Ottoline spun, the glimmer of candlelight catching in Lucille's eye. She gave Otto a devilish little smile, and Otto felt a sudden chill on her skin. "What is?"
"This," she sighed, gesturing lazily towards the oil paintings that decorated the cathedral walls in a near mockery of the Stages Of The Cross. With a small, dust-laden gasp, Ottoline realised that the paintings were moving. It saddened her, seeing them trapped in the repeating motions of their slowly unveiling horror, and saddened her more to see the boy – not much older than she was just then – slowly succumb to the fate to which all Warlocks are destined.
There was a pregnant pause as Lucille gazed pensively up at the paintings. She appeared to be at war with herself on whether or not to continue the conversation. When Lucille spoke again, her voice was mournful, finally giving way to hint at the ancient soul she carried. Her fingers reached up to ghost over the cracked and tear-stained eyes of the youngest Aimes boy. Her voice was soft with regret. "He's not dead."
"Why would they say he is?"
"Because there are things worse than death, and not even the Eldritch Council can admit to a cruelty like that."
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Born to Everett and Winona Brassard, Ottoline is the last surviving Witch of the Castemont line, and thus carries with her, in her very blood, the key to Atticus' tomb. Sent to Westwood Academy by the Eldritch Council for not only her protection but the safety of others following a volatile display of raw, untrained magic, Otto feels very much out of place among the teachers and the students, all of whom are members of Recondite Citizenry – an intricate and clandestine community of mystical beings Otto had never even known about let alone ever considered she'd be a part of. Having been raised by her (for lack of a better word) Muggle father, Otto had been constantly moved around as a child with little to no explanation as to why. Westwood Academy – although slow to warmly receive – was her first stable home since her mother died. And she'd be damned if she let anyone or anything take it from her, even if it was a centuries old blood curse and a deadly race of magicians all clawing to be the one to release their fiendish lord from his bonds.
Ulric Baranov, The Faithless
Ulric Baranov was a cold boy, with a cold smile – if you were ever so lucky to have caught a glimpse of it before it so easily vanished. His attention was as elusive as a glimmer of warmth in glacial eyes, and yet, against all odds, Ottoline Brassard caught the former, and would later prove to be a master at conjuring the latter. At first, she'd been an annoyance: too many questions, too quick to smile, too much wide-eyed awe and bewildered confusion. He never knew when it became endearing to him. He supposed, being born into all this, he never took a moment to ponder how truly magical it really was. He'd been a ward at Westwood ever since he was a young boy, when his family were all slaughtered, leaving him with a mutilated leg and a desolate bitterness. He never dared venture off campus, for he feared those who had attempted the extermination of the Dumont line would attempt it again, and finally succeed. So he stayed, locked in the safety of Westwood's halls, practicing, learning. Learning to protect himself against those who would claim his head.
Thomasin Rothchild, The Scion
Thomasin knew David Rothchild never wanted children – never saw himself as much of the parental type, he'd used to say – but there was never any doubt in her mind that he loved her as if she were his own. There hadn't been even a hint of hesitation when he accepted guardianship of his niece, and she'd been admitted to Westwood to join the Rothchild Pack. The line from which Rothchilds come had been known to produce incredibly powerful Alphas, and with that came enemies. Rival packs and rogue wolves who held the belief that to best one in combat would bring good fortune and status. Vampire covens who had centuries worth of bad blood against the family. Fickle Fae who had made and broken deals for the enjoyment, but had come to regret and swear vengeance when retribution was exacted. It had been a betrayal that had slaughtered her father – of that, Thomasin was certain. And although she was old enough to depart from her uncle's side – had been for a few years by then – she remained at Westwood, until she deemed herself strong enough to Alpha her own pack and reclaim what was rightfully hers. What should've gone to her the moment Warren Rothchild's Beta turned on him and clamped his vicious maw around his neck.
Eliseo Santos, The Condemned
Born a Witch in Spanish Inquisition infested Navarre in the year 1587, Eliseo's family was burned at the stake for heresy during the Basque witch trials. Prior to their execution, Teresa sold Eliseo to the Vampire, Violante Santos, in hopes of him avoiding the same fate. What came would be what Eliseo would argue to be a fate worse than death, for Violante Turned him after he attempted to join his family in death. This would serve to be the first of many families Eliseo would come to lose. But at Westwood, he found another; and if he had anything to say about it, the last. At Westwood he found home after centuries of searching; and he refused to lose it again. Because at Westwood, he found Thomasin Rothchild.
Matías Vilades, The Protector
The wolf had cornered him during a midnight hike at summer camp, but when the bite came, he did not scream. If Matías Vilades could liken the experience to anything, it would be pure destiny. And it was like the wolf knew it too, like it had chosen him for that very reason, intelligence aglow in amber eyes. Matías took to lycanthropy like second nature, but unfortunately, that nature was still a wild one, and in the eyes of the Eldritch Council, wild dogs without packs were either put down or domesticated. Matías understandably elected for the latter, and was promptly enrolled at Westwood Academy, where he was taken under the wing of the Rothchilds. Under the tutelage of the Recondite Citizenry's finest, Matías grew to be strong, powerful. And so it was no surprise when the new girl – a Witch with a bounty on her head – arrived, Matías was the number one choice to be her personal guardian. Her protector.
Lucille Burke, The Deceiver
Lucille would argue that every drop of blood she'd spilled was necessary, and had she been born of a different time, she'd be as pure as the undriven snow. Most of the Council would agree. She was a victim of her circumstances; all she ever wanted was freedom. And she'd wanted it so desperately, she'd signed her soul away for it. Born in an age where the word "property" could be used to refer to your fellow man, Lucille Burke had lived many lives. And although she enjoyed the benefits of being Warlocked the first hundred years or so, she came to despise the newfound gifts she had been given. For they had enslaved her as much as her indenture had years prior, and she was now bound to a demon every bit as evil as the man that had claimed ownership of her before. She had not been the one to propose the exorcism of Atticus Aimes, but she had been the one to lure him into the trap the First Families had constructed. They had been bound by the same demon, Atticus and her, the same fiend, and she had believed she was helping Atticus then. She wasn't so sure now. For they'd locked both Atticus and The Fiend away, banished them to a prison unknown. She vanished shortly after to escape a pending trial by the Eldritch, and later resurfaced, seeking refuge at the Vanderbilt Castle – the first iteration of the Westwood Academy. The Vanderbilts thought an ally of her, but were mistaken. She betrayed them to the Eldritch Council, and in their inferring gaze, Lucille Burke had earned her redemption. But there was still a penalty to be paid, and Lucille still had a sentence to serve for her prior violations. She would serve it at Westwood, praying every day that The Fiend would not return, for she knew that she would never be prepared for his wrath. She knew God could not hear her; he'd forsaken her long before she'd bargained herself away.
Tristan Daughtler, The Beguiled
Not much was known about Tristan Daughtler, and he preferred it kept that way. His year and country of origin, the circumstances of his Turning. All of these were things only Tristan knew, for everyone who even had a chance of knowing were long dead. What was known about Tristan Daughtler was that he was ruthless, remorseless, and as close to the devil as one would meet without being dragged to the fiery depths of hell. He hadn't always been like this; that was what Eliseo Santos had thought, and what Eliseo Santos had hoped. For they had been friends once. Tristan Daughtler, too, had been Sired by Violante Santos, and when Eliseo was taken in, Tristan accepted him with open arms. They became brothers, for a time. Neither wished to speak of what caused them to part so viciously — all that is known is that they were all that remained of the Santos Coven, and Eliseo is the only one who still mourns. Tristan's sentencing to Westwood by the Eldritch Council had been a futile attempt at subduing the savage, for how could one ever hope to rehabilitate a being more monster than man? And then he saw her. The little anomaly, the Witch. Ottoline Brassard, his saviour, his enchantress. His beguiler. He decided she was his that day. And seldom things could dissuade Tristan Daughtler.
