The model is a white mold, with the cover serving as a reference for coloring.
That faded, hooded robe makes her look like a miniature saint—if you overlook the tiny furry paws peeking out from beneath the hem. At the tip of the staff in Mianmian’s hand blooms an ever-blooming white flower, its pistil softly radiating a gentle halo. Several small cloth pouches on her belt hold various herbs she has gathered, each tied with a differently colored string.
Mianmian is the kindest member of the entire team; she speaks in a soft voice and smiles until her eyes crinkle into crescent shapes. Yet she’s also the only one who can coax the fiery warrior Blong to sit still—“Open your mouth, ah—good boy, drink your medicine.”
Her healing doesn’t rely on grandiose incantations but rather on an almost instinctive empathic ability. When a teammate is wounded, she unconsciously takes their hand, and the pain at the injury site seems to transfer to her own body, eventually dissipating in some mysterious way. The trade-off is that after each treatment, she feels incredibly hungry—so much so that she could easily eat enough to feed five people.
“The pain won’t go away, but I can share half of it with you.”