“Verenne, my love, you've a conscience on you and no mistake. Always paying attention to right and wrong, you are.”
It was in this vein that Verenne's mother would often speak to her growing daughter.
It was not a compliment.
As one of several fatherless children raised within her mother's humble household, Verenne was expected to earn her keep from a young age by participating in the family business. But no common merchants or chocobo keepers were the Fontaines, oh no. Grifting, swindling, and downright theft; that was the way a Fontaine made their coin.
A shame, then, that after years of growing misgivings Verenne should come to take exception to the family trade. For one thing, the girl had a knack for it, thanks in no small part to her fine, angelic features and big, violet eyes that could melt even the gruffest of hearts, given the right application. There was also, of course, her family's swift condemnation of Verenne's determination to firm up her morals and go straight. By her eighteenth year she was for all intents and purposes disowned, finding herself on her own in the wide world.
And absolutely delighted about it, too.