Laima By Night

Welcome, kindred spirit. My name is Lia, I am 27 years old, a devoted lover of literature, cinema, the fine arts, and the quiet beauty of Catholicism. Multifandom blog because I post about all my TTRPG characters - though VTM is my biggest passion.

Vampire: The Masquerade OCs MIRONA | LEDA | EDELGARD

Other

Art by Jessveylin

Art by Atris013

Jacobella Loredan was born in medieval Venice as the only child of Jacobo Loredan and his deeply unhappy wife, Viviana. From the very beginning, her childhood was marked by distance. Her father was rarely home, forever occupied with affairs of trade, politics, and family alliances, while her mother moved through life with a kind of quiet exhaustion that seemed impossible to lift. Viviana was not cruel, nor unloving in any deliberate sense, but motherhood had never suited her. She preferred books to noise, silence to affection, and solitude to the endless demands of a child.

Viviana carried melancholy with her like a second skin, and before long Jacobella began to mirror it. The great halls of the Loredan household often felt strangely cold despite their beauty, filled with the soft rustle of turning pages and conversations that never quite reached warmth. For years, mother and daughter existed beside one another rather than truly together.

Only as Jacobella grew older did something between them begin to change. Viviana discovered that her daughter possessed the same hunger for stories and ideas that she herself had always clung to. They started reading together for hours at a time, discussing philosophy, poetry, and history late into the evening while Venice settled into darkness outside their windows. In those moments, Viviana seemed lighter somehow, relieved to finally have someone who understood her inner world. Their relationship never resembled that of a traditional mother and daughter. It felt closer to friendship, as though the years separating them occasionally disappeared entirely.

Still, whatever closeness they managed to build could not protect Jacobella from the realities of her family’s ambitions. When she was still very young, Jacobo arranged for her to marry the son of an allied Florentine family. Viviana opposed the decision as much as she dared, though everyone understood resistance was ultimately pointless. The marriage would strengthen ties between powerful houses, and that mattered far more than sentiment ever could. To Viviana’s sorrow, Jacobella greeted the arrangement with curiosity rather than fear.

Leaving Venice for Florence should have felt like exile, but instead it became the beginning of a life she had never imagined for herself. Unlike her mother, who had slowly withered within marriage and duty, Jacobella flourished in it. The House of della Giordano was vibrant, emotional, and endlessly alive compared to the restrained silence of her childhood home. Her young husband possessed both beauty and warmth, and the household itself pulsed with conversation, music, visitors, and laughter. For the first time in her life, Jacobella felt as though she belonged somewhere.

Within a year of arriving in Florence, news reached her of Viviana’s death. The grief came quietly. Jacobella mourned her sincerely, carrying with her the memory of candlelit evenings spent reading side by side, but she did not return to Venice. Some part of her understood that the city had never truly made her mother happy, and perhaps never would have made her happy either. Instead, Jacobella remained in Florence and allowed herself, for the first time, to begin anew.

Victoria “Vicky” Kufner was a Berliner in the truest sense of the word. Not the glamorous kind people imagined when they thought of rooftop bars and art galleries, but the version shaped by cracked concrete, broken elevators, and cigarette smoke trapped in dimly lit hallways. She grew up in a neglected Plattenbau on the edge of the city, in the sort of neighborhood where children learned very quickly that nobody was coming to save them. Life there was simple: eat or be eaten. Vicky adapted early. By the time she was a teenager, she already carried herself with the kind of sharpness that kept most people at a distance.

School never meant much to her. While teachers talked about careers and ambition, Vicky spent most of her time drifting through Berlin with her friends from the punk scene. She preferred sticky club floors, cheap beer by the Spree, and endless nights at Supamolly over classrooms and homework. There was always music somewhere, always somebody awake, always another place to disappear into for a few hours.

As much as she loved punk shows and the raw energy that came with them, Vicky also had a soft spot for techno. Berlin’s underground clubs suited her in a way few other places ever had. In the dark, surrounded by bass so loud it drowned out every thought in her head, she could almost forget herself for a while.

She met Lolita at Tresor. At first, they couldn’t stand each other. To Vicky, Lolita looked like another spoiled girl from the provinces trying on Berlin like a costume. Too polished, too dramatic, too eager to belong. Vicky dismissed her almost immediately. Still, they kept running into each other.

One night turned into several. There were drugs involved, naturally, and long conversations neither of them would fully remember afterward. Eventually, sometime in the early hours of the morning, they ended up back in Vicky’s tiny WG room. What started as drunken talking somehow lasted until sunrise. Lolita stayed for a few days after that, sleeping in Vicky’s bed while the two of them spent most of their time smoking, drinking, arguing, laughing, and talking about things neither usually admitted to anyone.

Their relationship was never stable. Vicky’s Borderline disorder mixed with Lolita’s in ways that could become unbearable within days. They fought constantly, disappeared on each other, then came back together as if nothing had happened. Usually Lolita only ended up sleeping at Vicky’s place when she had nowhere else left to go, but somehow the connection between them never fully broke apart.

Despite everything, they spent an enormous amount of time together. They went out drinking, disappeared into clubs for entire weekends, wandered through Berlin at impossible hours of the night, and kept finding their way back to each other no matter how often things exploded between them.

For Lolita, Vicky became something unexpectedly important. Beneath the roughness, the aggression, and the self-destructive tendencies, Vicky was one of the few people who genuinely cared about her without wanting something in return. She showed Lolita that there were still people capable of seeing her as more than just a body or a temporary distraction. Even if neither of them would ever say it out loud, that mattered more than either cared to admit.

Art by Infrenzart

Art by Saint

Rose Hughes is one of the great stars of the silver screen, widely celebrated for her nuanced performances in historical dramas. Critics often praise her ability to bring depth and quiet intensity to roles that might otherwise feel distant or theatrical, making her a favorite among directors who value subtlety over spectacle.

Early in her career, she was engaged to the rising actor John Belcastro. At the time, the two were considered one of Hollywood’s most promising couples. Behind the glamour, however, their relationship was far from idyllic. Belcastro’s tendency toward affairs and his often dismissive treatment of Rose turned what had once seemed like a grand romance into something increasingly toxic.

Everything changed when Rose met Agatha, another actress who moved in more unconventional circles. Agatha was already known—some would say notorious—in certain corners of Hollywood for being openly associated with women. What began as friendship gradually deepened into something far more serious.

When John eventually discovered the relationship, his reaction was explosive. Fearful of the damage such a scandal could do to his reputation, he publicly ended the engagement. Ironically, the fallout harmed him more than anyone else. The situation caused a considerable stir, made worse by John’s increasingly unpleasant behavior during the ordeal. In the end, the once-promising film star found himself slipping from prestige cinema into the far less glamorous world of soap operas. Rose, meanwhile, emerged from the scandal with her reputation—if anything—more intriguing than before.