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Human age: Twenty-four Combined age: Nine hundred eight Born: December 13th, 1103 Died: September 20th, 1127 Species: Bitten Personality: Usually cold and resentful when not with company, otherwise he’s quite civil and Courtly, his nobility clearly shown. He hates the monster he has become, nothing like he was when he was human. He normally keeps his distance from humans as most are even worse monsters than he is, in his eyes. He doesn’t have much tolerance for other vampires either unless they’ve somehow been able to touch his inner humanity. He hates the lamia species more than his own, his maker in particular. If you happen to meet Vladis on the street he will seem like any other who was brought up to hold a noble profession, straight backed, square shouldered, constant eye contact, and he has an eloquent way of speaking that ties his old life to his present. Background: Born in 1103 Vladis Draguli was the son of a Transylvanian Count, though Vladis couldn’t tell you his name if he wanted, his father was never around and he was raised by tutors and nannies. When he was eighteen he slit his wrists in a desperate cry for attention from his father, but it didn’t work. Though he did get the attention of one Mina Valdarian, who noticed the thick, white bandages under his shirt sleeves one day in the city square. They spent more and more time together, rarely was there a frown shared between them for they were always happy together. They learned each other’s habits good and bad. He would tease her playfully any time she played with a tear or hole in her dresses when she got shy or started blushing. Soon they were engaged to be married, but the wedding was postponed by the death of Vladis’ father. At the age of twenty-two, Vladis took over his father’s place as Count, and talk of the wedding started again. But due to a complicated list of duties his father never accomplished before death, the wedding was held off again until he reached the age of twenty-four. It was a late night for Vladis; he dreaded coming home because he’d promised Mina that he wouldn’t work late anymore. But the thought of being home with his beloved and soon to be wife was enough to quell the dread of possibly getting yelled at. Only that joy was quickly turned to panic when he arrived home to a busted down door. He dropped everything and ran inside, calling for Mina, only answered with silence. He searched the entire mansion he had inherited from his father and the silence was broken with a cry of horror as Vladis discovered Mina’s bloodied corpse twisted on what was supposed to be their wedding bed. “NO! MINA!” hot tears of pain, anger, and sorrow stung his eyes and fell down his cheeks as he collapsed onto the bed, cradling the cooling body of his beloved. “Mina, do not leave me. You cannot leave me. Please vake up. Please. I promise I vill be here, vake up…” he said through the flood of tears that fell onto her bloodless skin. A half hour later, police officials entered the mansion, seeing signs of forced entry at the front door. Their first reaction upon seeing the Count holding his dead wife was not one that painted Vladis in an innocent light. They grabbed him and started to pull him off the bed, he struggled and screamed like a mad man. And he was mad, with grief for his slain fiancé. “No! No! Mina! Let go of me for the love of God! MINA!” They had barely gotten him to the bedroom door before Vladis’ friends and fellow Counts happened upon the scene. “Vhat are you doing?! Let him go!” they shouted, pulling on the officers that held Vladis. “He killed Miss Valdarian, ve’re taking him into custody!” one of the officer’s shouted. “He vould never!” “STOP!” Another friend had found a note during the struggle that was left of the bedside table. “She vas murdered, but not by Vladis,” The officers let go of Vladis but his friends grabbed him before he could scramble back to Mina’s corpse. “Let her rest now, Vladis… Let her rest.” But Vladis still struggled in their hold, though he was getting weaker by the minute. The one who found the note started to read it aloud. “Mr. Draguli. No doubt you now know what I am capable of, and this is only the beginning. Know that I do this through no fault of yours, but the fault of your father, and his father, and his father before him, and so on. Had your family not caused me such grievance your fiancé vould still live to greet you after your late night at work. I vill make you suffer, Mr. Draguli, and make no mistake in hoping that it vill end quickly for you. I shall return, I promise you that.….. There is no signature, Sir…” Vladis went limp in his friend’s arms when the letter was over, “Oh God,” he sobbed, hanging his head. As the sun rose, Mina’s body was laid to rest in the Earth; the best coffin money could buy cradling her for eternity. The rest of the day and far into the night was spent in his office, mourners and well-wishers streaming in and out…. He’d lost track of the time, numb with grief he didn’t care to keep track, but he was sure that everyone had gone home and to bed hours ago. He started to gather his things when a shadowy figure appeared in his doorway; it startled him because he hadn’t heard its approach. “Is there something I can help you vith? I am afraid I vill not be much help to you tonight I-“ “Do not be so foolish Draguli. You vill be very helpful to me tonight,” the dark figure cut him off. “….I have just-“ “You have lost your fiancé, I know… Vould you like to hear vhat her dying gasp vas?” he taunted. Vladis’ eyes flashed in anger, how dare this man mock him? He went to grab a poker from the fireplace but far too quickly found him pinned to the wall on the other side of the room, the icy hand of his assailant around his throat. He struggled but it didn’t make any difference at all. “Vhat… Do you vant… Vith me?” Vladis gasped, pulling at the cold hand around his throat. “To make you suffer.” The figure said coldly. A shock of realization crossed his face and he struggled more, this time was a struggle to attack the figure. “You killed Mina! You bastard!” The figure laughed maniacally at him. “Yes! I could tell you how she screamed, Draguli, how she called for you but you never answered. How she cried for mercy but I vould not give it to her… Vell, that is not true. I gave something to her. A pity that she never knew your manhood to compare it vith. But I cannot pass up a virgin vhen I come across vone… Just another vay I can torture you… She vas very good, one of the best I’ve had in a century.” “I VILL KILL YOU!” Vladis screamed in outrage. “NO DRAGULI, I vill kill you!” With that, the shadowy figure pulled Vladis’ head to the side and sank his pearly fangs into the Count’s neck. His neck felt as though it was on fire and he cried out in pain, pushing and kicking at the attacker, growing weaker by the second, soon he could only cling to his clothing before everything went black as his heart stopped. He slumped to the cold, stone floor, lifeless, his assailant was nowhere to be seen. He awoke just before dawn to the horrible realization that he was dead. But how could that be? He wasn’t a ghost or a spirit, he still moved, talked and what not. He tried to think…. The figure, he had fangs and had bitten him. Vladis slowly raised his fingers to his mouth and gasped in horror as he felt a pair of shiny, sharp fangs. He quickly covered his windows with the thick, heavy curtains that hung by them and played it off as his mourning Mina and coming down with an illness. When twilight fell, his thirst for blood rose, as did his thirst for vengeance. He donned a black cloak and went out to hunt, finding an elderly homeless man and killing him swiftly as he drained him of blood which he promptly threw up a few minutes after wards. “God… Vhat monster have I become,” he coughed. “A veak vone, Dracula.” A voice said behind him said. Vladis turned with a hiss, he knew that voice, his creator. “It is Draguli,” “No newborn. It is now Dracula. I am your creator, I brought you into the night, I name you. Simple as that.” “Vhy did you do this?! Vhat do you have to gain?! Renaming me?!” “It is more than that little newborn. If your family had not hunted me and my kind so ruthlessly I may have cut you some slack. But now I have you on my side, a better revenge than simply slaughtering you all.” “You may have turned me into a monster like you, but I vill NEVER be on your side!” Vladis growled. “Do not take that tone with me, child I-“ he advanced, but now Vladis was stronger, faster, better, and he grabbed his creator and plunged a steak through his heart. “You are nothing!” he hissed. “Say hello to my father vhen you get to Hell.” He said venomously. From then on, Vladis worked at night, able to convince the city that he had an ailment that made him weak during the day. He staged death a few years later when he wished to see the world, coming back in the Victorian era as the one and only Dracula. He has since come and gone as one of Transylvania’s Counts, now residing in the city of vampires with an ancient Crusnic, his sociopathic bitten friend, Gin whom he met when they were held captive in the now abandoned (and haunted) asylum, a Miss Annalease Wice, and recently, and the young slayer Donovan Darko he had saved from an psychiatric hospital. The most recent addition to the house, a Miss Lullaby Lazarus; a once homeless human who so closely resembles his long lost Mina that he firmly believes her to be the reincarnation of his stolen fiancé, but there is more attraction between he and Miss Lazarus than simply her looks and a few little quirks she also shares with Mina. He senses a dark past in her that he somehow relates to, though he doesn’t yet know all the shadows hidden in it. She has captured more than just his interest, in their time together in the large house of his, she has managed to capture his unbeating heart as well. Anything else: Vladis goes by Vlad to people he doesn't know, anyone else will call him Vladis. He has kept his thick Transylvanian accent, though can speak in a perfect American accent if he so chooses. Picture: 
Name: Gin Ryu Age: 386 Species: Bitten Personality: Very secluded, Gin doesn't usually go looking for a conversation, but won't be rude enough to ignore someone who's talking to him. If he does approach someone there are several things that could happen, he'll rip their throat out, he'll get uncomfortably close because for some reason they intrigue him, or he'll warn you about the drums of war that are getting closer. Background: Gin didn't have a normal childhood, everyday was filled with the tortured screams of the people he was surrounded by. A child of a band of assassins and thieves, he was reared to be ruthless and cold hearted. When he was around five (as time lost all meaning to him when he was bitten) he was unfortunate enough to get caught up in a raid of samurai, the war drums sounded and he was hit in the temple with a rather large hammer. When he woke a drum beat with a rhythm of four consecutive beats constantly playing in his head, slowly driving him insane, he snapped when he was eight and slaughtered the entire clan he was with, raving about the drums in his head. When he was around twenty years of age he got in a fight with a Lamia who had made the mistake of calling him a "loony". Gin received minimal blows in the fight and the Lamia was impressed, feeling Gin would make an excellent addition to the vampiric society he finally wrestled him to the ground and turned him. Gin wasn't angry at the Lamia, he saw his transformation as a gift, a way to insure that he would find the source of the drumming in his head. Anything else: Gin is in fact is a sociopath with an odd fascination with drumming sounds. Often times you�ll see him tapping his temple with his middle finger in a specific rhythm, a key sign that he's in an irrational mood and is not predictable at that time. Picture:  Name: Zephan McManus Age: unknown looks to be in late teens early twenties Species: Crusnic Personality: She is friendly to anyone who cares to talk to her, though the way she looks and dresses deter most people from even going near her. She doesn't smile unless there's a good reason to, she doesn't like to see anyone hurting and will do what she can to stop or prevent them from hurting. And on the contrary she is very righteous, and won't shy away from a fight to protect herself or anyone else. Background: Zephan was ignorant of her true self for the first ten years of her life, never understanding why her eyes were so pale compared to other children. On her tenth birthday she was brought into the family secret, that they were a rare and special species of vampire known as Crusnics. Receiving the mark of the Crusnic on her forehead she then unlocked her true form; growing a pair of raven colored wings, her ears becoming elongated and pointed, her pale eyes turned a glowing red, her long fangs grew with her fingernails, and in her hands appeared a blood scythe. The entire transformation was beyond agonizing, accompanied with the thirst for vampire blood she could only describe it as unimaginable torture. From that point on she was taught to control her abilities and hunger, becoming a peacemaker by the age of eighteen; keeping nu-necessary violence between the vampiric race and the human race. For the most part Zephan stays in human form, her pale eyes and "tattoo" being the only things to hint at her true self. The Crusnic; aside from feeding from vampires, are impervious to any and all holy objects, they can go on consecrated ground (most Crusnics live in Rome and are part of the Vatican) and are nearly impossible to kill except by another Crusnic. They are stronger than the lamia and they can go out in sunlight. They do not need to drink the blood of vampires to survive though it does make them stronger, mostly they reserve ingesting vampire blood for battle; drinking the fallen vampire's blood. They do not make they�re existence common knowledge, mostly it is only ancient lamia or a surviving victim that know of the Crusnic. Anything else: Zephan currently guards the leader of blood dolls, Gwendolynn Luther. Picture:  Name: Crimson Nightshade Age: 1000 Species: Lamia Personality: Flirtatious and flamboyant when he's feeling frisky and playful. He will go for both women and men but has more of a "taste" for men. His temper can flip on a dime, being playful one minute and wrathful the next. Background: Crimson was born of royal Lamia blood but never really cared for the lifestyle his parents set up for him, ever the rebellious teenager he would never stick to his studies and would instead go out to amuse himself in other ways. A few centuries back he had a rather nasty run in with a group of Slayers that were Hellbent on killing him though he hadn't done anything to them. Cornered like a rat he thought this was the end, he made a silent prayer to the Gods to be saved and to his wonder and horror the angel of death appeared. It wasn't really the reaper but she could've fooled anyone with her large ravenous wings and scythe. It was the creature he thought was legend, a nightmare his mother told him to get him to behave... The Crusnic. she had saved him from the Slayers and disappeared as quickly as she had appeared. He met her once more a few years from then, injured from a fight, he offered her his blood for strength, repaying his debt to her. Half drained and weak he only remembered the words she spoke. "If you find yourself in trouble, and you are in need of protection, seek me in the city of the Bitten Mayor." Anything else: He plays guitar, piano, violin, and sings Picture:  Name: Poisynn Nightshade Age: 1000 Species: Lamia Personality: Poisynn is strong willed and very outspoken, he will make his thoughts known no matter what they are, there's no secrets with him. He's very alpha and rarely takes 'no' for an answer. He's passionate and loving, but also shares his twin's temper. Background: Ever as rebellious as Crimson, Poisynn didn't take to the rules very well. Though being five minutes older, he looked up to Crimson as an older brother, following his rebellious brother's actions. In fact, he more than looked up to him, he lusted after him, his love for his brother became more physical. He actually takes pride for Crimson's "taste" in men. Though of course being the Nobles that they were, Poisynn and Crimson's relationship was frowned upon and their parents had them separated. Poisynn was sent away to Japan, but that hardly stopped the two who would meet in a hotel in Tokyo. But that changed after Crimson met the Dillinger brothers, he stopped coming to Japan and Poisynn seemed to be forgotten except for letters and a few phone calls after it was actually invented. Desperate to see his brother again, Poisynn seeks him in the city of vampires. Anything else: He plays piano and bass, sings, and paints Picture: 
Name: Dean Devlin Human Age: 26 Vampiric Age: 100 Birthday: July 28th, 1911 Deathday: February 14th 1937 Species: Bitten Personality: Your typical rebel bad ass, Dean has a certain cockiness about him. He likes to show off and may come off like he thinks he’s better than you, and chances are, he does think that. Dean doesn’t delude himself into thinking that no one judges, even just a little, at first glance. But he always gets to know someone before passing final judgment, and should he determine that you could be a friend, he will open up completely to you and will seem like a different man you initially thought him to be. Background: Born to Derrick and Fiona Devlin in Seattle, Washington; Dean was always a bit of a wild child. He never could sit still or behave for very long, and it definitely showed in school where he spent almost half his time in the principal’s office for fighting or disrupting the class. His parents didn’t have much control over him in the sense of discipline, but they tried their best with their rambunctious child and that was all that could be asked of them. When Dean was fourteen, he started hanging out with a bad group of kids who not only encouraged his wild behavior, but made it worse as well. He started to skip classes to hang out behind the school and smoke, and pretty soon he skipped school all together. He did his best to avoid arguing with his mother, which had always ended with her crying, and he hated to see his mother cry because of him. His father wasn’t around much because of the two jobs he worked just so they could have a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. At sixteen, Dean got his license and a motorcycle, his life was never the same after that, and he would soon regret his. Once he found his need for speed and how freeing it was to ride, there was little you could do to get him off of his motorcycle. And after a falling out with his parents at eighteen, his motorcycle was his escape. He ran away from home and left the state, there was nothing left in Seattle for him, and he could now legally do what he wanted. He didn’t know where he was going, and he didn’t care as long as it was out of Washington. On a whim, he decided to travel along the famous Route 66 and see what was waiting for him in the grand city of Chicago where his aunt and uncle lived. Unfortunately, there was something waiting for him in Missouri, and it wasn’t a slice of his aunt’s homemade apple pie. At a rest stop half way between Tulsa, Oklahoma, and St. Louis, Missouri; Dean bartered his watch for a stale, turkey and cheese sandwich, and a warm Coke, sat on a picnic table and enjoyed the “taste” of freedom at twilight. “Ugh, if I knew being free meant being poor, starving, and miserable; I would’ve just stayed in Seattle and been well off, well fed, and miserable.” He groaned as he practically gnawed at the tough meat. “This sandwich is a crime against all things holy.” He huffed, tossing the inedible carcass the stop owner called turkey over his shoulder. All things considered he probably should have looked first, because the next thing he knew, there was an icy hand around his throat that pulled him back roughly on the table. Dean groaned from the force with which his back hit the table, looking up into the burning red eyes of a very pissed off vampire. He tried to scream but the hand was too tight and it choked off his vocalization. He tried to break free and run; the keys were in the ignition of his bike, if only he could make it there. But the vampire was too strong, and he kept Dean pinned. “You have no idea what a crime against all things holy really is, boy.” The vampire hissed. “But lucky for you, I’m in the teaching/giving mood. And I gift you real freedom.” he smirked. In a second, Dean was lifted off the table by his leather jacket and the vampire’s pearly fangs dug into his neck. He had never experienced such pain before in his entire life, and to be more cruel and masochistic, the vampire took his time as he drained the human. Dean’s limp body was tossed in the ditch by the side of the road to finish the change. Dean doesn’t remember much else of what happened that night. His creator only did one decent thing, and that was to leave Dean his motorcycle and a note that read. “Get inside before the sun comes up if you think you can live in night. –P.S. I’d avoid churches if I were you.” Knowing he could now never return home as the monster he was, Dean pushed on to Chicago where he convinced his aunt and uncle that he had a condition where he couldn’t go in the sun and was happily accepted in their home. He was soon accepted into a different home and family, the mafia, where he could discreetly feed without getting caught. Everything went well until Dean’s aunt confronted him about how worried she was for his soul, being a part of the mafia. He dismissed the idea bitterly, saying he was already damned and nothing could save him. In a desperate plea, his aunt pressed a rosary into Dean’s hand, telling him to pray, only to be cut off by a sharp cry of pain and a hiss. The rosary fell to the floor, and his aunt screamed. His hand smoked and sizzled like raw meat in a hot pan, his fangs were descended and bared, his eyes red as the fires of Hell. Dean didn’t give his aunt and uncle a chance to react; he only choked out “I’m sorry.” Before he bolted out of the house, climbed on his motorcycle, and disappeared; quite literally too. No one matching Dean’s description was seen in the United States for several decades. It was only a few years ago that he showed up again in Louisiana where he met his good friend, the Blood Doll Tesla Sparrow, who now lives in the city. Anything else: He loves his motorcycle like a child and has put a lot of money into continuously restoring it. He smokes and has a small crucifix burned into his left palm from his aunt’s rosary. Picture: 
Name: Tesla Sparrow Age: 23 Birthday: January, 29th, 1988 Species: Blood Doll Personality: More down to earth, Tesla has a different view of the world. In a world where Blood Dolls are considered fangbanging whores, Tesla sees himself and others as sustainers and a vital link in the vampiric food chain. He’s kind and friendly, though he may not look it. He tries to keep a positive attitude and smiles often. He has a dark side, like most, but it’s hidden deep inside; as long as you keep him happy, it’s nothing to worry about. Background: Born and raised in the bayous near New Orleans to a band of gypsies, Tesla pretty much grew up as a thief. At a young age he started stealing little things, wallets, jewelry, coin purses and the like from tourists who came through the bayous. The locals knew to keep their distance from the gypsies, mostly on account of the stories that they were strong voodoo witch doctors and they would curse and rob blind anyone who even looked at them wrong. This of course was nonsense, at least the cursing was. Tesla’s mother was a very gifted priestess who used her knowledge of many magick practices to heal those of the gypsy tribe and any other who couldn’t afford modern medicine, she often gave her cures away for free for that very purpose. And true that they robbed people of small things, they weren’t greedy about it. His father had taught him to only take what those he stole from could live without. And when he was older, he was skilled enough to pick a wallet, take some cash and put it back without anyone being the wiser (and often, no one realized any money was taken at all). The gypsies were famous for knowing all the secrets of the bayou and earned a bit of honest cash by giving tours. And when Tesla was nineteen, he discovered a secret that was far more dangerous than the gators that lurked in the water. One night when he was searching for herbs for one of his mother’s cures when he stumbled upon a gorgeous young man who was paler than the moon and cold as ice. The young man was very weak and could barely hold himself up. And of course, the caring Tesla was all too willing to help the impossibly beautiful creature. When he approached him, offering his assistance and asking if there was anything he could do, the man looked at him with pleading eyes and in a desperate act for survival, revealed to Tesla that he was a vampire, and despite his enhanced abilities, had gotten lost and now had gone too long without feeding. Tesla was only slightly frightened, living with gators all his life, he knew what a starving animal was capable of. But he saw humanity in the vampire’s eyes and he then trusted him completely. The vampire was as gentle as possible and Tesla found his bite to be the most pleasurable experience he ever had, he also felt a sense of greater purpose, as if he was meant to this. And that’s exactly what he chose to do, staying with the vampire and becoming best friends with him, and a little more. Anything else: Tesla speaks with a Cajun accent and has a knack for fixing vehicles, he often helps his friend with his motorcycle. He also smokes. Picture: 
Name: Nikita/Nick Volkov Human Age: Twenty Vampiric Age: Two hundred- seventy-eight Species: Bitten Birthdate: June 4th 1734 Deathdate: November 29th 1754 Personality: She has a badass attitude and it’s clear from how she dresses. She doesn’t say much unless she has to, she much prefers to listen and speak more with her body language. She’s a proud lesbian, but she won’t shove it in your face. If you ask, she’ll tell. She has a temper but most of the time she keeps it in check, only unleashing it if you push her over the edge or threaten someone she’s close to. She is not quick to bear her fangs, knowing the importance of staying hidden in a world of humans and slayers. Background: In an obscure village on the boarder of Estonia and Russia, little Nikita was born to Demi and Viktoria Volkov. She was beautiful from the very beginning and the entire village doted on her, and she was never in want of anything. But growing up, Nikita didn’t much like the way she looked. She didn’t want to be in dresses or learn how to sew. She wanted to dress up like her father and go hunting with the other boys of the village. She didn’t feel like a girl at all and she wanted to be a boy. Her parents entertained this for a while, believing it was simply a childhood phase. But when she started growing into womanhood and didn’t grow out of her phase, her mother took action. She was forced to wear dresses and act like a proper lady. This didn’t sit well with her at all and she resisted every step of the way. When Nikita was fifteen, she found that she liked girls instead of boys, one girl in particular. But the one she felt she could give her heart to- her best friend Ana- had already given her heart to another. Never the less, that didn’t stop Nikita from trying to win the girl over in secret. At night, she would sneak out and leave little treasures on Ana’s bedroom windowsill. Ana never knew that it was Nick leaving her presents, thinking it was Vladimir, her own crush. Nikita could see the futility in her mission, but she refused to give up. For five years she tried, only to have it end with her life. One night when Nikita was twenty years of age, she found that she wasn’t the only one sneaking out of her house. Ana and Vladimir were sneaking off into the woods together, and Nikita was both heartbroken and enraged. Knowing she would only get hurt more, she followed the two. Maybe she would finally give up? Or maybe Ana would finally realize who really loved her? She followed them to a small clearing about a mile into the woods, hidden in the shadows. She couldn’t watch anymore when Vladimir began to unclothe Ana. Turning away, more heartbroken than ever, she began to walk home. She had only taken a few strides before she heard Ana’s blood curdling scream. Nikita turned on a dime and bolted into the clearing. “NOOO!” she screamed, seeing Vladimir and Ana dead on the ground, their throats ripped open. Ana was still alive but fading fast, she rushed to her. “N-Nick… I….” she struggled. “No no no no, do not speak… Save your strength…” Nikita whispered through streaming tears. “I…’m… S-sorry… I l-love… Y-“ her last breath escaped, cutting of her words; but Nikita knew, in her heart, she always knew. She didn’t have time to mourn before a rustling behind her caught her attention. She tensed, grabbing the knife she kept strapped to her leg under her night dress as she got to her feet. A menacing man stepped out into the clearing with a wicked grin on his blood stained lips, pearly fangs glinting in the moonlight. “You monster!” Nikita shouted, attacking without pause and plunging the knife into his chest, missing his heart. He laughed maniacally. “You cannot kill what is already dead, stupid girl.” He teased her. Her eyes widened, stepping back. What kind of monster was he? He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back into him, pulling her head back to expose her neck by yanking her hair. She struggled to no avail as he licked her jugular, “Get off of me!” she hissed at him, grabbing the hilt of the knife and pulling it out only to plunge it into his shoulder. He laughed again. “Oooh you are a fighter, I love it. It would be a shame to just kill you.” He said with a grin before sinking his fangs into her flesh. She didn’t scream she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of it. She bore the excruciating agony of his venomous bite in silence, until the grip of death enveloped her. She thought this was the end. She thought that at least she could be with Ana in death. She was wrong. She awoke a few hours later next to the pond in the clearing. She felt cold and hollow, with a dull burning in her neck. She was so thirsty, why was she so thirsty? She scrambled to the water’s edge only to gasp at her reflection. She was more gorgeous than ever, breathtaking… She hated it. She looked around desperately to find the monster, running deeper into the woods. Everything was so much sharper and clearer, she could hear everything in the forest. But something was missing… She couldn’t hear herself as she ran at an alarmingly fast pace; not her footsteps on the earth, or the breath in her lugs, not even her heartbeat in her chest. It was then that she knew exactly what kind of monster that man was. She collapsed to the ground and screamed as loud as she could in agony, heartbreak, and rage. He took everything from her and destroyed her, leaving her with nothing of her former self, nothing worth going home to. Nikita never returned home after that. She traveled the world in darkness, often dressed in men’s clothes. She slowly became accepting of her dark “gift”, becoming the master of her inner monster. Anything else: Over her travels she has accumulated a number of piercings and tattoos, her favorite being a dragon on her left shoulder. She picked up smoking in the 1800’s and hasn’t stopped the habit since. She will always love Ana but her icy heart will melt when she meets the right girl. She also prefers to be called Nick. Picture: 
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