basics.

twenty-seven. singleship based on chemistry. advanced literate & highly descriptive. plot focused & flexible. for audiences twenty and up.

guidelines.

dni.this portrayal will tackle adult themes not appropriate for all audiences. basic dni criteria applies. do not interact if you are a minor, -phobic, racist, zionist, etc.

biography.

“ ˈzəʊi: “ to give life ” or “ to breathe. ”a girl was found left in a woven basket just beyond the crumbling gates of the saint ines convent, nestled on the cliffs of ganghwa island. she was impossibly small — her breathing a fragile wheeze, skin the color of snow. the nuns who discovered her whispered prayers over her, with no real belief she would last the night.but she did. and her lungs, tiny but fierce, earned her the name zoey — to breath, to give life.from the beginning, she was a child stitched together with curiosity and wonder. a little hurricane of warmth, drifting barefoot from the kitchens, to the gardens, and book-lined halls. she collected stories and made them her own, pouring herself into every quiet act of magic she believed to be kindness; whispering lullabies to wilting flowers, telling bedtime tales to any child who’d listen.while the convent was meant to be still, zoey never was. her feet seemed to dance to a melody all her own, her eyes always chasing the horizon. she climbed trees to see what lay beyond, snuck out late on freezing nights to map stars, imagined entire kingdoms blooming beneath the earth. her sense of adventure wasn’t rebellion — it was yearning. for something more, something hers.but the world outside the convent was less forgiving. when she turned sixteen and had to leave, reality arrived like winter; biting, cruel, indifferent. she found work where she could, including bakeries, bookshops, backrooms of forgotten theaters. people underestimated her softness. called her too gentle, too strange, too much. but the girl didn’t break. she bent and found beauty in what others overlooked.a jack of many trades, she flitted from city to city, program to program — culinary, creative writing, performing arts. she paid for classes with tips, sleep, and sheer belief in herself. she painted alley murals, wrote poems on napkins, performed for passing strangers. she was many things: a chef, a caretaker, a ghost. always observing, always becoming, always wandering.the wind always seemed to call her somewhere new. following new skies, yearning to hear unfamiliar songs. she lived for the thrill of catching her reflection in a place that didn’t know her name yet. wherever she went, she kept moving by the ache to belong to something that wasn’t just memory, until she found herself in tongyeong. brought by chance one day after missing her stops, she fell in love with the seaside, the street art, the forgotten nooks full of treasures. there, for the first time, she planted roots; perhaps weak ones, but roots all the same. and there, between old ghosts and the crashing of waves, she began to write.what began as scribbles on menus and letters she never sent became full stories... aching, gentle things about girls who believed in impossible love, quiet bravery, and the persistence of magic. her words found readers, the readers sent letters, and zoey found herself, suddenly, finally, perhaps impossibly, seen.her days of drifting over, she now writes about them instead; coastlines to cafés, train stations to rented attics. she writes not to anchor herself, but to remind the world — and herself — of the things worth believing in.because somewhere between faith and foolishness, whimsy and longing, she writes to remember the girl she once was, and to remind herself of the magic that still exists, even in bruised, but not broken places.

essence.

a heart like folklore...
fairytales that live within her.wendy’s storytelling & faith: she collects stories like others collect souvenirs — each one a reminder of what can be. believes that faith, when spoken aloud, has power.thumbelina’s romanticism: she believes everything deserves a soft place to land. she writes letters to people she misses and presses flowers in books, drawn to beauty and gentle devotion.giselle’s optimism: she sees the beauty in things others overlook — second chances and silence turned song. loves the world even when it’s cruel, believes she can imbue magic even in the mundane.the little mermaid’s selflessness: she loves without needing to be seen. her adoration is the kind that’s content in the shadows, silent sacrifices, wide-eyed yearning, love so deep it doesn’t ask for anything in return.rapunzel’s light: curious, endlessly creative, always learning— childlike wonder meets an adveturous spirit.

my favorite people.

nina: the erika to my annelise, my dearest friend, the one that eats ice cream and watches romcoms with me until we drop, the one who holds my hand through every hurdle life throws, the one that gives the best advice, i don't know what i would do without you.jack: my favorite ex turned best friend. no one joins in on my silly antics quite like you, jaehan. thank you for being the best karaoke partner a girl could ask for, and for letting me godmother to your son gecko.yuri: the universe gave you to me when i needed a friend most. with you, i know i am loved, understood, and i never laugh harder than when we keep finding questionable secrets to share with one another.lian: my confidant and unlikely friend. who knew a god and a mere mortal could find so much of themselves in each other. you always listen and never judge, you always hold me gently, and where would i be without you to watch horror movies with?teddy: my roommate and the person i now share dreams and projects with in the dead of night. my life has been happier since you walked in with your boxes and steady calm. much brought us together, almost like by fate, but staying, that is our choice.creed: despite our tumultous past, the softer, kinder memories persisted. and thats the funny thing about time- it softens edges and reminds us of what is good. and you, beloved friend, are. thankful we found our way back to each other after all.noah: i have lost track of the years we have known each other, been in each others corners, even if at times silently. we can go months without talking and we know there will always be a familiar, friendly face waiting for us when we come back. that's rare, and i treasure our friendship.doona: even before we were friends, we admired each other, saw a kindred spirit even as the world (ahem. a tiny one) tried to pull us apart. and through it all, i would still trust you with my life.lumi: we have come a long way, haven't we? from strawberry and blueberry chronicles, from missed chances and awkward timings and songs shared like treasures, and we're still here. to many years more.and last but not any less important: to everyone that has made my time on this earth a little bit more magical, thank you for being part of my life. stay around always, and here's to hoping we can only grow closer. koi, eri, kai, sari, cece, mori, juni, rin, hera.

misc.

appearance.
soft edges. stardust freckles. oversized cardigans. embroidered and patched up denim. tinkles when she walks from some keychain or other hanging charms. ink-stained fingers. smells like vanilla and old books. eyes that feel like they’ve seen more than they let on. full lips cracked from the sun that comes with working her garden. a smile with a soft, dimpled quality to it.likes.
handwritten letters. forgotten bookstores. singing to herself. night trains. the grain from old cameras. rainy days. lace curtains. fuzzy socks. stories with bittersweet endings. dancing barefoot on cold floors. orange cats. children. forget-me-not's. insects. spontaneous plans. animated movies. musicals. karaoke. tragic romance. sugary treats.dislikes.
cruelty disguised as logic. lies. staying in one place too long. harsh lighting. avoiding hard conversations. deadlines. clutter. broken promises. fog. metal music. overpowering smells. coffee.

admin.

will answer to mina. twenty—seven years old. bilingual ( english & spanish ). central time zone. she / her pronouns. working full time so activity might be sporadic, but usually isn't. account is strictly in character unless indicated otherwise.