BEATRICE - BISEXUAL - SINGLE (NOT REALLY LOOKING; THOUGH)
(OOC) BREEDINGS MAAAYYYBEEE
(OOC) BREEDINGS MAAAYYYBEEE
beatrice, the doll
- once a famours theatre actress and singer
- a true shining star with a beautiful voice
- was jealous of her co-star, William
- and didn't want to share the spotlight with him
- sold him out to a witch who took his voice
- he found out, of course, and cursed her in return
- her soul is now trapped in a doll
- forced her to be his plaything
- she is unable to do anything now but to obey him
- wishes for death but it will never come
- she was Willow's first, but definitely not his last
- at first he took her everywhere with him
- but by now he abandoned her
- and she simply sits on a shelf, amongst hundreds of other dolls
-- unable to move
-- unable to leave
Hurt
Her name was Beatrice. She was young, she was beautiful, she was adored.
But so was he.
He was the thorn in her side, even just the mentioning of his name made her stomach churn. She had sacrificed everything to get what he had; and yet, with him around, all she could settle for was second place.
She had to admit that he was extraordinarily handsome, and his voice sounded like that of an angel. In another life, she thought, she maybe even would have been able to fall in love with him. However – not in this one. Instead, they despised each other, or at least so she told herself, maybe to make herself feel better about the situation.
The truth was: He hated no one. He had even gifted her large, perfumed bouquets and praised every single one of her performances. But for her these were no signs of genuine affection, but of mockery. She was convinced that with every smile of his, he was taunting her and her misery. Her misery that was purely his fault, as it consisted of his dark shadow, towering over her.
At some point she simply had enough.
Beatrice, however, was not someone to get their paws – or god beware her precious coat and costumes – dirty. And so, instead of taking the matters into her own hands, she approached someone of whom she hoped could help her.
A witch.
And she was willing to offer her anything in return for fame. “My soul.” She whispered, her auburn hair shining flame-like in the candle-lit hut of the old woman. The witch simply cackled. “You have no soul. But…” She pointed at her. “… there is something else.”
“Anything.”
“This man’s, William’s, voice. If I take it from him for you, I will keep it.”
Suddenly, a smile crept over Beatrice’ face and she nodded sternly. “You can keep it. I don’t need it. I have my own.”
“Well, my dear, then we have a deal…”
When she returned to the theatre, precious William was sitting there, clawing at his throat. Though his maw was agape, not even an audible sigh escaped his lips. Beatrice could not help but to smile. “Cat got your tongue?” She laughed, walking past him while his gaze burned into her back. She simply paid him no mind.
This night, she was dancing more graceful than ever before, and her voice – and her voice alone – filled the whole auditorium.
And he? He was silenced. And gone. He had fled the scene and Beatrice couldn’t care less where he had run off to. She was only glad that he was gone. Gone forever, the spotlight finally belonging to her and her alone.
She should’ve cared, though. But that realization only hit her much, much later. When it was already too late.
The night was wonderful. Even when she fell into her bed long past midnight, her eyes closed and a content smile on her lips, she could still hear the loud cheering of the audience and feel the heat of the spotlights on her body. Only the moon illuminating her room, she fell into a deep sleep, unaware of the second presence – a dark shadow in a corner of her room, staring at her with glowing, lifeless grey eyes.
After a while of restful sleep, Beatrice literally tripped into a nightmare. One moment she was still standing on stage, being cheered on, but suddenly a trap door opened under her feet and she fell. And fell. And fell. Darkness surrounded her – and something else. Glowing grey eyes in her peripheral vision. Whenever she turned her head, they were gone. And she kept falling.
Then, finally, she hit the ground. A sharp pain in her back caused her to wake and jerk up from her pillow. She opened her eyes and gasped when right in front of her face were the same grey eyes that had haunted her in her sleep. And a toothy grin greeted her. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound escaped. “I am still dreaming!” She thought. And the maw with pointy teeth started laughing.
But to her utmost horror Beatrice had to realize that the sound of laughter now came out of her own mouth. And then when he spoke, she felt herself uttering the exact words his lips were forming silently:
“Hello, Beatrice.”
Now she could see his whole face. It was him, of course it was him.
“I know what you did to me.”
She tried to stay quiet, resist, but she was unable to.
“You hurt me, Beatrice.”
She tried to whimper but couldn’t even do that.
“And now I am going to hurt you.”
He smiled. She smiled, though unwillingly. He was the puppet master, and she was his doll.
“Forever.”
But so was he.
He was the thorn in her side, even just the mentioning of his name made her stomach churn. She had sacrificed everything to get what he had; and yet, with him around, all she could settle for was second place.
She had to admit that he was extraordinarily handsome, and his voice sounded like that of an angel. In another life, she thought, she maybe even would have been able to fall in love with him. However – not in this one. Instead, they despised each other, or at least so she told herself, maybe to make herself feel better about the situation.
The truth was: He hated no one. He had even gifted her large, perfumed bouquets and praised every single one of her performances. But for her these were no signs of genuine affection, but of mockery. She was convinced that with every smile of his, he was taunting her and her misery. Her misery that was purely his fault, as it consisted of his dark shadow, towering over her.
At some point she simply had enough.
Beatrice, however, was not someone to get their paws – or god beware her precious coat and costumes – dirty. And so, instead of taking the matters into her own hands, she approached someone of whom she hoped could help her.
A witch.
And she was willing to offer her anything in return for fame. “My soul.” She whispered, her auburn hair shining flame-like in the candle-lit hut of the old woman. The witch simply cackled. “You have no soul. But…” She pointed at her. “… there is something else.”
“Anything.”
“This man’s, William’s, voice. If I take it from him for you, I will keep it.”
Suddenly, a smile crept over Beatrice’ face and she nodded sternly. “You can keep it. I don’t need it. I have my own.”
“Well, my dear, then we have a deal…”
When she returned to the theatre, precious William was sitting there, clawing at his throat. Though his maw was agape, not even an audible sigh escaped his lips. Beatrice could not help but to smile. “Cat got your tongue?” She laughed, walking past him while his gaze burned into her back. She simply paid him no mind.
This night, she was dancing more graceful than ever before, and her voice – and her voice alone – filled the whole auditorium.
And he? He was silenced. And gone. He had fled the scene and Beatrice couldn’t care less where he had run off to. She was only glad that he was gone. Gone forever, the spotlight finally belonging to her and her alone.
She should’ve cared, though. But that realization only hit her much, much later. When it was already too late.
The night was wonderful. Even when she fell into her bed long past midnight, her eyes closed and a content smile on her lips, she could still hear the loud cheering of the audience and feel the heat of the spotlights on her body. Only the moon illuminating her room, she fell into a deep sleep, unaware of the second presence – a dark shadow in a corner of her room, staring at her with glowing, lifeless grey eyes.
After a while of restful sleep, Beatrice literally tripped into a nightmare. One moment she was still standing on stage, being cheered on, but suddenly a trap door opened under her feet and she fell. And fell. And fell. Darkness surrounded her – and something else. Glowing grey eyes in her peripheral vision. Whenever she turned her head, they were gone. And she kept falling.
Then, finally, she hit the ground. A sharp pain in her back caused her to wake and jerk up from her pillow. She opened her eyes and gasped when right in front of her face were the same grey eyes that had haunted her in her sleep. And a toothy grin greeted her. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound escaped. “I am still dreaming!” She thought. And the maw with pointy teeth started laughing.
But to her utmost horror Beatrice had to realize that the sound of laughter now came out of her own mouth. And then when he spoke, she felt herself uttering the exact words his lips were forming silently:
“Hello, Beatrice.”
Now she could see his whole face. It was him, of course it was him.
“I know what you did to me.”
She tried to stay quiet, resist, but she was unable to.
“You hurt me, Beatrice.”
She tried to whimper but couldn’t even do that.
“And now I am going to hurt you.”
He smiled. She smiled, though unwillingly. He was the puppet master, and she was his doll.
“Forever.”