THE REBEL âą VAMPIRE âą ELIZA TAYLOR âą 108
You are fists raised and a shout just waiting in your throat. Always challenging the leadership simply to keep them on their toes. You donât want to cause any trouble, not really; but you know that sometimes things arenât done right, and itâs your job to change them.
Diamonds always looked nicer when paired with darker colors, such as the deep crimson of blood staining someoneâs chest after bullets had riddled it. But that was merely an example, right? Jainaâs thoughts never ceased to wander into the most morbid corners of her brain, a true curse when stuck in the sunny, party filled times of the 1920âs. Society expected her to become the perfect housewife. Get married off to some rich businessman so she didnât fall off the social ladder, have a handful of kids, cook dinner every night on some fancy stove, and grow a nice little garden in the yard of her perfect, brightly painted house. Only in reality, her husband would never be home, her kids would grow up stuck - exactly like their mother -, sheâd cook the same boring meals on the same day every week, and people would assume her life was crumpling if even one flower in her garden showed the slightest signs of wilting. It was all too prim and stiff, too probable to crumble apart. She didnât want that life for herself, or for any woman her age. But there was only so much she could from within the walls of her familyâs gilded Victorian.
Sometimes you just had to work with what you were given. Cash could work wonders, and after stealing a few hundred dollars from her parentâs safe, she made her way to the nearest bar. It was a menâs club, but that didnât scare her away. Southern men werenât the most welcoming to most things, but their hollering and derogatory comments didnât scare her away, either. She covered every customerâs tab, because she could. She downed a bottle of whiskey and danced on the tables, because she could. Even in the roaring 20âs, the way she partied would put most flappers to shame. Mostly, she did it because she shouldnât. It was the start of her revolution, the beginning of her new self. The girl who wasnât afraid to get a little dirty ( no matter the kind ). The girl who could speak her mind, wear what she wanted, and be who she wanted. Her family disapproved, but that just fueled her fire even more. Marriage prospects ran away with their tail between their legs after one date with her. Her parents suspected sabotage, but it wasnât her fault they wanted to get to know the real Jaina.
It was a sort of downward spiral from then on. She felt alive, out of control. But people were too quick to make assumptions about women. She wasnât some kind of fluffy pet to be stifled in frilly dresses and a diamond leash, she was a lioness. Scary she was, able to deliver the cruelest of threats with a bright smile. It was rumored she had a screw loose, but sheâd quickly correct such a lie. (She had more than one loose, thank you very much.) Years went by, she got cut off, moved into some shabby apartment in the city. Sheâd predicted that much at least. The next few years was a rapid blur; it all started with a family cruise, an attempt to reconnect. Sheâd nearly thrown the invitation in the trash, but who was she to pass up a free trip? A luxury yacht took them along the coast of Europe. The day was reserved for sunny smiles and being the illusion of a rehabilitated woman. Every new country brought new passengers, who she happily mingled with once the night came. It was nice, but she knew itâd all fade from her memory one day soon. But just when she thought sheâd be contently stuck in her ways, one evening changed her life forever.
They were nearing the coast of England for what sheâd soon describe as an eventful end to their trip. She was ( only a little ) buzzed when the screams started. Shrouded figures emerged from the ocean like some kind of sea monsters of legend, dripping water and darkness onto the deck of the ship as they clamored aboard. The creatures preyed on the true monsters of society - the wealthy - and cruises were full of them, and now they had nowhere to run. It was a perfect pattern, the perfect trap. Jaina simply stood still, frozen with fear (or, according to her, holding her ground). One started toward her, eyes shining and fangs gleaming with malice. Pressed against the railing, body trembling, there was little she could do as sharp teeth sunk into her neck, piercing her skin. She wasnât dying on this damn boat. With all the force in her tiny body, she lashed out against her attacker. All she needed was a good push, and she was suddenly falling, hitting the freezing water below like sheâd landed on concrete. The blackness of the water, and her fading vision clouded her in complete darkness. The cold did little to numb the pain. The pathetic life sheâd made for herself was coming to an end. At least thatâs what she thought.
She woke up a day later on the shore of southern England, unable to move but entirely able to feel the torture being inflicted on her. Thatâs surely what it was. The holes in her neck had healed, though she barely remembered they were there in the first place. Where was her family? Her date? The really nice bottle of booze sheâd been clinging to? All trivial matters at this point. Stopping the pain was her only goal, and sheâd dragged herself to the nearest building, belonging to a small fishing village. They were more than happy to help the ill girl, not that sheâd ever thank them. The only gratitude they received came the next day, when in a lust for blood, she drained every single one of their bodies dry. It wasnât scary in the least bit. Empowering was the word sheâd use to describe it. Where was this strength and grace so many years ago? Oh, the fun she could have with this. Every night was a new city, a new victim to bed, a new body to drain, a new wallet to steal. Every month was a new country, new sights to see, new lives to ruin, new towns to terrorize. Sheâd seen more than her fair share of the bad in humanity, and had committed the most of it. From stripping to stealing to murder, sheâd tried her hand at it all, and in the process became close and well respected among Europeâs moreâŚnotorious beings, Lycans and Vampires alike. People who didnât care what species you were as long as you knew how to make a clean kill and keep your mouth shut about it. People who thrived off war. Jaina cared little about peace, but she did care about the slimy humans trying to screw up all the hard work sheâd put in over the past decades. After a childhood of abandonment and loneliness, she was finally being appreciated and praised for her outspoken and rebellious nature. And no one was going to ruin that for her. It didnât hurt that she wanted a front row seat ( and maybe some popcorn) to the drama that was sure to ensureâŚas sheâll inevitably be orchestrating most of it.
THE FAITHFUL:Â You donât have many regrets in life, but the loss of their friendship will always leave a bitter taste on your tongue. Theyâd always been wary of the danger your games could bring, but theyâd trusted your judgement. One night, that mistake proved to be nearly fatal. You went too far, bit off more than you could chewâand they paid the price for it.Â
THE WICKED: Youâd always figured the rumors were overblown; their cruelty exaggerated. After pissing off the wrong vampire, you found yourself playing audience to their games. What was meant to scare you, only made you want to see more. You delighted in the spilt blood, reveled in the screams of the tortured. When you asked to take over for round two, they gave you a proud grin.
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