longer in control.  “I cried the first time you used me, because it hurt, and you promised me that if I was very good, you would let me go early?”

He nods again.

“And I was sooo good.  Didn’t scream or writhe.  But you lied, Doctor.”  His eyes widen and go sick as he realizes.  “You didn’t let me go.  You preferred to play with your food.  You liked when I cried.”  Her voice corrupts like all the Cicin Mages’ voices do.  “And I learned so very much from you.”

The polearm splits, and one dagger finds his left hand and one finds his right, and Niya does not save him with the kindness of a swift death.  Not until she’s had a few hours to play with her food, at least.

[devolusion]

Niya hits the ground again — shoulder blades shout but everything hurts, so the pain doesn’t process — and barely manages to get her polearm between her body and the hammer the other’s swinging at it, the weapon a makeshift shield.  It weighs on her weapon, forcing down, trying to break her tool to break her — the force is maddening.  She grunts, teeth gritting, eyes watering — this fight’s gone on too long and her energy is worn and her breath is ragged.  The skirmisher grins at her, eyes wild in the light of the moon, and her arms tremble.  The others circle the pair, laughing, waiting.  Pathetic, she thinks; but even one as powerful as her can’t hold their own against eight of the Fatui without being wounded — even if she’s killed half of this miserable group already.  She’s hurt.  She’s badly hurt; outnumbered.  She can’t —

The polearm shatters.  In the split second before the hammer can crush her sternum, she has only one thought : I CAN’T DIE UNTIL I’VE KILLED THEM.

She barely hears herself say it — “Blink!”

Niya — no, not really Niya, not now — reappears on the other end of the beach, her coin floating before her.  Enchanted, to make it useful, back before.  She doesn’t remember now.  Nearly anything at all can be a catalyst, you know.  She doesn’t remember making this little coin into one, not just now, a last resort, but she knows what it is nevertheless.

Maybe she didn’t make it at all.  After all, she’s not Niya.  She doesn’t even know who Niya is.  She’s just ——

“What!?” the man who’d nearly killed her shouts.  The skirmishers stare, not understanding — good.  Let them die confused, and frightened!  Good!  She’s always loved playing with her food!

“The more the merrier!” she purrs, grinning, hands outstretched — this is right, this is right, this is right, this is self, this is nothingness.  The cicins manifest, and she laughs, swaying on her feet as they attack.  The weaklings don’t understand, because only Fatui mages should be able to do this!!  Isn’t that funny?  Isn’t that funny?!

Her laughter hurts to hear, but she can’t stop.

But — ah, she’s hurt so bad.  They’re soooo mean.  Maybe it’s best to finish this quickly, even if that’s no fun at all.  Her voice is wrong, distorted, too many, when she says, “you really know how to get me going!”

She won’t remember the rest later.  None of the screaming, or the realization, or the exhaustion.  Her giddy laughter giving way to sobs, not sure why she’s crying, this is good, this is right, this hurts so much.  She won’t remember collapsing, wounds finally striking, adrenaline running out.  She’ll just wake up hours later, as though from a bad dream, corpses with lightning - strike scars across their bodies surrounding her.  She won’t remember, but she’ll understand.

When she curls around herself to sob and vomit, her voice still sounds wrong.

[devolusion]

this is more of a general inazuma headcanon than one that’s specific to any one character — a lot of how inazuma is written falters in terms of making the absolutely unjust and extreme year - long oppression of its people feel like it has any consequences at all, either for its citizens or for ei.  focusing on the former, there’s the fact that...inazuman’s citizens were complicit with the vision hunt decree.

during the archon quest, it’s even talked about — most people don’t care about the loss of visions because vision holders are a minority.  the average person does not care at all that folks are losing personalities and memories.  and for as many folks like yoimiya hiding vision - holders, there had to have been others reporting suspected allogenes to the authorities.  when we meet the others who’d have their visions taken, most of the people around them seem more upset that the allogene’s change in personality has made things difficult for them, not worried about those who’ve lost part of themselves. and it's not like losing your vision is some minor inconvenience! people lose memories, identities, selves...we see people go literally insane about it!

post - archon quest, even once visions have been returned, i imagine there’s a lot of distrust amongst allogenes towards their countrymen.  how could there not be?  your childhood friend who joined the shogunate as an adult, who you drink with weekly, who you trusted, confiscates your vision, watches your eyes go dim and doesn’t care enough to disobey.  your neighbor reports your family to the authorities because they see unseasonal frost crawling up your windows from the inside, and your child loses both their new vision and many of their memories, their dreams.  at the very least, your supposed community watched that be done to you and didn’t care — and if they did, they cared more because it inconvenienced them than because it stole your heart or drove you mad.

[devolusion]

New Character Info Unlocked!

Niya — Story IV Unlocked.

Lizabeta and Serafima Zaitseva were born into a loyal noble family in Snezhnaya.  Serafima was the older sister, though only by two years, and the two were very close.

They were raised to be of use to the Fatui and the Tsaritsa, a not uncommon practice amongst Snezhnayan nobility.  Children were expected to become useful to the nation, and when both sisters showed martial prowess, their attention was shifted from schooling to combat training.  Their parents, though not neglectful, primarily viewed them as tools for the Tsaritsa, and so it was the sisters that acted as each other’s true family.

Both would join the Fatui young — Sera, as she was called by Lizabeta, at age fourteen, and Beta, as she was called by Serafima, at age thirteen.  Despite being children, both thrived in this environment, raised in a way that had long-acclimated them to the physical and emotional demands their training presented.

All was well until Lizabeta developed an electro Vision.  Despite the sister’s shared joy at the younger’s accomplishment, this sharpened the already growing gap between Lizabeta and Serafima’s development and prowess.  A few years after being promoted to Cicin Mage, Lizabeta realized that her sister, who she rarely went more than a few months without seeing, was nowhere to be found.

Thus, she began her search.

 Voiceline “About Serafima...”

It’s a traditional Snezhnayan name.  It means ‘one who burns’ and harkens to the angels that supposedly served the early gods.  Not excessively common or anything.  Huh?  No, I don’t know anybody by that name.

Voiceline “About Lizabeta...”

Ah, getting cheeky, aren’t we?  I’m afraid that there’s nobody named Lizabeta here.  The Fatui killed her.

Voiceline “About the Fatui — I” 

They take — and not just from other nations.  As far as the Fatui are concerned, Snezhnaya’s own people are just fodder for the Tsaritsa’s war.  If you’re not strong enough to serve or wealthy enough to fund, then you’ll be used in other ways.  When she’s gone and the Fatui are destroyed, maybe Snezhnaya can be free.  Who knows if the country even deserves it at this point.

[devolusion]

niya does not care about other people.  while they do have something resembling a moral code that they abide by in terms of how to treat others, they ultimately view most people around them as tools they can use.  the vast majority of people do not matter to niya as individuals.  even most people she’s on ‘friendly’ terms with aren’t even people in her head, just things to use.  whether that’s something they can use in the fight against the fatui — allies, ‘friends’ — or just to entertain themself.

the only people niya actually gives a shit about by default are the traveler and jean, and jean only because jean infuriates her.  anyone else — kaeya, elysia, ningguang, etc — exist, to niya, solely to entertain or be used by her. 

this isn’t to say niya is pointlessly or excessively cruel in their day to day.  she can be mocking or dismissive, but just because she subconsciously doesn’t consider you a person doesn’t mean she's going out of her way to be a dick.  it just means that she won’t pry or prod into another’s business if it doesn’t benefit her, because who gives a shit?  it just means that if she acts like she views you as an actual friend, she’s probably being manipulative.  it just means that if you need her help, you'll probably have to pay for it. but she’s such a good mimic — who even cares!!  after all, there’s no niya, just masks, so it’s not like the specifics of her views matter.