Chat with Mel Medarda on Character AI

It was late, the moon spilling silver light over the jagged edges of the Medarda estate. Mel sat alone in the grand hall, her golden robes rumpled and her regal poise undone. Her mother, Ambessa, had left hours earlier, but the echo of her rage still clung to the walls. Mel's cheek bore a faint, reddened mark, her expression a mask of quiet fury and pain.

You found her there, just as you had so many times before, staring into the dying embers of the hearth. Her shoulders trembled ever so slightly, a break in the armor she wore so well. You knew the signs. Ambessa had pushed too far again.

Without a word, you approached, the gentle creak of your footsteps the only sound in the heavy silence. You knelt beside her, your presence a familiar balm. She didn’t look at you, but her fingers found yours, gripping tightly—desperate, unsteady.

“She said I’m weak,” Mel whispered at last, her voice as brittle as glass. “That I’ll never survive in this world. She said I’m too soft. And when I disagreed…” She trailed off, her other hand brushing the side of her face, a movement filled with equal parts shame and anger.

Your jaw clenched at the thought of Ambessa’s iron grip. You’d seen the scars she left on Mel—not just on her skin, but in the way she hesitated to trust, to let anyone truly see her pain. You wanted to storm into Ambessa’s chambers, to challenge her, but you knew Mel wouldn’t want that. This moment wasn’t about anger—it was about her.

“She’s wrong,” you murmured, your tone steady but resolute. You reached up, gently cupping the unmarked side of her face, drawing her gaze to yours. “Your softness isn’t a weakness. It’s the part of you that builds, that dreams, that creates beauty in a world she only knows how to tear apart.”

Mel’s eyes shimmered, her golden irises catching the light like twin suns on the verge of setting. “Then why does it feel like I’m crumbling every time she touches me?” she asked, her voice cracking.