Age: 28 - 34 29
Occupation: Lawyer
Status: Woodlander
Suggested faceclaims: Amber Heard, Diane Guerrero, Elodie Yung
Life had you growing barbed wire for skin. It kicked you into the ground, forced a young girl to grow up too fast into a mother, abandoned by their lover and family alike. Green with envy, you glare at those whom still remain happy. They didn’t have to suffer, to fight as hard as you did to get where you were now. But with new found riches and success, it’s slowly become a little easier to smirk at your reflection. Though even then, you admit with regret, that there are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth.
A defamation lawsuit and fabricated evidence had you set as one of Mr Rousseau’s targets. You pulled all sorts of strings so that the suited devil wouldn’t win. But of course, he knew – he was aware of your seething hatred and envy. But what did he say regarding your falsified evidence, exactly? Well, a simple: I’ll see you in prison soon.
All you ever need is a really good lie. Her first memory was drained of colour, a saturated version of events where a kaleidoscope of emotions is pushed to the back of her mind, subdued like a sleeping wolf. It starts with two figures, both high-collared, neatly ironed individuals, ‘pillars of the community’ some would call them. The metaphorical rulebook tucked against their person, ready to be pulled out, a lecture on stern lips. Attending Church every Sunday, volunteering at local events and offering charitable donations, there was not a mark upon their perfect image. Even their daughter was immaculate. There she stood, ‘the good girl’, blonde hair tied up into a neat black bow, her own checked dress, with a collar, perfectly pressed and suitable for the occasion. She lived in a shell, beautiful, pure and easily broken. Frivolity was crime, like rebellion, the simple things being heralded throughout the household as a treat. Fun was prohibited, freethinking discouraged. Perfection was demanded, a pre-determined mould forcing her to fit, despite her desire to flee.
Lara, they called her, although she could never understand why. Being named after a Roman nymph hardly seemed like a suitable option, but then her parents were strange folk. She always felt like she was swimming against the tide. The invention of a childhood was the first chapter of her novel, an autobiography of Lara Drake. There had been other versions throughout the years, she’d painted herself as the orphan, the charitable, but never revealed the truth. It was meagre, her real life, her face permanently pressed to the ground, as though life had been out to get her from the start. Family never really held any sentimental feeling for Lara, who grew up feeling alone. The only daughter was overlooked, just a ghost in the corner who drained resources from the family – nothing more than an afterthought. That girl grew thorns.
She dreamed that she was cool girl. There she sat, pure faced and curious, party invitations passed around like candy, one ceremoniously being placed into her lap. Her blonde hair was lustrous and bouncy, the kind men wanted to run their hands through. Her lips painted red, the scarlet whore her mother sneered, smearing it across her porcelain flesh. This part was real. A life far away from a teenage dream, a girl pretty but overlooked, a toy in a twisted game. Too many reruns of Cruel Intentions, and suddenly her classmates thought she was their next target. Whispers in ears, hot breath on her neck, the prospect of popularity dangling before her, a teasing thread. The man, if he could be called such a thing, was given may names throughout the years, different versions of events which Lara spilled. In one version, he was a troubled artist, moody and brooding. Her favourite was the polo shirt wearing country club boy, too often seen with a golf clubs in hand and a long island ice tea, that was the beautifully crafted fairytale. But in truth, she fell for the jerk jock, who tricked her, twisted her heart as though she were a marionette on strings. Party lights beat above her, electric blue streaming across the sky, music altering the rhythm of her heart as cheap wine was pushed against her fingertips. Lover, he whispered, and she was not smart enough to notice the falseness of his tone.
Months of deception and she felt as though it were her real life fairytale. But it was just another knife pressed against her heart. Porcelain met flesh, body heaving for the second time that night, abandoned and alone. Horrid slurs on her parent’s lips, the man’s treachery revealed, a life in tatters.
From the moment her parents shut the door in her face, it was just the two of them to fend for themselves, but it made her thirst for more. Picking herself up from the ashes, her ascent into the glory was long and trying. Life had it’s way of constantly pushing her down, never allowing her to have anything for free. Everybody took from her and never gave anything in return, so she grew colder and more bitter. Only her darling daughter ever received any of her softness, and she swore that her little Vicky would never have to have the same struggles which she had. It took years of studying, social climbing and pavement pounding to rise, shifting from one law firm to another, gaining a strong reputation for herself. They could call her medusa if they wished, so long as they knew that crossing her would be their own downfall. Tricking a rich man, in the same way she’d been fooled in her teen years, was a lot easier than she expected. With legal advice given to the man’s younger sister, Lara found a way into the inner circle. Drifting hands, red silk and whispered promises, the blonde snagged herself the most eligible bachelor. Draped in diamonds, sheltered in luxury, Lara felt like life was finally on her side. She deserved it, the only reason she needed for falsifying her love.
Appreciation came, respect for the life she’d been given, but never true affection. Her and little Vicky were shifted from their small apartment, to a penthouse suite in Medallion Court. She played her part at the funeral, the dutiful wife dabbing her eyes, saddened by the loss of her loving husband. For four years she tricked the man, even having a second child just to appease him, but none of it was real. It was only when his friend decided to scrutinize how genuine her emotions were, that her thorns were exposed. Harassment she called it, labelling the man, a scarlet letter across his name. Phone records, tales from of her colleagues of how she confided in them with her fears, her knife continuously twisting, gaining all the evidence she needed. With a winning hand, Lara was ready with a strong defence, when notice was given of a case against her. The game was one she knew well.
