Character Registration, Cynthia Gage

[`Cynthia Gage]

Name: Cynthia Olivia Gage
Age: 99, changed at 27
Gender: Female
Species: Vampire
Background:

Born in 1893...

In 1920, Cynthia Gage was a blushing bride-to-be in Buffalo, New York. Her fiance was a bank teller and she was trying to build her own beauty parlor from the ground up. She had lived in a small, modest apartment with her lover and had a swelling belly that contained a 7-month-old child within.

She had been there when the Titanic went down. She had been there when Oklahoma, Arizona and New Mexico had been admitted into the United States. Cynthia saw the first World War. She saw Influenza take thousands of lives. She was around when the first airplane flew in Kittyhawk, NC. She witnessed the first World Series. She lived in the time of the Model T, of women's suffrage.

But in 1920, Cynthia's heart stopped beating.

Her life was aligned in such a way that she was content. Cynthia had always wanted more out of life when she was a human, but she was at least content with how it was. Being rich was something she knew she'd never be able to reach, and therefore settled for the average, mediocre life of the beauty school dropout.

It was winter when Cynthia was turned. The snow was falling down hard, very hard, as she trudged her way through the two-or-so feet of snow to get back to her apartment, which wasn't very far away. Crossing her arms over her chest, she squinted against the blizzard and noticed a man standing not very far from where she was. It was quite odd; he was merely wearing a jean jacket and jeans. Definitely not the sort of garb for this extreme weather. His eyes cast into blackness by the overhead street lamp, Cynthia had been instantly afraid, and crossed the street.

He was on this side of the street now, staring at her. A wide, shining grin spread across his face. Her heart thundered in her chest, beating like had never beat before; it must have known that it didn't have many left.

She hardly remembered anything after that moment; the man was upon her and she screamed at the knife-like pain that pierced her jugular. Her voice was swallowed by the howling wind. He smiled down at the pregnant woman, wide-eyed with shock and fear, as he slit his own wrist an inch or two. He held the bleeding flesh to her mouth and instructed that she drink. Not having any control whatsoever, Cynthia had done nothing; had only allowed the blood to run down her throat at it's own accord.

Another instant later, the man ran off, looking afraid of something. His eyes were a dull brown, almost black, and the image of them never left Cynthia's mind. She remembered sitting up immediately in the snow, bewildered, only to catch a glimpse of a large dog retreating into an alley. She never saw it again.

Cynthia had made it to her front stoop when she fell to the ground, a hand grasping her throat. It was on FIRE. Her throat dry, it was all the young woman could do to cry out in agony. She died on the spot, and she was almost completely hidden in snow when her fiance arrived home from work.

Geoffrey, the fiance, was devastated, as he cried over her body in the hospital bed, the dull monotone of the heart monitor unchanging. The newborn opened her eyes, her face contorting into something demonic and ugly; inhuman. Yellow eyes replaced the soft blue ones. She inhaled a deep breath, surprised by the sudden relief, and so was Geoffrey. The couple smiled at each other for a brief moment, and then Cynthia sucked him dry.

Her soul was gone.

Cynthia did not understand this new life. Where she'd been initially satisfied, she became afraid, petrified, at the deed she'd just done. She couldn't understand what was happening to her; worst of all, she feared being arrested for murder. She felt strong, alive, and yet so very dead at the same time. It didn't take her long to realize that her face was distorted, that food no longer seemed pleasing to her, and that she was so strong that she'd broken the front door of her apartment right off of its hinges as she wrenched it open. Panicking, she curled up in the hallway, scared of herself. She knew what she was. She had no clue how to do it.

...but she was still so thirsty....

The man from three days ago had found her, by her scent no doubt. The odd part was, Cynthia had recognized his scent as well, long before he walked through that doorway. He had smiled wickedly when he discovered her shaking form, the bloody mess she had made, and the fetus on the floor, which she had manually clawed from her own womb; the thirst had gotten her better. She had sucked it dry just as she had done Geoffrey.

The Vampire held his hand out to her. After nursing her back to health, he escorted Cynthia to downtown New York to hunt, and explained to her everything she needed to know about being a newborn vampire. For turning her, he felt responsible. He explained how imperative it was to stay away from wood, sunlight and holy objects. He told her how far it could take her if she knew how to throw a punch, and how important it was to keep to the shadows.

His name was Quentin, and she had become very attached to him. He was her father, in some ways, and had become her lover in others. Cynthia's memory of her human life had become very blurred very quickly, her remorse for Geoffrey quickly forgotten in the wake of her new feelings for Quentin. It didn't last long, though.

The elder vampire had explained how long it had taken him to make roots in this city and he was not prepared to teach a newborn to behave nor was he willing to start a coven with her. After six months, Quentin had ordered the now-educated Cynthia away, ordering her to find her own hunting grounds and her own way of life. He had not felt for her the way she had felt for him. It had broken her non-beating heart.

That is how she ended up on the farthest side of the states as she could; in California. It had taken her awhile to get here, of course, on foot...but she managed to get there. Los Angeles is where she currently resides, taking Quentin's advice and making her own roots in a big city. Now that she knows what she is, she embraces it. She relishes being a soulless demon and pities anything less. A rule she keeps for herself, however, is to always make sure she gets the job done. She will never create a new vampire; it disgusts her just to think of it.

Flaws/Personality traits:

Cynthia is, as I am starting her out, an average vampire. She is hostile towards those who turn their back on what they are (as in, not feeding on humans). She envies humanity, something she was deprived of a long time ago. She has a very sarcastic, dry sense of humor accompanied by a laugh that rarely sounds sincere.

Cynthia is a hunter, therefore she's very feral. Feline, to be exact. She stalks her prey and sometimes "plays" with her food. She is not above seducing her prey before she drains it, drawing more of a challenge from female counterparts. She does not feel mercy for humans; the way she sees it, she is simply helping keep the world from overpopulating. She is serving her purpose in the food chain.

Cynthia is manipulative by nature. She is stubborn and usually won't back down until she has what she wants from someone. She is quite sharp and cunning; do not let her blonde hair fool you.

When it comes down to it, though, Cynthia is a mess. When it comes to personal relationships, she isn't nearly as cunning and sly as she is when confronting an enemy. In this respect, Cynthia tends to hold her enemies in a higher regard than those she holds dear; fighting and arguing are her nature, and if she's not doing one of those with you, it's hard for her to interact.

She's a very perceptive woman who tends to read everyone's situation with ease...everyone except her own. When it comes to mates, Cynthia always falls for the wrong person, and it's the same with friendships. Cynthia, for this reason, prefers to be alone, not wanting to have to read into her own life. It might be because she can't read into her own life.

Physical description:

When not showing her true demon face, Cynthia has milk-white skin and soft, deceiving blue eyes. The small, dark circles under them (a token of many sleepless nights) are hardly a flaw in comparison to her blinding beauty. Her fingers are long and end in long, hard fingernails that seem almost claw-like. In posture she is very feline; graceful and always alert.

She has white-blonde hair and thin lips. She stands tall at around 5'7", and keeps her fashion up with the decade; so far she hates the 90's. Her voice is the kind of sour that will never leave your mouth.

Aspirations:

To continue learning about her vampire heritage. She has kept herself so secluded over the years, she has not learned much more than what Quentin taught her.

Where Did You Find Us?: Other
Misc.: