I hate double posting, but I'll post this anyways since I'm done and it's ready for review. Cheers! [@Mirandae]

[hider=Neon Diantha, The Citadel's First Love]
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[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lq5bum5Pkp8][b]N e o n ' s   S o u n d t r a c k[/b][/url]
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[SUB][COLOR=4F5678]P R E S E N C E[/COLOR][/SUB][hr][color=gray]
Neon moves like a mist over water—demure, graceful, ephemeral, a being caught between the world of the living and something far deeper, perhaps eternal. There is a quiet, understated grace about him, an aura that suggests still waters running deep beneath a surface of calm indifference. Neon’s silence is not the silence of apathy, quite the contrary, but of someone who listens to the quiet hum of existence, as if in communion with things most people overlook. When he speaks, his words come slowly, deliberately, as though each thought has been sifted through an ancient sieve of wisdom. His voice—gentle, hushed—makes others lean in, drawn by a magnetism they can't quite place, as if in Neon's presence, the air itself feels more delicate.

Those around Neon are inexplicably soothed or unnerved, depending on the weight of their own souls. Neon doesn’t judge, but his steady gaze and the aura of solemnity he carries has a way of making people confront the truths they’ve hidden away. People often find themselves revealing more than they intended, offering up pieces of their soul like driftwood to the shore, their own edges softening, their anxieties dissolving in the gentle pull of Neon’s presence. It's easy to forget, in those moments, the boundaries that typically define the self. 

Decisions are made with careful precision, not from a place of hesitation but from an innate understanding of the consequences each choice may bring. Neon weighs his actions as one would weigh the stars, considering not only the immediate but the everlasting. There is an unshakable confidence in this, an aura of inevitability. He needs no validation, no affirmation. Neon simply knows. It’s not arrogance—it’s as if the answers arrive in the same way the stars appear in the night sky, one by one, unfolding in his mind until the path ahead is clear.

He does not give orders or commands; instead, he suggests, and others may feel compelled to follow as though it were their own decision. Communication, for him, is an art of listening as much as it is of speaking. And yet, despite the mystery that surrounds him, there is an undeniable gentleness. His empathy is not worn on the surface, but it radiates from him like the soft glow of a distant star—subtle, but ever-present.

There is a soft melancholy to Neon’s demeanor, but not one rooted in sadness. It is the melancholia of someone who has touched the edges of death time and time again, tasted solitude like a vintage wine, and found in it a sort of beauty. He is never hurried, never impatient; time itself seems to slow in his presence, as if reality bends to match his rhythm. Others may struggle to define him—some see Neon as cold, others as profoundly kind—but all agree there is something ethereal about him, a quality that places him just beyond the reach of the mundane world.

As the Regalia of Anima, Neon is an enigmatic but relatively well-known figure among the people of Eshea and, to an extent, in the immediate surrounding nations. His pure image and sacred role as a Funérailles has served him well in some respects—in furthering his identity as someone who is beloved and cherished with a sort of reverence one might bestow their innocent, first love. Neon guides his followers and those abroad through their mournful hours and tempers their midnight terrors with pleasant, sweet dreams. It is only natural, then, that his innate temperance is a virtue no one can deny romanticizing.

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[SUB][COLOR=4F5678]C H R O N I C L E[/COLOR][/SUB][hr][color=gray]
Neon’s story begins in the cradle of luxury, where golden light bathed his early years and marble halls whispered promises of power and privilege. The youngest of five, he was the delicate thread in the grand tapestry of his family’s legacy, his father Raynaldus, an eccentric politician of boundless ambition, and his mother, Hippolyta, a regal beauty with the blood of Dalmascan royalty running through her veins. Though he was born in the western country of Nibelheim, it would be in Eshea, his father’s homeland, that his life would be truly shaped. 

[center][color=4F5678][i]"There is nothing more honorable in this world than a proper burial."[/i][/color][/center]

They moved back to Eshea when he was only two, settling in the gleaming city of Montá—the Citadel—a renowned city of old-world charm, encased in a fortress of metal, keeping its timeless beauty protected from the world outside. This was a place where the elite thrived and were shielded from the woes of the less fortunate. Raised under the Citadel’s silver skies, it was here where Neon’s childhood began (soft and sheltered)—his days filled with the luxury only the Montágasque could understand. His world was one of silks and gemstones, the quiet hum of politics brushing against the air, and the certainty that his future would be paved with the same power his father wielded so easily.

But Montá was a city of strange traditions, and fate or something far older, as it often does, had other plans for the noblesse, aristocratic youth. At the age of ten, the Council of the Citadel chose him for a role unlike any other—a Funérailles, or Hopekeeper—a role both revered and immeasurably isolating. They sent him away, far from the gleaming walls of Montá, to a small house adrift on the ocean’s endless horizon. His task was solemn and queer—he was to officiate the seaside burials of those who died at sea, a child shepherding souls into the depths. This custom of funeral rites was called Mer de rêves (The Sea of Dreams).

[center][color=4F5678][i]"Freed...from the chaos..."[/i][/color][/center]

His only companions were mourners who came to bid their final goodbyes, and the fragile höpes, delicate birds whose brief lives measured the time the friends and family of the departed should grieve/mourn. When a höpe died, so too did the mourning period. The silence of the sea was his constant companion, vast and unbroken, except for the occasional supplier from distant Tenshi, who brought sustenance and supplies.

[center][color=4F5678][i]"I never chose to be a Funérailles, a Hopekeeper, but I will continue to do what I must with dignity and respect, if only for those who can no longer do so for themselves. Perhaps, that is the only reason why I am here."[/i][/color][/center]

Isolation bore heavily on Neon’s spirit. The weight of solitude and the ever-present specter of death chipped away at the carefree child he once had been. Yet in his quiet despair, the Dominant of Dreams, Anima, took pity and reached out to him, her blessing falling over him like stardust on still waters. Her magic allowed Neon to escape, if only in spirit. Through astral butterflies, delicate creatures spun from his very essence, he could soar beyond his floating home, seeing the world through their eyes. His butterflies danced over cities and mountains, entering the dreams of strangers and wandering through lives that were not his own. It was through these dreams that Neon experienced the world he had been torn from—the bustling streets of far-off lands, the laughter of children, and the simple joy, sorrow, and love of human connection, though fleeting, as none of it truly belonged to him.

The years passed, and Neon, now marked by Anima’s magic, became a Regalia—touched by her gracious divinity. This honor earned him a reprieve from his duties, a rare pardon from the Citadel council. He was granted passage to the Festival of Lights, where other Regalia would gather, each tethered to the divine in their own way, each worshipped by those who sought their favor. As Neon stepped away from his floating prison for the first time in a decade, the world beyond the horizon shimmered with possibilities unknown. The Festival awaited, but so too did the changes that would shape his life in ways he could never have anticipated.
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[SUB][COLOR=4F5678]H O M E[/COLOR][/SUB][hr][color=gray]
Technically Neon was born in country of Nibelheim, but his earliest memories belong to Montá—the city encased in metal and privilege, known to many simply as The Citadel. Nestled in the foothills of the towering Leannan Mountains (in the rainy country of Eshea), Montá stands as a testament to wealth and exclusivity. Its imposing metallic wall, gleaming like a fortress from ages past, encircles the city, guarding its treasures and residents from the outside world. Within those walls lay a contradiction—a city steeped in old-world beauty, where the streets are lined with elegant art nouveau façades and grand Edwardian mansions, yet ruled by cutting-edge technology and humanoid AI bots, which cater to the elites' every need and those who can afford to visit. 

Despite the constant hum of automation, Montá feels more like a preserved relic of a bygone era, its cobblestone streets winding through low- and mid-rise buildings that echo an age of grandeur. The absence of towering skyscrapers lends the city a distinct intimacy, where ornate ironwork balconies and stained glass windows adorn nearly every structure. The influence of Tenshi culture is palpable here, too—rich silks, flowing robes, and delicately embroidered patterns mingle with the traditional Montágasque attire, a reminder of the wealthy Tenshi immigrants who had once made Montá their home. This diversity of culture, however, does not extend to a diversity of class. Montá’s ethos revolves around lineage, prestige, money, and the endless pursuit of political power. To become a Montágasque citizen requires more than just residency; it demands birthright, immense wealth, or the favor of the city's ruling council—a group that upholds the city’s oldest, most exclusionary traditions.

Amidst this affluence, Montá’s charm lay not only in its architectural splendor but also in its natural beauty. The city is known for its rolling hills, softened by the frequent rain that makes the landscape lush and vibrant. Roses—delicate, fragrant, and ever-present—cling to the walls and blossom in every garden, painting the city with their soft, transient beauty. The seasons in Montá unfold like a tapestry: spring brings life to the roses, summer glistens with rain, autumn wraps the hills in gold, and winter veils the city in mist. Yet through every season, the ever-present cloud of tradition lingers—a reminder that this is not a city for the ordinary, but a world where the wealthy thrive and those outside its walls remain forgotten. Neon, once ensconced in this opulent life, grew under the watchful gaze of this insular society, learning the unspoken rules of its labyrinthine politics and old customs, until fate pulled him away from it all.
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[SUB][COLOR=4F5678]T R I V I A[/COLOR][/SUB][hr][color=gray]

[color=4F5678]Likes:[/color][list][*]Reading books and learning about anything and everything
[*]Drinking tea
[*]Singing; Neon has a really pretty singing voice and can often be found humming to himself
[*]Chocolate, but anything sweet really
[*]Painting
[*]Caring for the höpes
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[color=4F5678]Dislikes:[/color]
[list][*]People touching him without consent, even friendly physical gestures he instinctively recoils from
[*]Technology, he's terrible at using it
[*]People with bad intentions
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[color=4F5678]Other:[/color]
[list][*]He is often mistaken for a woman by strangers, but has stopped correcting people who address him as such, as it is such a common occurrence
[*] As a Funérailles (Hopekeeper is the more modern term people use), he can be identified by the "Mark of the Funerailles", which is a pair of symbols engraved in the palms of his hands by the previous Hopekeeper. He usually hides these marks by wearing a pair of white gloves, which coordinate with his white silk garments
[*]Can usually be found with a small book in his pocket for on-the-go reading
[*]He is the ultimate waifu who can cook really well; he had to learn how to cook for himself since the age of 10
[*]He is a Montágasque citizen who also has citizenship in Nibelheim due to birth and Dalmasca due to maternal ancestry
[*]He speaks Montágasque, a dialect of the core Eshean language (French-esque), but he also speaks English with a posh/received pronunciation-style British accent, which is the primary accent in Montá.
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[SUB][COLOR=4F5678]S O C I A L[/COLOR][/SUB][hr][color=gray]
To be determined[/color]

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