Ophelia - Vampire

How Did You Find Us?: Friend of Mr. Demetri ^_^

Name: Ophelia Catarina Iltani Bourgia

Race: Vampire

Gender: Female

Specialization: Mind Control (Limited to Vampires Only)

Age: Nearly 8,000 years, but appears to be 25 or so

Rank Requested: Knight

Photo:



Appearance: Ah, but what sweetness this is; this which breaches the temptress's bodice. This which pales in comparison to the poison of those snares - those eyes, the hunger to her waltz. This innocence which adorns her skin, this white lost to the red that spills from those cherry lips. This blackened soul whom dances in lilac moonlight, whom's frosted flesh worships the stars that shawl her ancient existence, her wisdom, her thirst. So delicate is she with fingers carved of glass and toes of dainty lace and yet so strong; so dangerously capable, and how soft her tongue spins and her hair flirts with the breeze like the licks upon a blonde shore and yet how sharp her wit's lashes ring. Like the cackle of a whip against hide she commands, however lovely her voice caresses or fleeting her song touches, and with a stir of those petals like crimson stain set in snow all who dare defy shall bow, for her gift to control lies not in her sway nor her doe eyes nor intoxication. Her power flourishes upon the empty whims of the weak, drinks from what cup is lifted to her lips and feasts upon what her fangs so delectably tear, and it rests like a beast and snores away its qualms in a cavern charred and ashen and deep, and where once her darling life fluttered so beautifully.

Atop her head is cream and sunlit gold, churned with magnificent ribbons of a rosy hue by the salt the northern seas bellow. Her skin is a flushed ivory shade, pink and bitten by the spines of poppies though untouched by the many scars and spots of the day's treachery that would've once called its alabaster surface their canvas. Her frame is thin and remarkably petite, muscled only to what is fitting though curved to her most pleasurable delight, her cheekbones high and nose elegantly prominent. Her eyes are deeply set, fiercely piercing and vibrant, their color like emeralds accented by the fire of rubies a sight one beholds only once in even an immortal lifetime. Her appearance though not always utterly proper is groomed with utmost care, though about those viper's eyes in ebonies and purple dusts she allows her desires to do what they must as her most trifling, most whimsical art.

History: Only through the droll mists of mortality and the tales the grandfather's hands chime might Ophelia Bourgia's first life be found, for her history is neither one she wishes nor bares to put to her lips. In the grave upon which her brothers wept, where the cries of dark skies washed her gossamer bones and the trees braided her a tomb in their feet; that is where her mortal story shall sleep, and that is where it shall stay - locked in the palm of a broken body that is not hers. For it was no life to muster, to remember, to spin for her lords and ladies to drink to. Her thirst was unquenchable before her many millennia as the huntress, the seducer of life, the bearer of Death's hallow kiss, so why would she recall when once her tongue was dry?

On the evening twilight of Ophelia's turning, the sunrise to her everlasting nocturnal solace, it was at her mother's fang that she joined with her demons, their hindered hearts bent in the shadow of her sin as a noose was strung like pearls from the child's neck - for indeed, she was but a child; but a porcelain doll. Ophelia, so sweet and fresh-faced, and before her maker she died and rose to her mother's palm at her cheek as one of the dead, the damned, and the forgotten. In uncontainable fury and an unmistakable lust she fled and succumbed to all that her desire sought, laying to waste her village and all villages so forth in fear of returning to she who set fire to her soul. She devoured out of spite and drank 'til the streets laid vacant, falling beneath a spell of hell that whispered of promise and told of power like her mistress in her ear. It was here her true gift was revealed for her use, and oh how her tongue twisted and her fair hands danced like a puppeteer's knuckles white against the wooden cross, and, in turn, it was this that ruined her. The darkness would reign and the battle would cease and the red to her eyes would encase what was once a child's precious jade, but something, somewhere, would not have it. For though where once her heart hummed and played at her breast was burnt and empty and clutched in grim's bleached fingers, there was light; perhaps it was but a sliver, and perhaps it was dim and grey like the grinning moon's flare, but it fought, and it won. So no longer did the blood control nor did her murders please, for in all her time of blindness and weakness she wished to live in what the sun so graciously gave; life.

Italia remained her home since her birth so very long ago, and though its artistic splendor and hearth would diminish as well as come once again with the tide, it lasted dear to her through her years of travel. She fed as she so desired and indulged in what mortal games she thought fanciful, adding some spice here and there with her brothers and sisters of night as her powers soared. Though the life and death of her once bountiful youth has since burrowed, the darkness of her truest vengeful ghost lingers still at the outskirts of her purest flesh, the bat to her eyelash, her intoxicating innocence. But this was how it was to be; Ophelia was fated to taste bittersweet.

Joining Keys: Member Accepted~!