Nadia Carolina

Transwoman. Latina. Journalist. Vampire. Tremere. Interested yet? VTM Sideblog of @ValeriaPaladin.

[thecollectibles]

Art by Raja Nandepu

[nadiaknows]

[nadiaknows]

Wake up call (The White Rose)

If I was hurt, I couldn’t tell. I felt drunk and confused, as if I had some drugs combo I never knew I could.

I woke up and she was there, laying in the bed toying with my hair, as I sat on the floor of a room I never saw before. But seeing her face helped me come back to my senses.

“I know you” I mumbled. “You’re Irene, right? from school”

“Sharp journalist, aren’t you Nadia?” she whispered back, making an emphasis in the “Nadia” as she didn’t knew me by that name.

“What’s this place? what’s going on? oh...is that blood in your mouth?” I tried to make sense of it and failed miserably.

“No need to think on it now” she said and suddendly picked me up and took me to her side in the bed, hugging me. I couldn’t resist it at all.

[nadiaknows]

What do you do when you’re the story?

The answer is: you talk about it. In this opening post I won’t go into the Q&A of it all (not that I can’t, but don’t care to) but it would be nice to establish this place a bit with some grounds to hold on to.

My name is Nadia Carolina Marquez and I’m legally 31 years old. I’ve been a journalist, columnist and blogger since my 20s, doing all kinds of reports in the paranormal and the occult in a few outlets in english and spanish.

It sounds all grand but I must state that I’m not a big deal whatsoever. My tenure in this business came with me being: a) a token of representation or b) my willingness to move to different places to find stories.

But you’re reading this for the tags.

Three years ago I got involved in a case about a haunted house in an undisclosed location. I was hired to report on it independently on my news blog, but was required for me to actually break and enter the place and see it for myself.

I sneaked in and it was exactly as I expected in a way. No ghosts, no specters, just a bunch of goth cultist types shirtless carving themselves with knives and chanting, loudly and somehow melodic. I never made a sound but they knew I was there.

“You can come out, Nadia. We were waiting for you”.