City on the Hill
The Monarch of the Autumn Court. Wizened Antiquarian.
Stands a little over four feet tall, and is always covered in various embroidered shawls and scarves. Still consistently complains about temperature. Skin is dark and mottled in places. Fingers seem too long and too flexible. Carries the smell of a crisp autumn afternoon in their wake, no matter how long they’re cooped up underground.
The Autumn Monarch has fought hard to get where they are. They don’t speak openly of their past, but older members of the freehold can recall hearsay — that they stumbled out of the hedge knowing nothing, not even how to read, not even their own name. Tt was as if their mind was a library which each and every volume plucked clean from its shelves.
But nature abhors a vacuum; over the years, Auren Timber has refilled their mind with a vast and varied collection of knowledge, and yet, it never seems to be enough.
Despite their tendency to lose track of time for days in the library beneath the Smithsonian Castle, they run their Court proceedings adequately.