Is that MILLIE BOBBY BROWN? No, that’s just KAISA CASIMIR. They were born on 07/04/2005 and are in their JUNIOR year at Northknot University. They live in Northknot because they are a CURSED HUMAN (WITCH BLOODLINE). Some say they're DETERMINED and CURIOUS, but I’ve heard others say they're ANXIOUS and OBSESSIVE. When you think of HER, don’t you think of CONSTELLATIONS DRAWN IN THE MARGINS OF NOTES, CRACKED SPINES OF CONFIDENTIAL BOOKS & DESTINY TAPPING AT HER SHOULDER?
Name: Kaisa Alastoria Casimir Pronunciation: KY-zuh ah-lah-STOR-ee-uh KAZ-uh-meer Nickname(s): Kai, K, Kas (rarely, from more intimate relationships) Birthday: April 7th, 2005 Age: 21 Zodiac Sign: Aries Sun, Pisces Moon, Aquarius Rising Gender: Cis-Female Pronouns: She/Her Species: Cursed Human (Witch Bloodline) Orientation: Demisexual, Biromantic Occupation: Full-Time Student Faceclaim: Millie Bobby Brown
HEADCANONS
Kaisa annotates everything. Books, articles, even personal letters. Nothing is sacred except information
She keeps a running list of “things I’ll do when the curse is broken.” It’s long. She never lets herself finish reading it
She has an almost photographic memory for dates—birthdays, deaths, onset of symptoms. It’s a curse inside the curse
Kaisa drinks tea obsessively because caffeine worsens her tremors, but she misses coffee like an ex
She flinches slightly when people touch her without warning, then feels bad about it for hours
She sleeps with the window cracked no matter the weather—needs to see the sky to calm down
She has a habit of holding her breath when anxious and doesn’t realize she’s doing it
Kaisa secretly believes if she explains the curse out loud, it’ll speed things up, so she doesn’t talk about it
She keeps her medical records and occult notes in the same folder. To her, they’re the same problem
She hates hospitals but knows them too well. Navigates them like muscle memory
Kaisa is weirdly good with kids because she knows what it’s like to understand too much too young
She apologizes reflexively—even when she’s right
She can’t stand wasted potential; it makes her irrationally angry
She talks to the stars when she’s alone, not praying—negotiating
Kaisa avoids mirrors on bad symptom days
She writes letters to her dead sibling that she never sends, obviously
She feels safest in libraries and observatories—places built for quiet persistence
Kaisa lowkey believes love is real, but not meant for her yet
APPEARANCE
Kaisa has the kind of beauty that doesn’t try to be noticed. She has a soft but defined bone structure—with a gently squared jawline and high cheekbones that give her face a thoughtful seriousness even when she’s relaxed. Her eyes are a deep hazel-brown, wide and observant, slightly downturned at the outer corners, as if she’s always processing more than she lets on. They’re the kind of eyes that look tired even when they’re alert, ringed faintly with shadows from late nights and restless sleep. Her hair is a natural dark brown, but she dyes it blonde, wears it long and usually leaves it loose or pulled back in absentminded, low styles; it’s thick, slightly wavy, and perpetually looks like she ran her hands through it while thinking too hard. She’s slender, a little fragile-looking at first glance, with a posture that alternates between guarded and determined—shoulders tense, chin lifted like she’s bracing herself for impact. There’s something unmistakably intentional about her presence, as if she’s constantly mid-calculation
PERSONALITY
Kaisa is driven by a restless, almost painful curiosity—an urgency that comes from knowing time is not a neutral force. She is intensely determined but rarely loud about it, preferring preparation over proclamation. Anxiety coils beneath everything she does, sharpening her focus while also feeding her obsessive tendencies; once she latches onto a question, she will not let it go, even when it costs her sleep, her health, or her peace. She is very cautious with intimacy, super slow to trust, and deeply afraid of becoming a burden, which makes her fiercely self-reliant to a fault. Despite this, she is not cold—just guarded. When she cares, she cares with her whole chest, quietly, loyally, and without expectation of being saved. Kaisa believes knowledge is the only real defense against inevitability, and she moves through the world like someone racing a clock only she can hear
AESTHETIC
constellations drawn in the margins of lecture notes – cracked spines of forbidden and medical texts stacked side by side – hospital hallways at 3 a.m. lit like liminal dreams – ink-stained fingers from copying sigils and star charts – red thread connecting names, dates, and deaths – old observatories and abandoned abbeys swallowed by ivy – migraine halos and sleepless eyes – whispered prophecies overheard through walls – destiny tapping at her shoulder like it’s late and impatient
CONNECTIONS
The One Who Knows Too Much Someone who’s figured out pieces of the curse or her illness without her saying it outright. Their awareness both comforts and terrifies her. Probably the closest thing to a best friend that she has, because she has a hard time letting others in
The Almost Lover Someone she cared for deeply, but pulled away from before things could get real. Unfinished business, lingering looks, unresolved ache. Kaisa has never been with someone intimately, from fear of accidentally cursing them, and that is why she broke things off
BIOGRAPHY
tw: chronic illness, genetic disease, terminal illness, suicide, death, medical trauma, gaslighting, mental illness
“There is nothing new under the sun, but there are new suns.”
Kaisa Alastoria was born beneath a sky thick with stars and salt air, the last child of four in a family that had been running from itself for centuries. The Casimir bloodline traces back to a powerful witch in the late 1600s—an astronomer-mystic who tried to cheat fate itself. That ancestor attempted a forbidden working: a self-binding curse meant to trap Death, to delay it, study it, outthink it. The spell went sideways. Death can’t be caged—only angered. The magic recoiled, wrapping itself not just around the witch, but their bloodline, threading misfortune, illness, and quiet devastation into every generation that followed. The curse manifests subtly at first. Unlucky lives. Brilliant minds that never quite reach their dreams. Then comes the Huntington’s—a degenerative, incurable illness that slowly shuts the body and mind. It appears inconsistently, skips generations, and always takes someone too soon.
Kaisa grew up feeling watched. Not haunted—measured. She sensed something was wrong. She was observant, restless, and easily distracted, as though her mind was always tuned to a frequency no one else could hear. Teachers called her “bright but distracted.” She filled notebooks with star charts and sigils instead of notes, constellations bleeding into margins like they were trying to tell her something. She learned early not to get close. Love felt like a liability. When she was seven, her mother fell ill with Huntington’s Disease. Mood changes first. Then tremors. Cognitive decline. That was when her parents finally told their children about the illness—and, haltingly, about the family’s witch history and curse, about the rot threaded through their family tree. For Kaisa, it didn’t land as lore—it landed as terror. She became afraid of her own touch, her own presence, convinced she might ruin the people she loved just by existing.
“Fear is a journey, a terrible journey, but it is a journey you cannot refuse.”
At ten, one of her older siblings began showing symptoms as well. That was the moment Kaisa became relentless. She researched obsessively—medical journals, clinical trials, occult texts, folklore. She contacted neurologists, genetic counselors, witches, historians—anyone who might know anything. Adults often dismissed her until they realized how focused she was. How desperate. How unchildlike her determination felt. At twelve, she overheard her parents talking in whispers late at night. That was when she learned about the prophecy. The curse will break through the youngest blood of the line. Her. She begged to help. Begged to go to Northknot, the supernatural town her family originally fled generations ago—the place where the curse began and, according to fragmented prophecy, where it could end. Her parents refused. Said she was too young. Said it wasn’t her burden. Said she was imagining control where none existed. The curse didn’t care.
When Kaisa was fourteen, the sick sibling ended their own life—after years of suffering that finally outweighed their will to endure. The house never recovered. Grief settled into the walls. Fear became permanent. The remaining children were tested. Kaisa carried the gene. By her senior year of high school, she was the last child still at home—and the symptoms had started. Mild tremors. Chronic fatigue. Migraines. Difficulty concentrating. Manageable. But unmistakable. Enough to notice. Enough to know. There were nights where her hands shook like they were tuning forks for something unseen. Her arguments with her parents intensified. She fought constantly with them about Northknot. About the prophecy. About time running out.
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
The night before her graduation, they were called to the hospital. Her mother died before morning. Kaisa got dressed anyway. Cap and gown on. Shoes in hand. Mask firmly in place. At the front door, her father stopped her and handed her a suitcase—the one she’d kept packed in her closet since learning about the prophecy. He didn’t ask. He didn’t argue. He told her to go. No speeches. No conditions. Just the quiet understanding that some people aren’t meant to stay. That some daughters are born mid-sentence in a story much older than themselves. Kaisa skipped graduation. Had the diploma mailed. Took the first plane to Canada.
She’s a junior now. Still searching. Still failing. Still trying. She manages her Huntington’s symptoms carefully, aware of what progression means but refusing to live like she’s already lost. She doesn’t know yet that the prophecy names twenty-one as the turning point. She only knows the clock is loud, the stars feel personal, and destiny keeps tapping at her shoulder like it’s impatient. And she is running out of time—but not hope. Not yet. Kaisa is not fearless. She is anxious. Obsessive. Tired. But she is determined. And she is running straight toward the thing that’s been hunting her since birth.
