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Prologue Forget my Name, Forget my Face
Interviewer: “So tell me a little about yourself. You claim that you have such a vast amount of knowledge on topics that even our best scientists haven’t been able to unravel. The Ark of the Convenant’s location, where Atlantis really is, even the lost city of El Dorado and many artifacts lost in time on top of that? You don’t really expect anyone to take your theories for truth, do you?”
H.L: “How many roles had I played? How many faces and names had I changed for the sake of privacy? How many people had I killed to keep my dirty little secrets…?”
Interviewer: “What do you mean by roles? As in you changed who you were for a given situation?”
H. L.: “It gets easier you know, each one becoming less difficult as you become practiced in the ways of murder and seduction. It’s like assessing your virginity all over again when you’re in the moment, half-heartedly deciding whether to continue the chase by letting your prey live. Sometimes you become sadistic and toy with them, sometimes you show mercy and end their suffering quick. That’s not my way, that’s the easy way. A little too easy, the game loses its element of fun after a while, when you play it like that.”
Interviewer: “You’re beginning to sound a little neurotic, ma’am. Are you sure you didn’t escape from the psyche ward?” The woman interviewing, a middle-aged unappealing girl, shifted nervously in her chair, adjusting one leg to sit over the other now. “So, if you don’t mind my asking, what did you do to…well, you know. Keep things interesting?”
H.L.: She would laugh casually, able to easily comprehend the woman’s uneasiness. But that’s why she was here, wasn’t it? To shake down society’s steady chains, to become the radical change that would bring to light how little these humans truly knew. Also, the girl knew she had been being followed for some time. What better way to call out the demons to the open then to expose herself, her race, and all of the creatures that the poor, pathetic humans had been kept from for their entire lives.
“That’s when I learned. That’s when I set out to acquire all the knowledge I could in my forsaken life. Not because I would live longer than most, rather simply for the sake of doing it. Nothing causes riot like an all-seeing and all-knowing member in what the humans see as a “fictional” world; laughable, pitiful creatures that they are. So easily trusting and readily misled. The guises I took would fool them every time, and there had been many.”
“Lucretta Hansel-Llorente, the stunning blonde beauty with eyes of amethyst and the career of a most important fashionista of the 1700’s in Berlin, Germany. Mind you, modeling wasn’t big back then, but I was probably one of the reasons why it started. She was the first alter-form I took on, my second persona who would turn the heads of every male she came by. Then there was Charlotte Burdeaux, the redheaded aristocratic bombshell with eyes of the forest who lit up every gala and party she was invited to. Be assured, she was invited to them all. Ah, how I loved her, she was the flamboyant woman I had kept locked away for so long, who finally revealed herself to Paris, France. Whereas I became bored of Lucretta’s superiority complex, I tweaked it a bit to fit Charlotte, making her cocky, perhaps a bit stuck up to some, but oh, how she was adored. However, things didn’t go according to plan. Yet again, I found myself subjected to having to change to another face in another time.”
Interviewer: “Pardon my Interruption, but how exactly did you change who you were? Dying hair and changing eye colors wasn’t exactly easy to do back then. Not to mention that by your claims you’re at least 300 years old. Obviously anyone with half a mind is going to call you out on that one alone. Living to 100 is still rare, yet you’re trying to get people to believe that they can live to be that old.” The interviewer acted like she had the upper hand now, a cunning smile of knowledge inappropriately laced her face.
H.L.: The girl being interviewed sat calmly to these accusations, although her brilliant green eyes now lit up like fireflies with warning. “Interrupt me again for something so trivial, and I can assure you it will NOT happen a third time”, she replied low, with a menacing tone that the cameras couldn’t hear, but she was damned sure the interviewer could by the shaken way she had reacted. The interviewee took a deep breath and continued.
“With the early 1800’s by me now, I became Cecilia Mourne and found myself in Moscow, Russia in the middle of that century. Why I had chosen a make-down of black hair I’ll never know, but it did make the baby blue eyes I was sporting then pop. Glamour is a wonderful thing, it can change a spellcaster class into someone or something they want to be at any given moment, with enough focus. What had I become this time? A ballerina of course! It was the only logical thing to do. I was so frail then; but, at the same time, I was in my prime. The gracefulness required of me rang out to my audience in each step, each pirouette I landed with the skill of a swan. Being admired by my peers has always been my fancy. I wanted to make them green with envy, envious of me, of every single one of me.”
The girl noticed here that the interviewer had opened and shut her mouth a few times, as if she had planned on intruding on the girl’s life story once more, but decided against it. The girl grinned briefly with triumph over the silence but her own voice. It really was a good story that she wanted to tell, a shame it should be interrupted by such a prudent woman of absolute mediocrity who was unable to contemplate her own situation, let alone the girl’s.
“After that there was Camille Eberhart, the shy, sweet little strawberry blonde with the voice of angels. Her symphonies would have the Opera houses of Naples, Italy filled to max capacity and the audience on the edge of their seats with harmonic bliss. Now that I think back, she was probably my least favorite. Coming back to my luxurious abode every night with a barely audible voice and a throat that felt as though I had taken a thousand bee stings graciously into my esophagus was not as fulfilling as I had hoped. Needless to say I took up another persona. Emilia Burne was my last guise, with her beautiful chestnut hair in perfectly natural ringlets and those shining amber eyes, it was no wonder she became a model in Dublin, Ireland. I’d always fancied the idea of ringlets. My brave and adventurous side came out then, in about the mid 1900’s. She was probably the closest glamour to me that I ever took on. Same hair length, mine is a bit darker, but naturally curly, and a similar curvy body build. If only those humans could have seen the real me, I’d give them something to gape about.”
“I attracted a lot of attention to myself then. Not only from humans but…other things. Drawing such notice becomes difficult, I was on a daily basis attacked for many reasons, by my kind and others. It became essential about every 50 years, once I had acquired a sufficiently large enough amount of knowledge of ancient things, to change who I was. The game I played had high risks and even higher payouts. That’s why I still play it.”
“Today, I am the real me. The name is Hazel LeFevre. If you cannot tell by the last name I was originally born in France, many centuries ago. My luminescent emerald eyes have always been able to give away my namesake, so it has become essential to blend in and keep myself relatively recluse. But that’s the easy way. Not my way.”
“ I digress. I can see that you had some questions for me?”
Interviewer: She nodded unsteadily now and looked down at her notebook. The girl’s eyes had returned to normal by this point, hard not to notice from this close. The yellow stenopad brought little comfort as she reviewed the scribbled mess of notes she had took. At random points of time she had felt a strange kind of pressure emanating from her own body. Similar to a person sitting on one’s back. When she had interrupted Hazel, every bone in her body had begun to ache like a bad case of arthritis, though as the story continued, it had eased off.
“Ms. LeFevre, You’ve told us your name, your aliases, and that you’re not human. Would you mind telling our viewers what you really are? I’m sure they are as curious as I am.”
H.L.: “Of course. You’ve obliged me by allowing me to tell the world of my existence, now I shall oblige you. I am not human, an angel, nor a demon. I sustain myself from the earth as you all do, yet I am still a creature of the dark. I am a Sorceress. I am an Addonexus.”
Hazel turned to the closest camera, smirking wickedly “This is an invitation. I’m looking for something to make my life a little more interesting. I know that not all those of you watching know what I’m talking about but for those of you that do…” She stood up, placing both hands on her hips and favoring one leg more than the other in a superior lean. Her head tilted slightly with that devilish and cunning grin, “…Let the games begin”.
Raven Lavender · Sat Jan 10, 2015 @ 01:20am · 0 Comments |
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