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Female 6
Joined : 2013-05-09

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PostSubject: Voices   August 5th 2013, 9:47 pm

1829 - Chicago

Child like laughter drifted musically through the chilling silence that had engulfed the single family home. The sudden stillness was a stark contrast compared to the sheer chaos that had taken place just moments before. The chaos in mention lay motionless, staring in mute horror with eyes fixed perpetually on the ceiling above. A little girl; no older, than five, stood over the body. A bloody mass rested in one of her tiny hands as if it were an apple, a forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden. The body at her feet were the remains of the man she had once called daddy. Blood stained the front of the girl's once pristine white dress, turning it crimson in a tidal wave of carnage. The coppery taste of her father's blood sang sweetly like candy against her tongue, making her only want more. Raising the glistening organ towards her mouth, she tore another piece of the heart with her front teeth. Blood oozed onto her chin, painting the lower half of her face in gore.

A wordless scream tore the girl away from her current meal and she turned with a strange and horrifying tranquility on her face towards the source of such a high pitched scream. She swallowed the piece of heart, regarding the woman standing in the doorway with eyes gleaming in insanity and innocence.

"Mommy..." Kali moved towards her mother then, offering the heart almost as if it was a gift. She was in essence; despite the blood, a beautiful child. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders in a tumble of brown doll like curls. Her eyes were a deep rich brown.

"Oh God..." The woman whispered in horrified grief. She backed out or the doorway, trembling in terror. The room felt unbareably hot. Suddenly the way bumped into her back causing her to scream.

The realization that her mother loathed the sight of her cut Kali to the bone. Tears threatened to break free but they were quickly consumed by a burning rage. Any sanity that may have lingered died in those last moments as she moved closer to the woman who had given her life. With her mother watching, the little girl slowly consumed the rest of the heart, piece by piece making a great spectacle of showing how much she enjoyed it.

"Mommy..." It was the last thing the woman heard. The soft bell like voice of her only child.


1841- New York

She watched in utter fascination as the sharp steel of the kitchen knife sliced through the layers of skin like a hot knife through butter. Strangely the pain sent tingles or pleasure down her spine and it only increased with each tear of the razor sharp blade. The wound was already huge, starting just above her wrist and ending at the inside of her elbow. Any deeper and she would have exposed bone. Since the death of her parents, Kali had been moved from orphanage to orphanage, roaming the outskirts of the social norm due to the fact that she didn't talk. It wasn't that she couldn't, she simply chose not to. Dropping the knife into the sink she watched he blood pool, forming a lake of crimson on the white porcelain. With her mind in a state of masochistic euphoria she shoved the curved stitching needle through one side of the wound and through the other crudely pulling on the thread. A year ago she had done the same thing. She was content to carry the scars.


Present - Sanguine

Tucked carefully under Kali's arm held against her chest was one of her dolls. A collection she had hand crafted since she was a child. But there was something entirely macabre and twisted about her dolls. Each one of them had been mutilated and pieced back together in horrific ways. The one she currently held sported three heads and all of them had varying shades of hair color. The middle one; Babette, was a red head. The one on the right; Bunny, was a blonde and the one.on the right; Becca had black hair. All three heads had been fused to the single doll body so seamlessly that it looked factory made. The legs had been kept to only.two but in addition to the three heads the doll now had four arms.

Kali wasn't tall. She was lucky if she was an even five foot. Her dark brown hair had grown from their doll like curls over the years and had been hacked unevenly with various knives. Unkept and wild it still managed to look vaguely stylish. Not only had she attached her hair with various sharp implements but her clothes had not escaped torture either. What had once been a long sleeved black shirt was in ruins. One sleeve remained in tact and frayed beyond recognition. The other was missing and bared the various scars adorning her entire left arm. Around her left wrist was a rosary made of dark wooden beads and a black leather cuff with a silver crucifix. The cross itself was a hidden blade and one she used often. What had once been a pair of light denim jeans had been hacked away until they had become very short shorts. Beneath the shorts she wore ripped fishnet tights and loosely laced combat boots that had seen better days.

Despite the disheveled appearance her face was captivating. Dark brows with a hint or a sensual arch sat over rich chocolate brown eyes that were exotic in their shape. They were large and seemingly innocent. However it was usually her lips that drew the most attention. They were full and seductive. It was these lips that parted and spoke whispering to the doll in her arms.

"Daddy should be home soon and once he returns we have a surprise for him. A gift don't we?"

Kali's Sire and lover Konrad was just as crazy as she was. He was also Vitae to the Corpus Bloodline a bunch of insane fleshcrafters. A long time ago they had been enemies of the Bloodlines of Sanguine but now they were welcome among the Council or at the very least by Draven.
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Katja
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PostSubject: Re: Voices   September 13th 2013, 10:53 pm

It was almost time! It was almost time! It was almost time! Konrad could barely contain his glee as he skipped through the graveyard on his way home, leap-frogging a the statue of an angel bent over a tomb, weeping. It was almost time for his game. His second favourite game in the whole world. Oh how he got to play it so seldom with the vigilant eyes watching, prying, keeping him within the rules of Mother and her...cursed masquerade. Her rules to keep everything hidden butoh not now! Every hundred years of so Konrad got to play his game and how he loved every minute of its preparation.

Every century or so, when Mother was busy with the other children Konrad would play his game. He would collect twelve damned people wronged people. Mortals who held within them either such mania, or such burning hate for a wrong doing that they would be willing to do anything to have their revenge, and he would play them against each other until only one was left. Every time the winner was so interesting, so fascinating. Like Kali...Poor sweet Kali. Konrad sniggered to himself, clapping his hands and hopping from foot to foot as he passed a young couple, arm in arm who had chosen, perhaps unwisely, to take a short cut through the tomb. " Ohahahaha" Konrad cackled as he circled around them, following them for a moment before his attention drifted off and he skittered through the neat rows of tombs.

If the vampire could keep still for but a single moment, the on-looker might note a handsome young man possessed of high cheek bones and a lantern jaw, an elegant nose and broad sweeps for eyebrows. His hair, bleached blonde had been pulled back with gel in mimicry of a favourite rock-star from forty years past. Beneath this was worn a simple black t-shirt and jeans with a chain drifting between pocket and belt loop. The heavy leather jacket he wore offered little protection from the fresh evening, but he hardly required it, being several hundred years dead and quite immune to the common cold.

Almost home, Konrad paused by one of the last great tombs, sorting his jacket before lifting his hand and giving the door three loud raps. As if waiting for the command the door rolled open and an arm rotten with decay and carrying the green lichen and moss of an earthy grave sprang forward, skeletal fingers clutching a bouquet of rotten and blackened roses. Snatching the flowers, Konrad gave the faint tip of an unseen hat and sprang through the gates of the cemetery which adjoined his home, cackling.

The rotten arm withdrew into the tomb, closing shut the door behind it. The tomb's occupant, one James H. West was in life Konrad's favourite florist and his natural talent had...unfortunately been his undoing, for Konrad is not a man to be robbed of his toys by death, and even a fatal stroke would not deny the vampire the services of his green-fingered friend. Weary with the weight of two hundred years, and burning with the agony that comes from being dead, yet living still. Mister West, formerly of 32 West Dickens street, laid himself to sleep in his tomb, pulling the heavy stone lid back over his resting place.

Home at last Konrad threw open the doors, swatting at the dogs that rushed to meet him. Both huge bull mastiff's of immense size and incredible bulk, Konrad swatted aside their affections. " Ooooooh Kali!" He called ot into the home. " Where for art thou Kali? Art thou in the pantry, hiding beneath the shelves? Art thou in the attic!? Concealed with the Christmas decorations? Where for art thou, Kali!?" Konrad cried out, pulling off his jacket and tossing it towards the coat-hanger. When it missed and fell to the floor some great crawling, creeping thing, all pallid flesh and long, questing fingers caught hold of the jackets collar and dragged it along the floor.
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