Name: Oksana Raevskii Occupation: None Age: 175, Appears 27 Sexuality: Bisexual Species: Vampire Clan/Pack/Coven?: Karnstein (minor clan) Hometown: St. Petersburg, Russia Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits: Sadistic, Adaptable, Charming, Calculating, Neurotic, Irrational
Biography
TW: torture, maiming, body horror, gore, emotional abuse
Oksana's childhood could have been perfect. It had the building blocks. There was a loving mother, a doting father, and a quaint little home in the city. Nothing was perfect, not when your parents supported a failed coup years prior and weren't careful enough to keep their mouths as shut as they should have. Her father disappeared. Her mother got sick, and died with foam at the corners of her lips. Too young to suspect foul play, she never said a word and was instead shipped off to live with her uncle across the city.
Her uncle was not the kind man her father was. He smelled often of strong alcohol, sweat, and other bodily fluids that she couldn't and didn't want to name. She learned to keep quiet, keep away from him, and continue on doing what she was told. As she grew older, though, she started to grow angrier at her situation and angrier still when she realized that the person her parents trusted enough to talk about their dissenting opinions to was her uncle. She began to talk back, to stay out later and later, until one day when she came home and her things were packed. Her already meager belongings were gathered and she was taken over to an academy. As she was shuffled away, she saw her uncle taking money from her escort.
The academy brutalized her. Her dreams of dancing were nearly crushed with the weight of what they would force her to do ā she didn't have a natural gift like some of the other girls, Oksana had to sweat and bleed twice as hard to catch up to the others. It was a goal to have. A goal to love. She would be the best.
She formed a connection in the form of a young Vanessa Koblizka ā a friend, a love. She pushed her past her limits, supported her when she stumbled, and Oksana did the same for her. When they were deprived of food or warmth, they had systems in place to share and keep each other comfortable and safe. When they were rewarded, those were shared, too. It was a bond like Oksana had never felt before, a true pull to someone she thought she was meant to meet and love and cherish. Jealousy had no place in their relationship, and yet.. green always did easily seep its way in.
It wasn't by Oksana's merit that they joined the Bolshoi ballet. It was Vanessa. She, of course, believed for quite a long time that she was skilled enough to make it, but being put as her second in Swan Lake fertilized the soil. It was such a small seed, barely even sprouting during those years. But she didn't let that seed make her hate, she supported her. Their bond was unbreakable, she knew then, but it didn't take much for the seeds of jealousy to grow and sprout. It was through the attention of a man named Alexei that shook them. At first, it was perfect - the same scheme they always ran. Be wined, be dined, accept gifts ā sell the gifts and tuck away the coin for funds to escape.
Alexei, though, caught on.
The torture was nothing like the academy. Unbearable and only serving to break them apart and break them down, Oksana barely remembers the time in that man's dungeon of a basement. And just like that - it was over. Vanessa was dead, and Oksana endured and endured for hours until she died by his hand, too.
When she awoke, she was not brought into the fold quite so easily. There was no one there to greet her with a cup, only a half dead man, bleeding and choking on his own blood. What had possessed her, she did not know, but her mouth found the wound and suckled the life from him until he was nothing left but a dried out husk. In the coming days, it was darkness and death and blood. She would be delivered someone to feed from, and drink from them until there was nothing to drink, and she would sit and listen.
When Alexei finally approached, he had an air about him that was almost like pride ā at her monstrous nature, perhaps? Or simply the fact that she did not shy away from the gore or the bodies rotting around her. The first time he touched her, it was a gentle stroke to her cheek and a soft pat on her head. After so long without the affections of Vanessa, Oksana could do nothing but lean into her sire's touch and accept the comfort.
In the coming decades, Oksana was lead to believe - at first - that Vanessa was gone. Absconded far away, soon to be caught again and brought into the fold. She was told that she couldn't be allowed to find her, much less see her, because they had to go through training. The first few years were easy. She believed, despite Alexi's harsh forms of love, that Vanessa was simply going to be brought back to them. They were to be a family. After those few years, however, she was told that he had finally caught up with her, but that she wanted nothing more to do with ā that she was glad to be finally rid of her shadow.
Anger blossomed. Jealousy blossomed. He poked on those wounds he created, pried them open and poured more salt into them. A decade after her turn, she finally believed that Vanessa had simply treated her as a means to an end. All that she had was Alexei by the end of the first ten years, just the way he wanted it. He gave her so much more love than she'd ever had from Vanessa or any other family members. To him, she was a daughter he'd never had. She was given everything she could want and more, spoiled and treated lavishly. And in the same hand, he would turn and use to control and snap and break her.
But she didn't mind the pain that came with it. After all, what is love without suffering?
The power he offered was exactly what she had craved all those years. She began to be molded after him, a true protĆ©gĆ© in all things ā money, power, strength, the ability to manipulate. She absorbed every lesson and relished in the violence and cruelty. What he pulled forth from her was something that was always there and dormant: a sadistic streak that she had never acted on but only lived in her thoughts. In the academy, she'd wished to pull her instructors fingernails out for the way they clicked together when she spoke. She'd wished to rip a tongue from a throat for criticism on her moves. And so on.
Only now, she had the willpower and the strength to do so. A man spoke out of turn, and his eyes would simply be removed from his skull. A woman sneered at her, and she would drip hot wax into her upturned nostrils. A child laughed at her accent, and she would dress their bedroom in their father's intestines. It was the love of the hunt that fueled her, and the love of finally getting one over on the people around her. It didn't help that her father figure only pushed her forward, showed pride in her escapades.
It lasted blissfully for a while until the 1890s. Years were a blur by that point, but Oksana followed Alexei one night to surprise him at one of his favorite theatres with a gift of the head a critic that had hounded him for three years. Box in hand, she flashed her compulsion and made her way to the balcony seat in which he sat, enthralled by the performance on stage. Performances, as they were, still caught her attention, too. Only this one was led by none other than the soulmate she'd once thought she had. Nostrils flaring, and rage consuming, she stormed away from the theatre, leaving her gift on the steps.
The jealousy and insecurity that Alexei had cultivated had begun to warp starting with that night. She wanted his attention, but she wanted hers more. Vanessa had been hidden from her, only an arm's length away but kept under lock and key. That would not, could not do. When she began to act out, it was not out of love for Alexei and irritation that he had lied, but to somehow gather Vanessa's attention. If she could gain both of their attention, negative or positive, it would be the perfect ending. They would be family, even if they were united against her.
Her streak of sadism increased tenfold after that night. Bodies left on stoops, heads rolling, fingers decorating balconies, ears and hearts left in dressing rooms. Rumors of a killer spread throughout their fair city, and when they left, she followed and only continued. Decades and decades of this cat and mouse game only had one possible end: punishment.
By the 1960s, Alexei contacted a witch to lock Oksana into East Berlin with a tricky little curse connected to his life. The curse forces her mind to believe that she is a human with a condition that must eat raw meat and blood to survive. For thirty years, she lived as she might have if she had stayed a poor little orphan girl in St. Petersburg. Nothing lavish, nothing gold, no coin and no prospects. Only dirt, slush, and rats. The closer she got to finding out the truth of herself, Alexei would visit with another witch to tweak and redo the curse. It prevented the killings she had committed to get their attention, and in her addled mind she could not even find it in herself t be proud or happy that he was paying attention to her.
The wall comes down.
He does not visit again.
The curse breaks when his long, awful life is cut. Understanding floods in. Knowledge floods her mind. Anger follows first, at the idea of what he'd done to her in service of keeping their precious little Vanessa away from her. But then, it's a maddening grief. Her father - as terrible and foul as he was, he was still hers - was dead.
The tantrum she throws is legendary. While the killings before were simply to gain attention, she massacred and tore and ripped into people for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whispers of a quaint little city in America and the rumors of daylight jewlery come to her ears with each new person she hunts and kills, and when she finally finds the name of it, she breaks down into tears ā collapsing in a pool of blood and bodies to rival some of her best work.
When she arrives in Port Leiry, she's built herself back up brick by brick. It's only a matter of time before she finds her father's killer and takes her rightful place on his throne.
Wanted Plots
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