ππΎππ πΆπ ππΆππ ππΎπππ πΆπ π ππππΎπ·ππ
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ββββββββββββββββ β ββββββββββββββββ
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β πΌ πππΈπ½ ππ π»πΆπΈπ ππ ππ ππ ππΎπΈπππΉ π»ππππ½.
πΌ πΆπ ππ πππ πΉπππΆπππΆππΎππ πππΉ. β
ββββββββ π± π° π² πΊ πΆ π πΎ π π½ π³ ββββββββ
π πππ ππππ β Valloris Maye Castle
πππππππππ β Vallo, Val, V, Valco, Valkyrieπππ β Nineteen
ππππππππ β 17 May 2003
ππππππ β βΌ Taurus | β½ Sagittarius | β Leoππππππ + ππππ β Bachelors + Second Year
πππππππ β Christ Church
πππππ β Classical Archaeology and Ancient History (CAAH)ππππππππππ β Bali, Greece
ππππππ πππππππππ β In-college, sharing a top-floor set with an "acquaintance," though Vallo keeps forgetting their nameπππππππππππ β Egotistical | selfish | quick-tempered | stubborn | dynamic | impulsive | impatient | jealous | self-indulgent | greedy | persistent | freedom-loving | careless | creative | patronizing | intuitive | loyal
πππππ β Zahara Davis
ββββββββ πΌ π° πΆ πΈ π² ββββββββ
πππππππ β Daemon
πππππππππ β Vallo gets visions that leap shortly into the future which allow her to make quick decisions to her benefit β winning certain betting hands, avoiding capture from the police officer around the corner, not seeing her ex at the party . . . Yes, she mostly wastes her gifts on such small fish. These little psychic insights occasionally coincide with understanding thoughts of those around her, which is why she is generally good at reading people and predicting their next move. Her excellent gifts in art forgery also come from her daemon nature.
ππππππππππ β Her visions could be honed to be more specific instead of random, as well as stretching further in time, if she had any discipline. She doesn't, and she likely won't. Vallo does not seem to care that relics do nothing under her touch; she is constantly trying to make them work for her. Lately, her magic has not been reacting well with her life decisions, and this disconnect is occasionally sending her into zombie-like fits where she is completely glazed over and only semi-conscious of her decisions.
ββββββββ π± πΈ πΎ πΆ π π° πΏ π· π ββββββββ
Vallo was born on the outskirts of a quiet yet touristy fishing village in Greece, and although that sounds rather ordinary, her arrival was anything but. She was the first and only baby born amidst the small cult that was burrowing itself into the coastal hills. Her father's brother, Uncle Mal as she knew him, was the leader of this established "community," the Creed of the Moon. Her parents, like the other devotees, had unending loyalty to him and his teachings. Vallo was heralded as some kind of goddess, and she could do no wrong in the eyes of the followers. With a group of forty-so people from all around the world singing her praises, it was impossible to not believe herself to be invincible. This was exasperated even further by her untameable daemon spirit. But Uncle Mal came to regret his early teachings of her divinity . . . he began to resent the influence she exuded over his group. So just as easily as Mal taught his followers to love Vallo, he led them to despise her. Even her parents turned their backs. It soon became evident that only two choices could exist for Vallo: exile or death.
Banishment was more difficult than she could have ever fathomed, and if she were merely a human, it would have likely been too much. Cast out as a vulnerable and confused eleven-year-old, Vallo had no skills or knowledge of the real world to guide her. She had never even seen other children up close. Perhaps it was her moonkissed { the despicable irony of this title is not lost on her } daemon gifts that filled in enough gaps to survive, perhaps cruel luck, but survive she did. Though she did not understand the strange little glimpses into the future or small slips of thought she could occasionally gain from others, these powers helped protect her.
Vallo wiggled through the clutches of Greece's social system; after all, her existence had never been properly reported to the authorities to begin with. Her only respectable knowledge was that of art; Uncle Mal had been training her as a forger in order to create a source of income for the Creed. Without his harsh punishments for her mistakes, Vallo's talents began to foster into virtuosity. To facilitate this craft, she took to thievery as well. How else could she master a replica if she couldn't investigate the original? Would she stoop so low as to use the internet? Of course not. The concept of technology completely evaded her; she abhors most even now.
So with her laser-like precision and daemon-propelled skills, Vallo excelled in forgery, reaching heights in her young years that most adults could never attain. She always put something back before too much fuss was kicked up . . . though sometimes it was the fake that got returned. Oops. Vallo migrated throughout the open borders of the EU wherever and whenever she could. The underground world has its own channels for travel, work, and food. This secret underbelly became her new cult, and the fashioning of regular life continued to evade her. Like many creatures of her kind, she seemed to live a hundred lifetimes at once. Sleep came rarely; discovery, passion, and destruction consumed her hours.
Eventually, however, a part of the ordered world caught up to the messy little daemon who was leaving a wake of near-perfect forgeries and broken hearts behind her. To call Vallo cocky would have been a gross understatement, and like a tale as old as time, this extreme vanity became her own demise. The only reason she was not locked away in prison, or worse, was because a certain authority that came across her case was a member of The Athenaeum. Rather than see her rot and waste away, they knew she had potential to help the secret organization. Vallo is not aware of the "debt" that she owes to someone higher up the food chain for her freedom; after all, they have not called payment in just yet. Upon this arranged release in London, Vallo thought she was to be on her own again. But she had been assigned a . . . friend . . . to guide her.
It was strange to have a companion to rely on after years of walls, isolation, and betrayal. But once Vallo let down her guard, she was completely sold to the union. It was like the flood breaking down the dam; she hadn't realized how lonely she had been. And Vallo was truly fascinated by the concept of what regular people did with their time; it was so far from her experience that it seemed exotic to her, to be normal. So she accepted the coaching and tips to navigate a public, upright life. Fitting in became a new game for her to play. The more she tricked people into thinking she was just like them, the more eccentric she grew in her solitude . . . but what a thrill it was to play them all a fool! With her brilliance, she quickly tucked a high school diploma under her belt. She was recruited into The Athenaeum before she even set foot on campus. Through her membership, she was even talked into going to university, and only half of her application was full of complete lies. Not that Oxford bothered to read it.
Vallo was rather on track . . . one might even say she was pulling her life together. She { thought that she } understood what it meant to be a daemon; she recognized that her uncle had shared this same "touch of madness," as she often called it. Then the headlines flashed about a serial killer that had finally been caught. Decades of murders around the world led back to a mysterious, elusive cult leader who had taken his reverent following to the Grecian coast . . . and when the authorities had nearly closed in, he killed each and every one of these devotees as well.
The next few months are a bit of a blur. She remembers a lot of drugs . . . alcohol . . . the emergence of a new companion, though their face and name escape her . . . the disappearance of her only friend . . . a strange hollow of grief in the place her heart used to be. And now she is vaguely waking from her coma of destruction; the chaotic remains of her surroundings are coming back into focus. At least, some of them are. Due to actions that remain a bit blurry { "crimes," The Athenaeum insists }, she has fallen to the bottom of the pecking order. Holding the hands of this year's new recruits is one of the lowest, most looked-down-upon positions in the organization. She absolutely despises being around these idiots if it means having to be responsible. But finding herself amongst the freshest of meat? Well, Vallo has been surrounded by worse. And just maybe, these innocent minds are the perfect distraction . . . and even more perfect opportunity.
Vallo hates her uncle; she hates the legacy that will now haunt her forever. She hates the other despicable daemons that run amok in The Athenaeum β β herself included. But oppressing that side of her may not be the most elegant solution. She was raised to be a goddess; can she live as a mortal without burning herself up from the inside? And in fighting to get away from her history, might she doom herself to repeat it?
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