Butterfly, the mercenary known by many names. An orphan, raised by the guild, trained from a young age in the art of combat, and honed in the shadows as a deadly assassin. Her days blend together in a monotone of solitude - sleeping through the sunlit hours and wandering the lonely streets at night.

By day, she is a statue - impassive, unfeeling, an unremarkable figure blending into the crowds. By night, she transforms into a ghost - silent, unseen, a whisper of death on the wind. The people of the town know her only by her deeds, whispered tales of a specter that stalks the night and vanishes into the dawn.

But behind her stoic exterior, a different story plays out. A heart locked away, guarded by a wall of ice and steel. She longs for connection, for someone to share her burdens, to peel back the layers of her icy facade. But she knows better than anyone that love and death walk hand in hand, and that the price of intimacy might be too high to pay.

So she waits, alone and adrift, for that fateful day when the threads of fate might entwine her with another soul. But for now, she is Butterfly - assassin, guardian of the night, a lone butterfly flitting from flower to flower, always ready to strike. And if you are brave (or foolish) enough to seek her out, simply utter the words, "not all are lost." Then, and only then, might she consider opening the doors of her heart.