Emma
Child of Lavalles
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To the untrained mortal (and immortal) eye, Emma appears to be a perfectly normal, healthy young girl. It’s an illusion created mostly by her magic, but she still takes care to keep her clothes pressed, her hair combed and trimmed, and her nails painted and filed to be perfectly round. She also dresses modestly, tending to shy away from brightly-colored fabrics and flashy accessories—anything that might draw undue attention to her. On her neck and the undersides of her arms are old scars. Much like the wooden cross she wears around her neck, they’re mementos of her old life, both as precious as they are repulsive. In defiance of her upbringing, Emma has long done away with her father’s bright-eyed optimism. She sees the world in various shades of grey, and puts herself well above others, knowing firsthand what becomes of those who give too freely of themselves, and for little in return. Her speech is blunt and to the point, her voice clear and commanding, though a bit flat. She prefers to bury her emotions, rather than let them show, and she struggles with empathy. Emma grew up in a small town outside Klewyth. Her father was a devout priest who headed the town’s only church—a stern yet softhearted man, whom the townspeople quite liked and Emma herself looked up to. She would help him during his services, where he would give sermons about the great injustices of the world and how, to truly enact God’s will and bring about an end to such needless suffering, man need only love his fellow man. He’d speak of kindness and compassion, of mutual understanding, of alms given freely to the less fortunate. And Emma would hang on his every word, committing them to heart. But there were those who scoffed at her father, for being so idealistic—those who swore that his softness would only come back to hurt him and his family, in the end. And they were right, though they couldn’t have known it, then. One balmy night, Emma and her father found a strange man lying on the side of the road. Worried that he was hurt, her father didn’t hesitate to bring him back to town, to their home. He was in terrible shape, his clothes dirty and torn, pale skin littered with bruises, and no matter how hard they tried to wake him, he stayed unconscious. They tended to him for days, Emma’s father determined to nurse the man back to health, though Emma had a few misgivings, herself. There was an air of wrongness about him that set her on edge, and she said as much to her father, but he wouldn’t hear it. What right did they have to judge a man they hardly knew? He needed their help, and that was all that ought to matter. Unfortunately, they learned too late what sort of creature he really was. When he finally awoke, he was crazed with hunger and fear, and Emma’s father was powerless to stop him as he lunged for the first thing within his reach, sinking his fangs into Emma’s throat. She died, that day. Though it was more like falling asleep because a week later, she awoke in her bed with her father at her side. He wept when he saw her, and told her that he’d managed to drive that monster away with silver, wounding it in the process. So desperate had he been to save her that he’d fed her its blood, having read that such a thing might bring her back from the brink. Day after day, he had prayed for a miracle and finally, finally, it had come to him. His daughter was alive, again. Only she was no longer human. Not entirely. Upon realizing this, Emma’s father swore to take responsibility. No one else would be made to suffer for his mistakes, so he made tonics out of his own blood and fed them to Emma, whenever her hunger struck. She hated it, but couldn’t rightly refuse him—not without making herself sick with withdrawal. And he boarded up their windows to keep out the sun, and brought her books and puzzles and anything else he could find for her to fill her days with while he hid her away from the townspeople. He could only protect her for so long, however. Rumors of her mysterious “illness” were quick to spread, until the whole town began to suspect the worst of her father. Rather than wait for them to act on their suspicions—for he feared that they wouldn’t accept his daughter as she was—he took Emma and fled to the countryside. They found a new town to settle in, then left it months later for another, and another, and another after that. All the while, Emma’s father continued to preach to whoever would listen, whether they were human or not, and Emma worked hard to find ways to sustain herself that wouldn’t put her father in danger. He forbade her from feeding on other humans, and it weakened her considerably; still, whatever dangers they faced on the road, Emma handled them on her own, relying on her newfound strength and magical prowess. She wished to protect her father, the same way that he’d protected her all those years ago. More than once, Emma tried to do what he had done—to make him an immortal vampire, so that they could be together forever—but every time, he refused her. If she failed, she would only blame herself for his death, and he couldn’t bear to be the cause of yet more of her suffering. It was a risk that he’d taken out of sheer desperation, and because she’d been much too young to die, but when his time came, he wouldn’t fight it, loathe as he’d be to leave his only child alone. So long as he could spend the years he had left with her, he’d be happy. They had found their way to Klewyth and were living in Lavalles when her father, having made it well into his nineties, passed away. Emma has since remained in the bowels of the city, taking refuge in an old church that, as far as the locals are concerned, has been abandoned for a great many years (though being in it for too long makes her uncomfortable). Sometimes, she’ll find herself reciting her father’s words, but to herself and only herself; to others, she offers much harsher truths, should they seek her out for guidance. |