Rhea Nevermore

Cell

Cytokinesis: Rhea has the ability to manipulate the cells of organisms, although, at her current level, she has limited capabilities.

Exceptional Endurance: Due to her abilities, Rhea has an exceptional amount of endurance which allows her to perform feats and activities without the fear of exhaustion for a long time. Her mutated cells have also developed to the point where Rhea needs little amounts of rest from time to time.

Rhea wears a white hooded robe. This is, literally, the only clothing she has in her cabinet. She has loads of these robes which she gets from a local tailor who she had an agreement with. There's nothing really special about the robe except the red linings which are strangely present, considering that Rhea hates red colours. She also wears fingerless gloves because... well, nothing really.

Most obviously, Rhea has no offensive capabilities. Her inability to use her skill to harm others places her in a supportive role most of the time. Adding to that, Rhea does not comprehensively know much about hand-to-hand combat since she does detest violence. While Rhea is physically weak, she also has a fragile psychological state. Due to a certain bloody past, Rhea has a great phobia when it comes to blood. More often than not, she breaks down upon seeing a large amount of crimson fluid that would drip down from those around her. Rhea is also, somewhat, socially impaired, often making remarks that tend to put others in an awkward situation.

"Ye trust lil'o me, ayt?" her voice came out almost like a whimper as warm rivulets of tears streamed down her face. Rhea's pale hands were trembling immensely as she did her best not to glance at the flowing sanguine river that had began to taint her white robes as would a brush cause to a canvas.

"Hn." the wounded teen grunted with a pained nod as he merely took the maiden's fingers in his. At the mere sound of this grunt, Rhea inhaled deeply, focusing whatever sanity she had left into healing this man that she had given her heart to for the past years. Who would've thought that all the years they had would be nigh on being snuffed out by a pair of ruthless robbers with guns?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Hang'in der!" Rhea shouted, viciously feeling her own cells deplete as the man's bleeding began to subside. "Ye dun giv' up on me!" her voice became like a siren's, desperate yet nowhere near enticing. The bullet had pierced his left ventricle, damaged some parts of his ribs as well as caused some internal bleeding. For some, this could be considered fatal, hopeless and worthless; they should be preparing a coffin by now. However, for the shivering woman whose white robes were stained with the blood of wars and whose lips were left in incoherent string of litanies and odes, she refused to let this man be reduced to nothing more than just numbers, to be made into an additional statistical data. No, she had given this man her heart and she would die before she would let her sun and moon close his eyes for good.

Thump... Thump...

"NO!" Rhea screamed, feeling a sudden rush of fury as a burst of new cells began to invade her lithe figure. The wound had already closed but the damage that had been done within was nigh on impossible to cure. "Ey! Come on! What's gonna happen to 'dem promises, huh?! Didn't you say dat ye wud stay with me?! Dat ye wud hold me in yer arms?! Dane! DANE! Don't you dare close 'dos eyes, laddie!" The words were said almost in a hoarse tone as horrid visions of failure began to cloud her mind. A lot of his organs had been healed, all except for his heart which had been severely damaged. Ironically, it was the last wound that Rhea's strength gave up upon. "N-no! Not now! NO! NO!" she tried her best to lay her arms on him, to try to give more cells but her limit had been reached. The gentle rise of his chest began to subside, began to slow down.

Thump...

She brought her hands up to her eyes, noticing the slick trail of sanguine liquid drip immensely through her fingers. In that moment, Rhea realized one thing. Like how his blood slipped through her fingers, so was his life out of her hands. She couldn't save him... she couldn't do anything for him. He would just become another stroke of a chalk on her board. In her weary heart, a sad orchestra had began to play, reminding her of how much of a failure she was. The sounds began to ascend higher, the song of despair growing ever so unbearable. Then, as the sun died on the horizon, so did the crescendo of Dane's heart reached its finale. With nothing left, Rhea buried her face in her hands, suppressing a guttural scream that pierced the leyline of whatever deity would deign to cast upon her a look of mercy.

Then, she woke up. Her eyes looked up to the small chalkboard in front of her bed. She focused on a peculiar vertical stroke among the other twenty or so strokes on that board. "'im sorry, Dane."

-Rhea speaks in, somewhat, broken english. English was never her native language, anyway.
-She would always dissuade others in taking a life.
-In some instances, Rhea would try to salvage the life of an enemy... rarely, though.
-She hates the colour red.