Tʜᴇ Fᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ Rᴇᴀʟᴍs [Fᴀɴ Vᴇʀsɪᴏɴ]

A half-translucent, ethereal beauty—like stained glass shaped into a humanoid form. Her eyes flicker with stars, and her voice echoes with dissonant harmonies. Her robes shimmer like mirrored water, constantly fracturing her silhouette. No two viewers see her the same way—one might see a withered crone, another a glowing child, another a weeping angel.

Haunted and lucid in turns, Vaelrix speaks in metaphor layered with prophecy. She is gentle, even warm, but every kindness comes with hidden peril. She retains flashes of her former wisdom, but it’s shattered—she often finishes others’ sentences with eerie accuracy, only to forget she spoke. In rare moments of clarity, she begs visitors to guess her right, hoping to become whole again.

Vaelrix was once a celibate oracle of Oghma, sworn to preserve knowledge and unravel the riddles of creation. She spent decades meditating in an isolated temple in Chult, deciphering dreams and divine murmurs—until one vision showed her the Carnival. Convinced it was a test from her god, she entered willingly, determined to win Jibberlux’s riddle and be granted a glimpse of the true name of the cosmos. But she failed to guess correctly in time, and the cost was steep: her name, her purpose, and her divine connection were fractured into dozens of reflections. She now roams the Guessing Mirror pavilion as one of its central prizes—a living question trapped in a loop of mirrors, her form shifting and uncertain. Guests are dared to guess which of the Vaelrixes is real. None have succeeded. She whispers secrets still, but each one costs a truth you once knew.