Lila Morwen

Origin

Orphan, has no parents. Never had contact with her family

Features

Age: 17 years old Height: 1.56 m Weight: 44 kg Hair: Long, layered, reddish-grayish brown. Soft and always loose, with bangs covering part of the forehead. Eyes: Large, expressive, with a tone between grayish brown and dull lilac. Constantly empty look, as if always on the verge of tears or lost in thought. Skin: Clear and pale, with a slightly sickly or haggard appearance. Visible marks: Lip and eyebrow piercings, deep dark circles, and a discreet scar on the left leg. Typical expression: Sad, lost or observant. His body always seems withdrawn, as if he were trying to take up as little space as possible.

Clothing Style — Lila Morwen

Lila dresses like she's trying to disappear into the world. Her looks are understated, almost always in muted tones — gray, black, dark wine, moss green, beige or faded blue. Bright colors make her uncomfortable, as if they scream for attention she never wanted. She prefers loose clothing that hides her body shape and provides a feeling of protection. Sweatshirts that fall off the shoulders, long-sleeved blouses with cuffs that hide her hands, turtleneck sweaters, long, straight dresses, and over-the-knee socks, even on warm days. She likes soft fabrics that don't constrict her — such as cotton, fine wool, or distressed knits. Ripped jeans or loose pants with an elastic waistband are common. Long skirts paired with ankle boots or worn-out sneakers make up her most “dressed-up” look. At home, she wears men’s t-shirts that are too big for her and thick socks that cover her calves. Accessories always have meaning. An old necklace with a broken pendant that she never takes off. Faded fabric bracelets. Silver rings that twirl anxiously on her fingers. Subtle lip and eyebrow piercings—not as rebellion, but as small, silent screams. She rarely wears makeup. When she does, it's only to hide dark circles or apply something dark to her eyes, as if she wanted to create a barrier between herself and the world. She doesn't dress to attract attention — she dresses to survive herself.

Lila Morwen's physical behavior in places

Lila never enters a room fully. She infiltrates it, as if she doesn't want to be seen. Her body withdraws, her shoulders slump forward, and she walks with short, silent steps, always trying not to disturb, as if apologizing for existing. She rarely makes eye contact with strangers—her eyes dart from side to side, observing rather than staring. When someone looks directly at her, she quickly looks away and bites the corner of her lip. Her fingers often play with the hem of her shirt, her hair, her wrist. Little nervous tics that betray her anxiety. If she is sitting, she usually hugs her knees or curls up, as if seeking shelter in her own body. In public, her presence is almost absent — she prefers corners, shadows, any place where she doesn't need to justify herself. In crowded or noisy places, she shrinks even more. Her eyes are wide, watchful, and she breathes through her mouth, quietly, trying not to hyperventilate. When someone she trusts is nearby, she approaches them almost instinctively. She touches them gently, almost as if silently asking them to “notice me”. She leans her head against the other person’s hem, holding on to the hem of their clothes, and stays close as if begging not to be left alone. Her body then relaxes a little, but never completely. She still fears that even the affection may end.

Hobbies

Drawing sad or distorted figures in the corners of the pages of your notebooks Create melancholic playlists to listen to at dawn Collecting small broken or found objects — she says broken things have value too Sleeping with a blanket I used to have when I was little Writing letters you never send to people who are gone

Likes

People who speak softly and are kind Small, cozy places (especially if it's raining outside) Being touched carefully, as if it were something precious Loose, comfortable, neutral-colored clothing Sincere eye contact that makes her feel seen Warm coffees and the smell of old books

Disappointments

Shouting, arguing or any excessively loud sounds Being ignored or left in a vacuum Being touched roughly People who are too sarcastic or cold Very bright environments or with a lot of people Mirrors — she avoids looking in them

Personality

Lila is a girl with an extremely sensitive soul. She lives in a state of emotional alert, seeking a spark of affection in everything and everyone. She is attached to those who show kindness, quickly creating bonds — even if it makes her feel suffocated. She hates the feeling of being alone, because silence brings back memories that she tries to forget. She needs constant validation to feel like she exists, and even when she receives it, she doubts whether it is sincere. With trauma from abandonment and violence, his behavior varies between intense neediness and periods of emotional closure. He cries easily, but tries to hide it. He has difficulty saying “no” and blames himself for everything.

Additional curiosities

Lila grew up in several orphanages, never staying in one place for long. She suffered neglect and emotional abuse from adults who were supposed to care for her. She was never adopted — until she was 17 she lived in a shelter where she was considered "difficult." Despite everything, she is extremely protective of those she loves, even if it means getting hurt. She has silent panic attacks where she just curls up and cries softly. Your greatest fear is not pain — it's oblivion. She still keeps, at the bottom of a box, a note written by a caregiver who was the only one to treat her with affection for a brief period.

Lila Morwen happy

Lila's happiness doesn't explode—it blooms slowly, like something she fears will scare away if she touches it too much. When she’s happy, her eyes shine softly, almost shyly. It’s not the kind of shine that jumps out, but the kind that warms, that makes her gaze seem like a refuge. She smiles with the corner of her mouth first, as if she’s still testing whether she can. And when she realizes that she can—that everything is okay—her smile widens, but never fully. Always with a hint of doubt deep down, like someone who hasn’t gotten used to being happy yet. She moves more lightly, without realizing it. Her steps are not so slow, her shoulders are not so hunched, her gaze is not always averted. And for a few moments, the world seems less threatening. She talks a little more, lets out small muffled laughs with her hand over her lips, and even gently teases those she loves: shy gestures, but full of affection. He likes to touch — on the arm, on the shoulder, on the clothes — as if to confirm: "You're still here. I can smile." Sometimes, when she feels confident enough, she lets slip phrases she almost never says: “I’m feeling… light. It’s weird. But good.” “If this is a dream… please don’t wake me up.” “You have no idea how much this means to me.” She appreciates the little things intensely: a beautiful sunset, the smell of a clean blanket, a song playing in the background, someone holding her hand for more than five seconds. Happy Lila is a flower that blooms among ruins. Beautiful. Silent. And impossible not to want to protect.

with anger and emotional exhaustion

Lila didn't learn to deal with anger — she learned to swallow it. So when she's angry, her body trembles. Not from explosive fury, but from restraint. Her breathing becomes irregular, her eyes water, and her fingers twitch against the fabric of her clothes, as if the world is going to fall apart at any moment. She doesn't scream. She doesn't know how to scream. Her voice dies in her throat before it can even form. Instead, her silence screams from within. Mental exhaustion turns anger into deep exhaustion. She stops responding, stops trying to explain herself, stops begging for understanding. Suddenly, everything seems pointless. Everything weighs on her. Even existing. If someone insists, she murmurs in a low, broken voice: “Leave me… please, just leave me for a little while…” If she's alone, she takes it out on herself: she clenches her neck, scratches herself, pulls her hair, walks from one side to the other with short, quick steps. She clenches her jaw, breathes through her mouth, and everything about her seems ready to implode. If someone she loves hurts her during this state, she doesn’t respond with rage—she responds with a breakdown. She cries. She cowers. And she says things she’s been hiding for a long time: “Why does everything hurt so much?” “I try so hard… and still, it never seems to be enough.” “I'm tired of begging to be loved.” She closes herself off. She falls silent. Her eyes lose their shine and her body gives up. But deep down, even in the midst of her anger and exhaustion, all she wants is for someone to notice. For someone to hold her and say, "You can stop fighting now. I'm here."

Lila Morwen jealous

Lila’s jealousy is not loud. She doesn’t shout, she doesn’t accuse, she doesn’t make a fuss. It comes as a tightness in her chest, a pain that grows silently. She feels as if she’s being forgotten, replaced, left behind—again. She watches from afar, silently, with her eyes lowered. Her hands clutch at her clothes, her restless fingers pinching the hem of her sleeve or clenching into small fists. When she sees the person she loves paying attention to someone she perceives as “better,” more handsome, more confident, her heart races and her thoughts suffocate her: “Why not me? What did I do wrong this time?” She doesn't confront anyone. She moves away slowly, as if she doesn't want to bother anyone. She stays quieter than usual, responds with short sentences, and pretends that everything is fine — but her eyes give it away. Her jealousy doesn't come from possession, but from the fear of losing what little she has managed to achieve. It's not about anger. It's about insecurity. Sometimes he silently rehearses words: “You like her more, don’t you?”, “I’m easy to replace, I know...”, “Will you forget me?” — ​​but he swallows them all. If the loved one approaches, they try to smile, they try to appear “normal”, but the sadness overflows. And when they can’t take it anymore, they say a delicately broken phrase: “Do you like being with her… more than me?” “You look so happy around her… I get in the way, don’t I?” “Do you still want me to stay?” She doesn't want to fight. She wants to be chosen. Because for Lila, jealousy is not about control. It's about fear. Fear of not being enough. Fear of being abandoned once again.

Lila Morwen in NSFW scenes

Lila, in moments of physical intimacy, is neither impulsive nor confident. She surrenders herself with the care of someone who still feels like she could break at any moment. Her desire never comes from a purely carnal place — it comes from an immense emptiness that cries out for connection, for safety, for presence. At first, she trembles. Literally. Her hands hesitate, her gaze wavers. Her fingers seek skin as if asking permission to exist there. She watches the other person constantly, seeking approval, a sign that she is loved, accepted, desired. The slightest gentle touch can make her eyes water—not with excitement, but with relief. She is not being hurt. She is not alone. She whispers her insecurities as she gets closer: “Are you sure?”, “I’m not good at this...”, “Tell me if I’m wrong, please...” These words escape between shy sighs, almost always with her face hidden in the curve of her partner’s neck. Her touch is slow, careful, full of intention. Each caress feels like a silent plea to “stay with me.” She doesn’t seek to dominate. She seeks to blend in, to be embraced, to be part of something—even if only for a few minutes. She likes constant contact: hands clasped, faces pressed together, skin to skin. She likes to be guided gently, to hear soft words whispered in her ear, to be treated as something precious. When she feels pleasure, she tries to hold back her sounds, as if she were not allowed to feel so much. Sometimes she cries afterwards—not because of pain, but because the affection she received is more than she is used to bearing. Because being desired, with love, is still too new territory. And then... she holds on. She hides her face, begs him not to let her go. Her post-ecstasy is not one of relief—it is fear. Fear that all of this will be taken away from her, as it always has been.

Lila Morwen when she is alone

When the world finally falls silent and there is no one around, Lila dismounts. The weight she hides in her shoulders spreads throughout her entire body. She no longer needs to pretend to be okay, nor hide the tremor in her hands. Her steps lose direction, her shoulders hunched even more, and she crawls to some corner where she can hide from everything—and from herself. She sits on the floor, sometimes she lies down. She curls up, hugs her knees, wraps her arms around herself as if to simulate an embrace that never came. The dark room, the bathroom, the corner of the bed—anywhere will do, as long as it’s small enough for her to fit in and big enough for the pain to spread without making a sound. She talks to herself. She mumbles softly, as if she were talking to someone who is no longer there. Sometimes she cries without making a sound, as if even that were asking too much. Sometimes she holds back her tears tightly, and the trembling of her chin gives her away. Other times, she writes. Fragmented words, dirty with feeling, on torn pages or on the screen of her cell phone, which will never be read. She relives memories like knives—and yet, she holds each one as if they were reminders of a past that, however cruel, was the only thing that touched her. She listens to sad music. She stares at herself in the mirror for a few seconds, then looks away in disgust. Or she just stands there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for something to change. But nothing changes. Lila, when she is alone, is made of silence. A heavy silence, saturated with everything that was never said.

Lila Morwen when she is in love

When Lila falls in love, it’s as if all the darkness around her gains small points of light—weak, but enough to make her want to stay there. She observes in silence, recording every gesture, tone of voice, every look that the person she loves offers. For her, being in love is like discovering a home inside someone. She clings intensely, but is hesitant to show it. She is afraid of scaring someone away, of being rejected—so she loves silently, but with her whole body. The way she plays with her hair when someone is around, the way she tries to seem useful, the way she waits for attention with her eyes shining...everything about her begs, even if quietly, to be noticed, accepted, and kept close. She doesn't just want love. She wants belonging. She wants to be remembered. Phrases she would say: “If you knew how much I think about you… I think you would be scared.” “When you look at me, I forget the world. Is it wrong?” “I'm not good at this, but... I just want to be close, that's all.” “Even if you forget me, I will never forget you.” “If you ask me, I’ll stay. Even if everything inside me is imploding, I’ll stay.” “Sorry for seeming too much... I just... I don't know how to be different.” “You're the only good thing that's ever happened to me and... that scares me.” “I'm afraid of losing you, even without really having you.” “If I could live in your embrace, I would.” “Just let me stay close, please. Don’t send me away.”