NAME. Zehra Sandalci
AGE & BIRTH DATE. 487 & April 9th, 1534
GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her
SPECIES. Succubus
OCCUPATION. Owner of Acanthus Mollis
FACE CLAIM. Burcu Özberk
( tw: infanticide, murder, suicide, miscarriage ) In the height of the Ottoman Empire, a girl was born. One of five, Zehra found herself constantly striving to have her voice heard amongst the rabble. She was a pretty child— it was often remarked upon as she walked behind her mother’s skirts in the market, or clung onto her brother’s sleeve, and while she seemed to have little talent for anything else; that in itself would get her far. Her other sisters, comely but clever, they likely would never see the same promise that Zehra Sandalci held in her tiny, unmarked hand. Her mother favoured her, and it earned the ire of her siblings, leaving them to mark her with wicked purple pinch marks when she wasn’t looking— Zehra was always crying, her family remarked, watching her heavy lashes fringe with tears, commenting on her lack of resolve. It would be alright, as things often were, because she was beautiful and that was currency more than strength.
She grew into a charming young woman, with a lightness to her soul of a creature who had never known any burdens: the spoon in her mouth was not silver, but it was honey coated and for as long as she was under the care of her family, her life was sweet. Constantinople was at the time, a center of the universe and the rule over the Mediterranean basin drew in several visitors from near and far, all with their own intentions. Zehra found them fascinating, walking along to the harbour to spy on new ships and unfamiliar faces. It was there that she had met Magnus, a sailor from Rome. He promised her a thousand pretty things, telling her of the place that he had been born, of his family and his life. Zehra was young and easily enamoured, taking his hand easily despite her own family’s protest, smiling as he promised to wed her in Rome. She would have a new life there, rich with his love and promises and as she stepped onto one of the ships she had watched come into the harbour, she bid Constantinople goodbye.
Rome had not been everything that Magnus had described, but the newness of it all was enough for his curious young bride, and Zehra was delighted to learn the language and customs. She flourished under the weight of compliments about her beauty, and the warmth of her new husband’s large family. It was in Rome that she outgrew her childhood, stretching long limbs and racing into being a woman. Cracks began to show in her marriage and foolish love after only half a year; when Magnus’ anger slipped out after she broke a dish and failed to prepare a foreign meal correctly. He was more animal than man, she realized, horrified as his normally dark eyes flashed a shade of what she could only describe as amber. His words had been snarled, he had bared his teeth, and Zehra had shrunk away, murmuring a thousand apologies. It began to happen more often, and she started to notice the howls around the house; the carelessness in her husband as he left the windows open despite the beasts that roamed beneath them. She was frightened, she confessed to him once, and he laughed with teeth that seemed to end at sharp points. She didn’t know what she should be afraid of, he had returned, leaving her shaking.
It was under the weight of a full moon that she followed her husband out of their home in the dead of night, trailing behind him quietly in the woods to see where it was that he was going. Zehra was alone in a country that she did not know, if he was no longer to be trusted, she would find herself without anything at all. Later, she realized, he must have known that she was there and yet he let her lay witness to the horrific sight: a man became beast under the moon, after a cacophony of breaking bones and shredding flesh, where the Roman had once stood, instead was a wolf bigger than any she had ever seen in her life, with hot breath and claws that gouged cruelly into the earth. Zehra screamed, and it chased her through the woods, cruel at her heels, leaving her crying out and her skin ripped apart by vines and brambles before she finally made her way home, locking a door to a sound that was distinctly like laughter.
He had come home in the early morning, slipping into their bed and whispering fondly by her ear that she now knew his secret, what he was entirely. Magnus spoke as though he carried the strength of a god, but as she shook under the covers, she saw him as nothing more than a monster. It was to the gods that she turned to, finding her way to the ancient temples of Rome, seeking out their infinite wisdom. Zehra had never intended to become devout, for her restless feet to carry her so often to praise, but it was there that she found comfort from a life that had become a nightmare.
It was only a few months after he had told her that he was a werewolf that he decided that he wanted a family of his own. Zehra, purposeless and alone most days, welcomed the idea– a child to raise as her own, and selfishly she saw it as an opportunity to have a companion, something to do besides stitch together Magnus’ ruined clothing. Pregnancy followed soon after, and it was in those months that she was almost convinced that she had imagined her husband’s rage– he became something domesticated and docile, laying his cheek against the swell of her stomach, fondly drawing his hand over her tired face. They were in love again and she was foolish enough to convince herself of such, darting into his arms and ignoring blood that stained the hems of his clothing. Such illusions are made to be shattered and when the child came, Zehra was filled with joy and love as she greeted her son, his name was to be Selim, after her favourite brother– but these moments of warmth were shadowed by Magnus’ inevitable rage.
He had wished for a child that would carry his genetics, another werewolf that would continue his legacy, but instead she had borne a human boy, perfect in his own right, but inadequate to his standards. She slept blissfully, with his small body tucked in beside hers and in the night Magnus stole him away to the woods where his end was met, cold and alone with his tiny cries left unheard by his mother. When she awoke, devastation overtook Zehra, whose rose coloured glasses had shattered and left gouges in flesh grown soft. It was her new gods that she sought comfort in, spending more and more time tucked in the temples praying to gods of old for freedom from a life that had brought her only sadness, and only suffering.
It was Bona Dea that heard her cries and the ancient goddess reached towards her, offering a bargain that she could not so easily refuse: anything in the world that she could ever want, and in return: the goddess would own her soul. Zehra, still raw with grief, made the bargain readily. She would never have children again, and the goddess assured her of it before they parted ways. To be spoken to by a deity made her feel chosen, it brought warmth back to her days and the promise of new horizons, the fact that a goddess had heard her felt like something: until Magnus undoubtedly shattered what joy she had scraped together meagerly from her life.
The goddess had been true to her word and she was never to bear a child again– her next pregnancy never made full term and the child, Zehra had noted as she sobbed, had been human: another insult to her husband and his desire for a pure blood line. It was shortly after that he decided that the only way to ensure that the gene carried on was for her to become a werewolf as well, something he began to plan with the pack: something ceremonious and grand, to make his imported wife into something even more valuable. Night terrors gripped Zehra as she imagined what it would be like to become one of the monsters in the woods, to shed her human skin in favour of something beast-like and terrible, and to taste blood on her teeth. Bona Dea had told her one thing for certain, and she would not easily forget it: their bargain could only be struck while she was human, mortal as she had been born.
It was in the woods where her Selim had passed that she too tossed away her life, plunging a blade into her heart as she saw Magnus thundering in her direction: Zehra smiled before he could reach her. It was the goddess that reached for her hand when her spirit faded from the earth, and it was she who had tucked her soul into her possession, taking it before she gestured for the newly born succubus to return to the earth. Magnus was shocked to see his wife walking into their family home after watching her crumple into the golden leaves of fall. He was further shocked to see the warmth that she regarded him with, and the charm that she radiated: all things of which had faded from their relationship long ago.
Zehra stole the first portion of his soul that night, and more of it the next, until what remained of it was just a miserable scraping around his hollow chest– her husband took his own life not long after. The life of a cubi began this way, with her first whispers of freedom. It was a large world, brave and new and all of it sat in her capable hands. Roaming and travelling became a priority, and she saw the dawn of new ports and lands, and briefly returned to her own home in Turkey. She had outlived her own family and much of the great empire had changed, leaving nothing for her to cling onto: there were no ties binding her to such a place and the succubus took her leave.
Europe became her playground and where she was one hesitant and docile, a wicked streak brewed darkly in her. It was a curse to be what she was, but as she roamed the cobbled streets of new cities, she felt goddess-blessed, stealing adoration from willing lips, tearing homes and families apart with the promise of swift death. She felt like an angel at times, one who brought the promise of neither life nor blessing. It was, at times, a lonely existence: reminiscent of the years that she had spent married, but instead of sorrow, Zehra indulged in her own games, finding amusement in them and basking in love from her victims. Genuine adoration came in the hands of other supernaturals that passed her by– she built connections and paths to those who passed through her life like scars over warred skin, and as the years inched by, she flourished.
It was a new-found ability that brought her to Greece, a tear in the veil that drew her like a moth to a flame. Memories, she could pluck them from a mind with ease, holding them in her chest until she saw fit to return them– if she saw fit to return them. The source of such power sat in the city and it has been since then that she has revelled in it, continuing her games with a wide smile and dark, wicked eyes. To feed off of a soul is to feed off of adoration, to revel in pure lust, in what she could almost close her eyes and see to be something akin to love. Memories from those who are unwilling to give her all of their devotion are her prize, stolen from their minds as she takes parts of their soul; peeling away family, lovers, friends, until there is nothing that remains but her– Zehra, infinite and unstoppable. It is like this that she roams Corinth, seeking out her next victim and her next game to win.
+ adaptable, wily, charming
- sycophantic, jealous, loquacious
PLAYED BY SAM. EST. She/Her.
