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Tatum was the type to always love drowning herself into yoga. It was a lot better than the alternative that she had done for many years. After her brother's death it wasn't easy for her, and she resulted in finding the comfort in a few pills. This was causing such a downward spiral for her until she started to see a therapist. The suggestions usually had been a flop all but one. That had been channeling her sadness and anger into a workout of some form. She found this in YOGA. It was not even a hesitation for her when she was just starting her new career at Rosewood & Co. She was always the type to over work herself a trait she had gotten from her father. It was also something she loved and hated all the same. However, it was a big move to make but Tatum had purchased a small building a few blocks from her family's firm. This was her safe space. Her one place where she can go and not have to worry. She was able to be free so to speak and it made her feel at home. Things haven't always been easy for her and with her career she was often on edge. It didn't help that she was only filling her older brothers' shoes. She found solace in her little studio. She had it decked out in all of her favorite things that opened her mind to be clearer. She had a lot of nature paintings and some she had done herself, another little hobby of hers. Sometimes you would even find her staying the night there. She had a nice little office and room off to the side of the room she set up for yoga. Whenever she was here, she felt at her safest. A place to unwind and just really connect with herself through some intense yoga and meditation.

(Writing sample for Ben below. Some of his backstory is LOOSELY based on film.)Ben "Mute" Lanigan had always loved horses. Their might, their energy, even their smell always appealed to the man who learned at a very young age that he possessed a gift for whispering their language. Where other white men made it their mission to break an equine's spirit for the sake of submission and burden, the quiet but troubled orphan within Ben Lanigan reached adulthood with a stronger liking for sharing the breath of horses than breaking bread with other humans. Spoken words weren't usually necessary with his four-legged companions. They were closer to God than earthly men could ever aspire to be.Stealing horses for himself held a special thrill, however, regardless as to whether he committed the theft out of sport or necessity. After all, Ben Lanigan wasn't a damned saint. And his brief stint as a preacher down in Mexico had been short-lived.He was almost euphoric by the time he crossed into the Montana Territory with a newly acquired chestnut mare in tow. Justifying the midnight exchange on some remote rancher’s land as a blessing for his exhausted mount, the man mentally swore on a battered bible that his thievery was an act of charity. Maybe the Good Lord above would forgive his moment of weakness in scratching an old itch, overlooking how Ben indulged a bad habit from his former life with all the zeal of a reluctant teetotaler returning to the bottle. He was trying to be a better man, after all, but the road to goodness sure had been a rough one.The thrill was fleeting, disappearing with his realization that criminal tendencies shouldn’t be celebrated. Rejoicing in lawlessness was a sin, but maybe, just maybe, he could explain his actions from a different angle if Heaven ever tried denying him entry on that technicality. A refreshed beast could carry him further, his mind reasoned, so he wouldn’t have to risk another night out in the elements. Up to that moment, he'd survived fires, gunshot wounds, native warriors justifiably hostile toward white men and soldiers, and the hired guns of an old ally who was now Ben’s deadly nemesis. Surely God had his back for a reason, some special purpose yet to be realized. Figuring it out and cleaning up his act deserved full attention. He’d have to be alive for that, wouldn’t he?The sooner he reached a safer destination, someplace civilized far from the southern border, the quicker the outlaw could focus on living the life of a repentant, moral citizen in earnest. It was the means to an end, to pick up where he had left off in working off his sins in service to humanity, and service to God for saving his wretched life.Wolf Whelan had interrupted that service down in Mexico - violently. And Ben “Mute” Lanigan had been on the run again ever since.His funds were rapidly dwindling. A small amount of gold was left over from the months Ben spent wading through the Wyoming Territory’s frigid rivers, taking advantage of the more sparsely populated panning sites in the waning but still lucrative days of the area’s prospectors. It was enough to secure himself a room at some ramshackle boarding house in the first town he spotted once the sun rose over the Rockies. Pointedly avoiding the temptations of the saloon and all the trouble of whiskey and women it promised, Ben secured his horse and dropped his weary bones to the first real bed he’d known in, well, how long had it been, exactly? He slept like the dead, awakening the following dawn disoriented but strangely refreshed.It was his thirtieth birthday season, he recalled, or something close to it at least, seeing as how the exact date was uncertain. Against all odds, he’d lived to complete another turn around the sun.Today. I’ll start again today, I swear it. There was no way a man like Whelan, who much preferred the warmer country closer to Mexico, would bother tracking him this far north. I can be anyone here, I’ll repent. I’ll start again and put back what I took from this world, even if it’s not the same way I tried down in Hermosillo. It starts today.But as Ben stared at his distorted reflection in the filthy mirror above the equally filthy wash basin, he couldn’t fully stifle the nagging voice from within, a jeering declaration that he would never be rid of the blood on his hands. No matter how many verses of scripture he memorized for application to his new life, he would still be that same kid who’d grown up under the wing of a notoriously sadistic outlaw. Wolf Whelan made Jesse James look like a choir boy, and Ben had been in training to follow in those same footsteps.The straight razor in Ben’s hand paused in its glide over his cheek, a menacing shadow settling over his prominent brows. He had been called handsome by some, boyish by others, but the ugliness within was hardly a distant memory. He could see straight into it.You forget, I know you, Whelan’s voice piped up in Ben’s imagination. You’re a natural killer, always have been. Denying what a man is just makes him a fraud. And frauds got no more business living than that ole Padre who thought he could talk us into turning ourselves in by filling us with all that sh*t about ‘arrepentimiento’. You’ll never be anything else.“Just watch me, you son of a bitch,” Ben hissed under his breath with a renewed sense of conviction. He left his room half shaven, a scattering of black whiskers still dusting his jaws.***“Ma’am.” Ben tipped his hat politely with the ghost of a smile. He held the door open for the young woman who was just then leaving the post office as he arrived. They passed one another without further word as strangers, oblivious to what the Fates, or perhaps even Chaos, intended for when their paths would cross once more that very day.Most towns he’d seen posted various community announcements in post offices or train depots. Ben made a beeline for the notice board seconds after stepping over the threshold while the clerk’s attention was focused on another customer. One could obtain a quick feel for a town just by scanning the advertisements, job postings and public ordinances, a habit he had long ago developed with every new location. Relieved to not find a crudely sketched likeness of himself or Whelan on a Reward poster, he relaxed and took his time perusing the notices. He would need to find some new way of earning a living without divulging his skills in cattle rustling, horse stealing, bank robbing, stagecoach holdups or random murders of innocent civilians. And he would have to find it quickly.One particular posting caught his attention. Tugging it from the board, he approached the counter and patiently waited for his turn. A balding older gentleman with crooked spectacles eventually greeted him, and Ben motioned to the job vacancy in his hand.“Howdy! I was wonderin’ what you might be able to tell me about this ranch that’s advertising for a new hand?”The clerk lifted his brows in an expression akin to delight. “Oh! Well, that would be something to ask Miss Sarah Clayton about. She runs the place with her father, although she’s the authority for hiring inquiries. In fact, she just left as you were coming in - you might still be able to catch her in town.”Quickly describing the lady for the newcomer, Downes didn’t even have time to get the fellow’s name before Ben was racing out the door. Glancing down one side of the street then the other, Ben was half afraid he’d missed her. Then, catching a distant glimpse of a woman heading into the general store who bore a resemblance to the clerk’s description, Ben scuttled along the boardwalk and followed her inside. Halting his steps as she spoke to the clerk with her list of needed items, Ben waited until the aproned man left them to fetch something from the storeroom.“I beg your pardon, but do I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Duncan?” Politely removing his hat, he nodded when she turned toward him in response.“I understand you’re the author of the job posting over at the post office, for the ranch hand vacancy. Name’s Brody. Thomas Brody.”His deception was based on something far worse than some harmless little white lie, a necessary evil he employed in order to make peace between himself and the Almighty. He wanted another chance, needed it, motivated by an all-consuming thirst for redemption without sacrificing a newfound desire for anonymity. God knew who he really was - the unsuspecting residents of his current location surely wouldn’t suffer from not being in on the secret. He intended to live amongst them without incident.What was not forced, however, was the warmth in his dark eyes as he greeted the lady with a polite, gentlemanly demeanor. Softly spoken, his manner was pleasant enough, because despite the bloody ways of the past, Ben Lanigan had always been respectful toward the fairer sex. Being raised by wolves hadn’t robbed him of that innate quality, at least.“I don’t have references handy, seein’ as how my horse and cattle ranch experiences have been mostly seasonal transitory, but I’ve just arrived fresh from gold panning in all parts northwest of Cheyenne, and am truly itching to get back to working with the animals. And I'm more than capable for any other jobs you might need done. I’m a hard worker, reliable and unencumbered, so I could start right away.”

Had to use the corny pun, sorry not sorry.Cassandra is a mutated human with animal genes spliced into her DNA; chiefly among them is the tiger and cephalopod.  This DNA grants her characteristic traits of the animals, while also having some of their drawbacks and behavioral traits.Cassandra has the strength and agility of a tiger, along with keen hearing, retractable claws, and enhanced eyesight. Unfortunately, she also inherited the fur and patterns of the tiger, making her stand out from other humans.The cephalopod attribute grants Cass limited shapeshifting ability, mainly the change in her skin pigmentation and body shape.  This does not allow her to change bulk or size, merely altering her appearance to better blend in with society.  With enough focus, she can "look normal", but it takes considerable concentration and effort on her part.  Breaking her focus, and she will resume her new 'natural' state.TBC...

// for those interested in writing outside of this site, my Discord, RP.me, and a few others will be listed below.  ✦ 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖉 - .starry.mars.✦ 𝖗𝖕.𝖒𝖊 - BlohshGod  // i'll definitely add more later on. just tossing this out there.  

drabble ft. ❝beauti𝖋ul delirium. & 🍭inscrutable.   “YOU CAN'T LET GO OF ME EVEN NOW, CAN YOU?” His mother’s drawl crooned over the cacophony of voices ringing in his head. She towered over him, a fanged demon, as last he saw her—before the very end. He felt so small again. Just as he had when he was William. Meek, forgettable… unlovable…              beneath her.“I was trying to save you…” Spike whispered. “You’re thankless, always thankless.”“If you had any gumption, you would have been waiting with bated breath to see me whither and die, boy!”“I’m not a boy!” A sharp burst of anger, his fist beat a crack into the basement wall.“And… not… yet a man…”  Drusilla’s dreamy tone echoed through the room. “Always searching for a Mummy… a skirt to cower under…” she tilted her head. “A bosom to suckle.”“I couldn’t leave her…”“If you were half a man, you would have left!” His mother screamed. “What man wastes his life away scribbling poems and caring after a withering old lady? They all laughed at you. They still laugh.”“I killed them all, tore them limb from limb.” Spike uttered, rocking forward on his tailbone.“Painted the roses red… planted a garden for your mother in bloodied soil.” Drusilla sang. “Watered the thirsty little flowers with their blood.”“Never done anything for yourself, have you?” said his mother. “You let everyone walk all over you. Wasted all your time on reasoning and reckoning, but it couldn’t fix what was wrong, could it? The sick little weakness…”“I changed. Gone around the bend, yes, gone around the bend, but I got stronger.”“And now you’re weak again,” said Buffy.  “Got a soul like it makes any difference to me. You’ll never be the man I need.”“You should have killed her when you had the chance,” said Drusilla. “Wrung her pretty little neck. But you never could make Mummy happy, could you?”“No, could never make anyone happy. No one's happy, only hurt.”

https://www.gq-magazine.co.uk/article/saltburn-film-watches

----Trigger Warnings----Tauriel remembers every detail of that fatal night. A reverent that curled around her mind in her waking hours or sleep, much like the spirited mist that coiled around the surrounding mountains. A pale noose that sometimes suffocated her, taking her every breath and haunted her mind.When the howling of Rhîw splintered between thin blackened trendies hanging from the tree's hypnotized in its cold embrace. It awakened her from her slumber right before the Orcs entered her village, as if the Valar themselves were trying to warn them all before the pillaging began. The swaying of the pendulum in the next room clicked from left to right as swiftly and clear as Quell. The breeze right before the very first scream pierced the air like the tip of a dagger and a deep, resounding thud as the springs bounced off the wooden floor, awakening her parents in the next room.A heavy silence filled the air before her, nadar's voice screamed out for Tauriel to hide, as he had taught her. She slipped swiftly out of the warmth of her covers for the very last time and under the wooden planks under the privacy of her bed. It was a hidden cubby he made for her, and her naneth if trouble every brewed while he was away. He kept it stocked with a week of supplies and weapons in case they needed to stay for more than a day. She couldn't stop shivering as she backed her small frame into the stone-cornered wall and slipped down, holding her trembling knees against her chest as she watched the shadows between the floor boards. And suddenly, Tauriel covered her ears at once when she heard her naneth's gurgling cries and nadar's final roar before a swift steel blade plummeted into his chest. She cannot recall how long she stayed under the floorboards. Tauriel felt as frozen as a gentle leaf in the middle of a catastrophic Rhiw storm. But the scent of rotten eggs, charred flesh, and iron filtered heavily into the air and reminded her she was still alive as cold, sticky droplets of life spilled between the wooden floor.It must have been a few days that passed, and the last dying cries, moans faded away like the torn pages of an old book her nadar would sometimes use when he couldn't find a dried twig to light their fireplace in the colder months. Her naneth would always scoff at him for doing so, lecturing him on the time it took to make that book, and what if that was the last in existence? The words he just burned would be forever lost, she would scoff. Her Nadar would settle back into his old creaky rocking chair with a wooden pipe between his smirking lips and motion for Tauriel to join him on his lap as he snuggled her in his arms listening to his wife lecture him further. “Aye, its the past woman! And the best stories are always held in our minds and hearts.'"They are passed down from one generation to the next. Not some flattened words scribbled a bout with no feeling at all! I'm sure whatever story that was written in that book is still with the loved ones he had left," he said and began to rock softly with her in his arms in his chair. "Plus you fancy freezing to death? Miss I am cold! I am cold!" He chuckled heartly and kissed the top of Tauriel's fiery locks." I'll never know where you got this colour from lass! But I believe its a reflection of your soul." Her emerald eyes welled in tears again as she sniffled and rubbed her tiny nose knowing she would never have another memory of them again.Lost in her thoughts, she barely registered the creaking of the floor, shifting of light as King Thranduil's men found her there. She was catatonic, and they must have called her a million times before one decided to jump down and a loom of dust from the dirt beneath his feet splattered around, awakening her from her dreams as she looked up towards him. "Are you a Maia?" her raspy, brittle voice from lack of fluids asked in a whispered breath. "No, I am not Henig. Odulen an edraith anlen. We come to take you to the palace where you can recover, and we will find you a new home in the inner sanctuary of the Village." He spoke gently and quickly scooped her up, and she didn't realize how weak she actually felt as she slumped into his chest as he crawled out of her family's secret dwelling, she would see her parents again.Their lifeless bodies lay unnaturally on the floor. The skin was as pale as the moon and hung barely on their bones. Their eyes were still open wide but soulless, and their mouths were agape from their silent screams. In that split second Tauriel went from having no strength at all to kicking and fighting away from the gentle soldier that held her and sunk by her naneth's body. And even though there was pools of blood she crawled into her frame like a baby and laced her small arms over her naneth's lifeless heart. "Wake up Nana! Oh wake up! Please! I do not want to leave here I want to stay with you or come back and take me too! Take me too!!!" She sobbed and squinted her eyes tight and perched her lips as her breathing hitched. "You promised you would never leave me! You promised! Come back! Come back!!!” Her voice hoarse, her body feeling the weight of every tears ahs she pounded her tiny fist into her nana's chest before sinking completely into her motionless arms and tried to lace them around her slender shoulders. At first Thranduil's men just stood frozen. Their eyes peeled at the little girl, and they occasionally glanced at the other unsure what to do. But they knew it was only a matter of time before trouble would befall again and they needed to gather the survivors and the dead too. The same soldier who first held her in his arms tired to at first encourage her gently into his arms. But Tauriel resisted and screamed, spatting in his face and clung to her naneth as another soldier had to assist, even though she was just a little lass. "No! Noooooo!!!," Tauriel screamed before finally sinking into his chest again and she felt even more tired than she did before as the world around her muted into nothingness. "We will give them proper burial and you could visit them whenever you wish," he tried to reassure her. But his words felt as lifeless at that moment as her once vibrant village as he carried her away, and that was all she could remember, as she must have fainted in his arms, wanting to dream it all away.When Tauriel awakened again, her old painted walls were replaced by fine, smooth marble, tapestries, and a heady scent of lavender's and myrrh, and the sound of fresh springs spilling over perfectly shaped rocks could be heard in the distance. Skyward lights from the morning star splintered purposefully through an arrangement of mirrors perfectly orchestrated, filling the area beneath, and even the tiny dusting sparkled heavenly in the room, making Tauriel feel as if she were in a dream. But as a shadow blocked out the light that temporarily warmed her skin, meaning to bring her comfort, but instead reminded her of why she was there. It was the voice of the soldier who must have brought her there.The sacred healing springs in Thranduil's palace, and as he spoke with words meant to bring her solace, all she could see and think of was her parents spread across the floor in her childhood home. Tauriel would not even look at him or cast a single gaze his way. It was too painful and too much for her to bear, and she no longer shook in fear but with the thought of never allowing another village to suffer as she just did. Her emerald eyes fixed on the glint of two swords that hung on the wall in the distance, and she drew in a breath, feeling as if it was the first one she ever took in her entire young life, and she swallowed back the last bit of sorrow and spoke in a pristine, clear voice to the soldier. "Teach me. Teach me all you know, so I can fight alongside you one day. I may be young, barely a knee, but my nadar has been training me since the time I began to walk. I will not let your efforts go to waste.”The little girl she once was no longer what laid on that bed now. She stayed with her parents in her childhood home and was replaced by a spirit that would revenge her parents deaths and not allow another family, nor village to be torn apart again. With a look of certainly unwavering resolve upon her face, Tauriel let the last tear she would cry for that day slip past the curve of her cherub face. Her emerald eyes now fixated upon his dark azure's in the healing room, and she spoke once again. But her voice was strong, almost fierce, and he could tell she would not take no for an answer. "Teach me everything you know, and I will bring you every head of an Orc I come across. I assure you of this." He smoothed his large hand over her own and threaded his fingers with hers as he nodded slowly and squeezed it tight, seeing the determination in her eyes and a soul of a fearless warrior in her eyes. "I will teach you all I know and guide you in the best way I can. You have my word. My promise young henig as long as you promise to not waste the life you still have and seek beauty and be fearless in love again."Tauriel could not speak as he spoke kindly to her and with such care, reminding her of her nadar as tears welled in her eyes, so she simply nodded in agreement and squeezed his hand. 

  MENTAL HeALTH.   May prompt.   Isolation and Avoidance. Darcy tends to isolate herself and avoid getting too close or opening up to others. She's deeply distrustful of letting people into her paranormal world, fearing they'll think she's delusional. Darcy brushes off relationships and social connections that could potentially provide emotional support systems.  Substance Abuse. Turning to alcohol, cigarettes, and other substances is one of Darcy's main coping mechanisms. She self-medicates heavily with vices and indulgences as a way to blur out the psychological strain she endures from being a medium. Frequent benders and bouts of inebriation are her escape hatches.  Thrill-Seeking Behavior. When substances aren't enough of a distraction, Darcy chases an adrenaline high through daredevil activities and reckless risks. Putting herself in harm's way through things like street racing, illicit substance abuse, or throwing herself into paranormal hotspots is paradoxically a way for her to feel "normal."  Avoidant Behaviors. Darcy employs a variety of avoidant behaviors to sidestep dealing with her mental health issues head-on. She'll immerse herself in work at the bookstore for weeks at a stretch. She keeps obsessively busy or hits the road without notice torun from her problems. Compartmentalization and blocking out her troubles is a pattern.Lack of Healthy Coping Skills. For all her knowledge of the metaphysical, Darcy seems to lack any effective healthy coping skills or outlets. She doesn't exercise, journal, seek therapy, or pursue creative outlets. Her self-care abilities are limited, leaving her to cycle through the same destructive behaviors.Emotional Repression. At her core, Darcy represses, bottles up, and internalizes the heavy emotional and psychological toll of her abilities as a medium. Rather than process her traumatic experiences, she lashes out, builds up walls, and forces the stress down through vices. Her emotions remain unresolved.Darcy's mental health is like an open wound that she neglects to treat, allowing it to fester and become more infected over time through unhealthy, avoidant behaviors. Her self-destructive coping mechanisms may temporarily numb the pain, but provide no lasting solution for healing her tormented psyche.   Darcy E. Nolan   "And still, I rise.”  —  Maya Angelou   template credit.    

TTaken from Miss Christine Daae's stream and furthered for the two of ushttps://www.roleplayer.me/599023Christine Opening--Autumn in Paris, her adopted homeland.... her favorite time of year. The streets bustling with activity near the opera, and more often than not, rain with notes of floral could be smelt on the breeze. Christine was eager for the falling temperatures, knowing that winter was peeking around the corner.Katherine---As Katherine sees her old long time friend, a smile splays across the dark hair beauty's lips, and she joins her as they stroll the cobblestone streets of Le Paris softly giggling, taking in all the sights and sounds. Mingling, clattering leaves rustling in a melodic tune as they pirouette gracefully on a kissed autumn breeze. Such as the many ballerinas of the grand Opera under Madame's guiding hand, making sure they keep to every carefully placed step.An enchanting dance, mesmerizing and surreal as they share a cup of hot chocolate watching nature's beautiful showing. Autumn in Le Paris not comparison to any other in all the lands holding the dark magics,  music in one's soul.Miss Daae was among one of her oldest and dearest friends that she had known in other lifetimes, and she swears in other skins, and when they encountered the other again it was as if not even a single day had passed between the years they had seen the other.Katherine was pleased that Christine was now the prized jewel of the Palais Garnier. She remembered many a summer's day when Katherine spent some time in Uppsala seemingly like eons ago, that it was Christine who welcomed the young maiden to her home when she found her wandering aimlessly, lost much confused and without knowing a single soul. She had just freshly been turned into a creature she rather not think of now, given her soul was returned more than a year ago. It was Christine's kindness, her heart, that helped Katherine remember who she was and not the monster she felt she became. Now married and a mortal once again, the two girls reunited and spent most of their evenings at the other's homes. Warm, lost memories, silly moments they recalled and speaking of the great loves they now held in their arms. Many a day they would visit a local bakery when Erik was away on business and Christine was not practicing her cords. They have become more as sisters now ad cherish each other with all their hearts and souls.  

Hey everyone!I am a girl who has been roleplaying for many years. I am new to this site, but not new to the concept. I do all kinds of rp but I do some things that I don't like to waver on.1) I always play female2) I play sub if doing an NSFW roleplay

.purplewrap {width: 400PX; margin: auto; background-color: #FFF; padding: 10PX; border-bottom: solid 1PX #AD88C6} .purpleinner {border-top: solid 20PX #AD88C6} .purplename {background: #7469B6; color: #FFF; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 30PX; display: inline-block; padding: 10PX 10PX 15PX 10PX; margin-left: 20PX; margin-top: 150PX; opacity: 1.0;} .purpleimg {width: 400PX; height: 200PX; border-top: solid 3PX #fff } .purplecontent {font-size: 13PX; line-height: 14PX; font-family: calibri, sans-serif; text-align: justify; padding: 15PX; color: #000} Enter Kira Court dates were set and while there was down time Bo spent time with his family and girlfriend. All trying to distract themselves from the court date. It had taken longer than the week he was there to get the date set. But he had no issue jumping between New York and Charlotte. He had no choice, he was attending that hearing to gain custody of his daughter. His lawyer able to get photos of her for him to look at. So he could just see her, the actual encounter he had when he first saw the girl was unpleasant and his focus was on his ex, the woman who put him in this situation. But it was nice to see the images of Kira. He was warned that usually the father getting full custody was an uphill battle, but he hopefully had a good case to win. He even had his home in Charlotte inspected by child services to get a stamp of approval that the environment the girl would be moving to was safe. He had a clean record, his income was stable and was well off to provide for the child.But... This was still nerve wracking. He sat in that court room, lawyer at his side and father along with the rest of his family near by. He couldn't see her, but he could feel that woman's presence. Could hear her complaining. The only time she'd likely ever be permitted to be in his presence. Too many law enforcement officials for her to act out. But he quietly chewed his lip, curious to where his daughter actually was. "Where is Kira..?" He whispered to his lawyer softly. And was assured she was safe. She was in a daycare playing with other children. Which was nice to hear. She wasn't in the hands of that insane family. The hearing itself was stressful. The questioning, he felt like he was being verbally attacked. But it didn't last long before he got to sit back in his original seat as the trial continued. Once it was said and done. He had to anxiously wait for the verdict. And it was a long wait, like it was a century. He had his parents talking to him to relax him. He barely knew this little girl but he was already willing to fight tooth and nail for her. He felt for her, she was nearly four... She was born in a prison, nearly lived in the streets. The family could barely afford to care for themselves. Let alone Kira. He didn't want child support. He could care less, he just wanted Kira and no contact with her mother. Once the judge had returned, he was granted the custody and he felt like he could finally breathe. Like he gasped for air as soon as it was announced. He didn't even hear the upset snaps from the other side of the room. He felt a bubble of excitement, he had spent the week before, even though he didn't know he'd win, setting up that child a room. Making sure everything was ready for her, and if he didn't win? Well... He one day wanted to marry and have his own family so it was just a head start?He ended up being told to wait at his parents and child services would bring her to him. And he was scared... scared that she didn't want anything to do with him. She didn't know him, she had seen him in person once, and it was not in the most ideal of situations. But the lawyer assured him that his ex was sickly obsessed with him and that alone might help him. The girl may have grown up looking at photos of him on the internet, watching videos of him hearing him. She may have been told her whole little life that he was her daddy. So maybe it wouldn't be as off putting for her. The wait again was unnearving. To officially meet his child, how was he going to tell her that her mommy wasn't coming with them if she was curious. Hopefully that wasn't something he had to address with a toddler right away. But once the knock came his hand snapped up, and he opened the door and saw the little girl in the arms of one of the agents bringing her to him. She was put on the floor and he just dropped down to the floor, it didn't take too long for her just to go straight over hugging him. All a good sign, but they had a long ways to go in their little journey together.  ✖

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Beyond the garnet aged veil of Palais Garnier. There was another story being told. Dark, sensual laments. Sorrowful gasps with curious wide eyes as patrons entered it's doors. Intricate details etched upon the walls. Scribbed from a artist's hand. Scriptures, verses forbidden and unknown to the common man. Her Tsigani blood was electrified when she first came to Le Paris. The city was a dark tempest of the night, a dangerous beauty to all that encountered her grasp. Sensual reds stitched along a azure sky, and the nighttime was awakened under her delicate hands.Music flowed like honeyed wine, and skyward lights danced along cobblestone streets and stoned architecture carved from a long-forgotten dreamer's hands. When Katherine first entered its veil, she too was a creature of the night. Her mocha ringlets danced along her feminine frame joyously. But shrouded over the hunger and deep thirsty embers, she tried her best to fight. There were times she swore she could still feel the incisors between her rosebud lips. A history she would choose to long forget, but still whispered in a coiled grip.Daggers that once were the takers of lives, but none were deserving of the breath they bared. But that was long ago. Many lifetimes passed, and now she could feel the warm scarlet pulsing in her veins. As well as the life she carried inside her tummy. A celestial tapestry of the love they've shared, overlapping in many lifetimes and brought together again by fated hands. But there was an energy in the air that prickled along her porcelain flesh. A talons claw scraping along the edges.A surge she couldn't decipher and disembodied voices calling her name. As shadows danced along each candle like jinns cackling and taunting in the night creating labyrinths in her mind. Cryptic puzzle pieces reveal the tearing between the realms beyond the naked eye. Erik seemed to be as haunted as she felt, too. He spending most of his time retreating to the catacombs far below the city streets of Le Paris. The echo of his long, skilled digits tearing over bone-white keys from the laments of his soul far surpassed the encasing of his world that he kept hidden away and hardly revealed.The city was unhinged, and even the patrons acted peculiarly after each showing at the Palais Garnier. Instead of roaring applause, there were tears from unspoken words as lovers' hearts held tighter, clinging to each other's arms. There was a change in the air. A heavy mist that did not lift even as the sun tried its best to penetrate in the day as musical notes flowed along spring blooms and birds echoed each note of the music that he made.Le Paris the city of dreams and shipwrecked parts of one's soul.Katherine was a dancer since the time she was barely knee-high, and the forest surrounding her home in Bulgaria was the music of her young soul. Her days were spent along rolling fields, and her teacher was a willow tree who carved the ebb and flow of each movement she made. Le Paris was a place she had read about in school on sketched pads someone made from their travels abroad. Even now, she recalls the stocky gentleman with permanent flushed cheek barreling in through their tiny school, excited to share his memories of it all. She couldn't remember all that he said that day.Or even exactly what was in the poorly stitched-together notebook he had made. But the one sentence that sparked her heart like a beacon to Le Paris that he said was, 'it was a place where an artist heart was carved and can truly be set free.' Even after her heart stopped beating on that fateful night many centuries ago, she never stopped yearning for this foreign city, a place in her mind drizzled with gold.Le Paris.. Each syllable electrified her mind, and when she first laid eyes upon it, she recalled her younger self. The tsigani girl, whose first teacher was the willow tree, and the dancing girls were buzzing bees and zigzagging dragonflies. While parchment-like leaves clapped excitedly when the dance was done.So much time has passed since she first arrived in the city, and everything she ever yearned for was here all along. Since the moment she was turned, she had searched the world for a cure and wanted to just feel her heart beating once again. Now, as she smoothed her soft palm over her tummy, feeling their unborn fluttering like a butterfly awaiting her time to spread her wings, each memory and moment they had shared since her arrival played in her mind like pages of her favourite novel, and she could see it upon every droplet on a fresh bloom awakening in spring.Her thoughts stilled as the carriage suddenly stopped, and the horses released a heavy sigh after traveling over the mountains from their cottage nestled on the outskirts of the city. As the coachman opened the door, her amber hues fixated on Palais Garnier it was just as beautiful and haunting as she remembered it was. For much of her pregnancy, she kept away from the hustle and bustle of the city, enjoying quieter days in her solitude and priming their home for their daughter's arrival. But as word spread—even over the mountainside of Erik's lament—she braved the city again, longing to be by her husband's side.

The thunderstorms used to scare her when she was a little girl but now, she truly did enjoy them. She was laying on the sofa along with her dog named Mason, who was a bit scarred of the thunder. She pet her dog gently trying to calm his anxiety down, "I know you are scared Mason, it will be fine" she said softly. She turned on the candle and started to hum. The humming usually calmed her dog down. "Come on we are going to write a letter to your nonna, my mamma" she said softly. Sitting up, she grabbed a paper from her desk and grabbed a pen. Her mother had been her strength and her biggest supporter. She was not going to be able to go to New York this Sunday for Mother's Day but she was arranging flowers to be delivered to her mother, as well as a gift. The designer started her letter for her mamma."Mia Cara Madre,Where can I begin mamma? You are truly the inspiration, the strength, and love that I carry within me. You are the bravest person I know, and not only because you are a widow, after the passing of my father but you have been a warrior always being there for myself and Aaron. You are truly the most amazing woman that I know, and the woman I am today is because of you. When things were going downhill for me, you were there to help me up. You were there to pick me up and push me knowing that I could do the best. You are the best cook, besides nonna, you are my everything. Thank you for being my biggest supporter through the ups and downs, from my dancing days to my designing days and currently as a business owner. You don't know how much you mean to me. There are truly no words to describe how much I love you! Thank you for being an amazing mother, my best friend, and an amazing rolemodel. You are a warrior, a strong woman, being a funny woman, and a fighting spirit. I always think that dad is watching over us, and watching over you. I am so proud and happy to call you my mother, mia madre. Ti amo molto. I am sorry I won't be able to be there on Sunday but I hope your gift,your roses and this letter lets you know how special you are to me. You are celebrated, loved and special not only on Mother's Day but every day, mamma. Sending you hugs and kisses, we love, sending love from your daughter and grandson.With love,Isabella Fontana & Mason Fontana. "I think she will love it Mason!" she said softly as the dog barked and cuddled close to her. She was excited that the storm was lifting up. She was excited and hoped that this letter would find her mother well.