"In the garden of sorrows, a single rose bloomed in solitude,
Its velvety petals stained by the fading twilight's brooding mood.
I stood in awe at its splendor, a sight beyond compare,
But as I drew closer, I couldn't help but feel a sense of despair.

For like love itself, the rose was both breathtaking and cruel,
Concealing sharp thorns beneath its delicate hue.
Each petal whispered secrets of hidden desires,
While each thorn served as a reminder of unhealed wounds and fires.

I sought her out in the hush of dusk, when shadows crept near,
And held her tenderly despite my growing fear.
But love is often deceptive, playing tricks on our hearts,
Promising solace - while tearing us apart.

As she swayed gracefully under the moon's gentle light,
I bled silently from her thorns' merciless bite.
They whispered to me in hushed tones, "This pain is your fate,"
For love demands sacrifice, leaving nothing but scars to sate.

So here in this sorrowful garden where roses entwine,
I mourn my own foolishness for thinking her love could be mine.
A rose's thorn and my heart, both beauty and bane,
Caught in an endless cycle of longing and pain."

open.spotify.com/playlist/6gHlBUafBXSMPM3cuwdNcy?si=0ZaIMc31T0S3KqOByTLcCw&pi=NI18SFZ0TN6tp

"My love is your disease
I won't let it set you free
'Til I break you"

Basics ~
Name: Tiffany Barclay
Age: 25
Orientation: Lesbian
Occupation: Fitness Instructor

Her piercing blue eyes sparkled with a fierce competitiveness, a fire that burned bright in her very being. She was a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of energy and drive that left all who crossed her path in awe. At twenty-five, she was already a seasoned entrepreneur, having founded her own gymnasium where she reigned supreme, pushing her clients to their limits with a zeal that bordered on fanaticism.

But behind the gleaming smile and chiseled physique, a darkness lurked. A secret so sinister, so depraved, that even the most seasoned of detectives would have been hard-pressed to uncover. Tiffany Barclay was a monster, a creature driven by a primal need to dominate, to control, to hurt. Her partners, both past and present, could attest to the terror she inspired, the fear that gripped their hearts as she unleashed her fury upon them.

The first signs were always subtle, a faint bruise on the cheek, a whispered excuse about a clumsy accident. But as the relationship deepened, the violence escalated, until the partners were nothing more than battered, broken shells of their former selves. The law had taken notice, of course, but Tiffany was cunning, always staying one step ahead of the authorities, manipulating the system to her advantage.

It was a delicate dance, one she performed with ease, charming the judges and juries with her angelic face and innocent demeanor. She was a chameleon, adapting to her surroundings with an uncanny ability, making it seem as though the very fabric of reality bent to her will. But beneath the surface, the beast lurked, waiting to pounce, to strike, to destroy.

Tiffany's obsession with fitness was merely a symptom of her deeper psychological issues, a desperate attempt to exert control over her own chaotic world. The gymnasium was her domain, a kingdom where she reigned supreme, dispensing orders and discipline with an iron fist. Her clients, mostly young and impressionable, hung on her every word, mesmerized by her charisma and beauty.

Bare soles tapped a timid rhythm against the timeworn planks, each groan of the wood amplifying her heart's frantic symphony as she ventured deeper into the shadowy corridors of the alien dwelling. The passage stretched out interminably before her, an unending procession of cloned doors standing sentinel along the walls. And the sounds...whimpers...ghostly snarls.

Lost, I am lost.

Her pace decelerated as she neared the first portal to her left, apprehension weighing down her limbs. With trepidation etched in every line of her being, she extended a trembling hand to seize the cold metal knob. As the door creaked open, a tableau of unimaginable horror unfolded, a sight so ghastly she yearned to gouge out her own eyes. 

Flesh, a grotesque tapestry of it. Sinewy veins crisscrossed like twisted rivers, bared teeth gleamed menacingly, and eyes - oh, those eyes - stared back at her with a chilling sentience.

And the breathing...that rhythmic, guttural inhale and exhale...

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧
open.spotify.com/playlist/1Bca1vOWb5FchN9gnGrH6M?si=_o7nl96WTC64uFSStkNwaw&pi=u-ONYNkUSkqRF

~ It's a habit, I can't help it
I will only break your pretty things
I will only wring you dry of everything

I will poison all your happy thoughts
I will love you like the ashes in my cigarette box
And if you're fine with that
You can be mine~

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧

Basics:
Age : 29
Occupation: Author/Poet
Orientation: Lesbian
Hobbies: Writing, video games, painting
Flaws: Insatiable, easily irritable, melancholic
Positives: Honest, determined, intelligent

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧
A complete woman worshipper; a lesbian who is as emotionally unavailable as she is irresistible. Kerina is a womanizer. A collector of hearts and experiences, always moving on to the next conquest before the last one has a chance to cool down. She is drawn to women of highly feminine traits and interests - a predator who knows her prey well. Her lovers are often soft-spoken, delicate, and innocent - a stark contrast to her own commanding presence and dark aesthetic.

Kerina's intelligence is as sharp as a razor, a trait that she uses to her advantage in both her professional and personal life. She is a master manipulator - a puppeteer who can pull the strings of those around her with a simple glance or a well-placed word. Her mind is a labyrinth of thoughts and ideas, a place where she often retreats to when the world around her becomes too much.

Halloween is Kerina's favorite time of year, a season where she can truly embrace her love for all things creepy and macabre. She will often throw lavish parties at her Victorian-style mansion, a place that seems to have been plucked straight out of a gothic horror novel. The mansion, with its towering spires, stained-glass windows, and wrought-iron fence, is a testament to Kerina's love for the gothic and the grotesque.

Despite her reputation as a heartbreaker, Kerina is not without her own set of vulnerabilities and fears. She is a woman who is terrified of intimacy and commitment, a fear that stems from a traumatic childhood and a series of failed relationships. Kerina is a woman who wears her gothic aesthetic and her aloof demeanor like a suit of armor, a shield that she uses to protect herself from the world and its many cruelties.

Kerina is a complex and compelling character.
A creature of the night, both in her tastes and her demeanor.
She is a woman who is not afraid to embrace her darkness and her desires. ~

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧

- plEASE. I REALLY WANT TO ROLEPLAY HER. -

Playlist (to get an idea of... Well, her)
open.spotify.com/playlist/2Hnf66kfmwhLh7G7qUqZmf?si=e2IP4ZpYRkCwy7VHkeZMvg&pi=VaPCvbKQR4y0u

~ And this'll be, ooh, this'll be, aah
This'll be absolutely, whee
This'll be nice, this'll be neat
And bring you closer to me
So, don't you squirm, don't you fret
I'm not gonna hurt you yet ~

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MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS.
Cannibalism, dissection, mention of animal cruelty.


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Aliénor Rose, a name that sends shivers down the spines of those who know her true nature, is a woman of exquisite beauty and terrifying darkness. Her raven hair cascades down her shoulders like a waterfall of midnight. Her eyes, dark as coal, hold a gaze that can either captivate or chill to the bone. Standing at five feet seven inches, she possesses a lithe and athletic build, a testament to her predatory nature.

Born into a family of affluence and intellect, Aliénor's early years were marked by a voracious appetite for knowledge, particularly in the field of biology. Her father, a renowned surgeon, unwittingly fueled her fascination with the human body, allowing her access to his extensive collection of medical textbooks. It was within these pages that Aliénor found her first taste of the macabre, her young mind absorbing the intricate details of human anatomy with a fervor that bordered on obsession.

Her first brush with death came at the tender age of ten, when her beloved pet cat, Snowflake, met an untimely end under her curious and increasingly disturbed hands. The act of dissection, carried out with a chilling precision that belied her age, left Aliénor with a sense of exhilaration she had never before experienced. It was a feeling she would chase for the rest of her life, a dark and twisted lust that would eventually lead her down a path of no return.

As she blossomed into womanhood, Aliénor's fascination with death and dissection evolved into a perverse intermingling of s*x and violence. Her burgeoning sexuality, a force as wild and untamed as her mind, added a new, terrifying dimension to her morbid fixations. She began to explore the boundaries of pain and pleasure, her own body becoming a canvas for her dark desires. It was during this period of self-discovery that Aliénor first tasted human flesh, an act of cannibalism that awakened an insatiable hunger within her.

In the eyes of the world, Aliénor Rose is a woman of charm and sophistication, a mortician with a penchant for the finer things in life. But beneath this facade lies a monster, a serial killer of unparalleled cunning and savagery. Her love is a twisted, corrupted thing, a mockery of the pure and innocent emotions it is meant to represent. For Aliénor, love and lust are inextricably intertwined with death and dismemberment, a chilling reality that has claimed the lives of countless victims.

Her modus operandi is as unique as it is horrifying. She seduces her victims, tending to target women, drawing them into her web of deceit with the promise of unbridled passion. Once ensnared, they are subjected to a nightmarish ordeal of torture and dissection, their screams a symphony of terror that only serves to fuel Aliénor's insatiable appetites.

Despite the darkness that consumes her, Aliénor Rose remains a captivating enigma, a woman whose beauty and intelligence hide a monster of unimaginable cruelty. She is a character of contrasts, a violent storm brewing beneath a serene surface, a testament to the terrifying depths of human depravity.

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~ little snippet ~

Aliénor's gaze was inexorably drawn to the expanse of her legs - their milky pallor stretched taut over well-defined gastrocnemius muscles, beckoning to her like a gift begging to be unveiled. She found herself helplessly tracking the skirt's hem as it brushed against supple skin, hiding the most enticing part from view. The notion of biting into those succulent thighs was a temptation that nearly pushed her over the edge.

A low, almost imperceptible moan rose from the depths of Aliénor's soul. The exhilaration of the incision, the electrifying surge that flooded her veins as she meticulously opened a woman's chest, the hypnotic rhythm of the final heartbeats pulsing beneath her fingertips... how long had it been since she last savored that illicit pleasure? The scant bites she had been pilfering from the freshest cadavers were mere echoes of the true thrill she desired - the intoxicating euphoria of the pursuit, the slaughter.