#carmilla.

ABILITIES.

superhuman strength (capable of fighting off someone five times her size with ease), speed, agility, durability, and enhanced senses.

quick healing factor: superficial wounds never last long, and even a grievous injury (for a human) can be healed swiftly with a little fresh blood.

shapeshifting: carmilla possesses the ability to transform into a large, panther-like beast, black as shadow.

shadow-travel: though it may look like teleportation to the naked eye, carmilla merely has experience moving through and bending shadows to her will during her long, vampiric life.

vampiric visage: when enraged or starving of bloodlust, carmilla's truest face shows itself. irises black as pits, a red ring around them, teeth gnarled and sharp, fingernails extended like talons, the skin of her face thin and stretched like a ghoul's. she prefers her more lowkey countenance, when only the fangs extend from her gums. far less dramatic. far less monstrous.

dream walking: though she rarely indulges, one of her own strange abilities she has manifested is to weave another's dreams. the catch is they must be mortal, and prone to her influence. her sire used to command that she use it on occasion, to soften a target prior to the arrival of their fate. she hated it.

overall as an elder vampire, or at least older than most that remain, carmilla is more apt to survival and durability than some. left to her own devices, she has pulled a stake from her own heart before. vampires only grow stronger and more resistent with age.

WEAKNESSES.

though holy symbols have lost their effect on carmilla since she lost her faith, there are other items of purity that still wound her psychologically. silver burns because she allows it to in her belief of being unpure, garlic overwhelms the senses, consecrated grounds remain inaccessible unless she is given explicit permission to enter.

a stake, or any other weapon through the heart, will incapacitate her until it is removed.

beheading will kill her, but other appendages will grow back.

sunlight: the mere presence of it weakens her, effectively making her a nocturnal creature. direct contact will burn her and, through prolonged exposure, eventually kill her. she has acquired a daylight ring in recent decades that allows her to walk unfettered, but she still prefers to be most active at night.

carmilla requires an invitation to enter someone's home.

spellcraft. these witches be bitches, man.

full name: mircalla von karnstein. alias: carmilla, millarca, countess, fiend. date and place of birth: castle karnstein, austria, 1680. faceclaim: sophie thatcher. pronouns: she/her/hers. orientation: lesbian. eyes: dark brown, black at first glance. hair: black as night, longer and unruly. height: 5'6".

occupation: classic literature enjoyer, philosopher, traveler. species: vampire. parents: the count and countess karnstein, names forgotten. other family: a little brother, also forgotten. significant other: she has been in love with no one and never shall.

BACKGROUND.

mircalla von karnstein was a quiet child, mostly preferring the company of books and conversations with her mother to the other things expected of a lady of her status. on the ball of her nineteenth birthday, a joint celebration with her engagement to the nobleman vordenberg (a much begrudging union), mircalla's life as she knew it came to a violently abrupt end. she, along with nearly all attending guests, was murdered by something that could only be described as a beast or a demon who reveled in the bloodshed across the ballroom, seeming to find joy in devouring those that had enough sense to run. mircalla did not expect to wake from such a nightmare, beyond the blackness that would follow. yet she did, physically unharmed though her dress was in tatters and stained with the black-brown of dried blood, and where she woke was -- vordenberg's family cellar. he had somehow managed to be the sole escapee of the slaughter and had sequestered her body away, and then sat and watched her, as if he had known she'd return. she was in a haze, first of confusion and loss and hunger, and then, when he'd tried to restrain her, eyes that only saw red. incisors that extended into his throat and drank and drank until there was nothing left of him at all, and -- his family paid the price of a fledgling, as well. she stumbled back to her castle in a daze and it was there that she was found by her sire, a woman she would come to know only as maman, as she would raise her throughout her second life. and puppeteer her. though mircalla was not the first and would not be the last, she became a tool in maman's arsenal, especially once her particular affections were discovered. she became a means to draw in victims, both for herself and her sire, for sustenance. at worst, for entertainment. sometimes . . . for a ritual and purpose she was never privy to. this would continue for nearly two centuries until one girl, in 1864: elle sheridan, who lived in a castle at the edge of the styrian forest, not even half a day's travel from the rubble of mircalla's childhood home. carmilla, as she called herself then and forever afterwards, as that was how elle knew her. though as enthralled by her as all the others, elle too was frustrated by carmilla's eccentric mannerisms. she played back, fought back, engaged in a way carmilla was not used to, and it made her feel the closer to her humanity than she had since the night she died. she loved her. and even so, her sire's plans had dealt wreckage across the country. too many victims too close together, too many fathers and wardens left alive to hunt for the fiend that took their sweet daughters. ( they'd had other hunting grounds before, but for some reason, maman always led her back. back where vordenberg's descendants hunted her. ) she could not feed upon elle, not like that, and so the sheridan's staff began to go missing instead. the dots connected far too quickly for carmilla to predict, not when she had been so enthralled with elle, elle, elle, and they came for her. they found her creeping through the ruins of castle karnstein where they flanked her with torches, stakes, and blades of silver. in the end it was carmilla's sire that saved her, an ancient woman of more power than she could ever imagine, and bid that she say her final goodbye to her human love before she was sacrificed as intended. elle's horrified face has been painted in her mind's eye ever since. punishment for her failure was to spend a few hundred years locked in her own coffin, drowning again and again in blood, in hopes that it would remind her of what she is. the second world war put a sharp thorn in her sire's plans, as the rattle of explosives finally shook carmilla free of the earth and she took to her escape with wild abandon. to this day, she never stays anywhere long in fear of her mother finding her, and binding her once more to the life she hates.

Drácula odiava Carmilla Karnstein desde que sua traição fora anunciada e sua sedução falha. Todavia, ao contrário da inimiga mortal, o conde não tinha a menor das intenções em vê-la nem que estivesse banhada no sangue de virgens– sangue esse, inclusive, que poderia ter facilmente à sua disposição no Grey’s Room, seu segundo local de maior convivência atrás apenas da Rosa do Deserto. Considerava ter nos dois lugares tudo o que necessitava para sobreviver em Storybrooke: sangue, poções para andar no sol, diversões humanas e dinheiro para reconstruir o que precisasse quando tinha algum surto de raiva. Não precisava se estressar com Carmilla mais do que já normalmente o fazia. Gastava seus esforços e o pouco de paciência que tinha para proteger os seus e pensar logo em uma maneira para encerrar aquela estúpida maldição para voltar ao seu trono de direito. Infelizmente, em uma das madrugadas que usava para poder relaxar, teve o desprazer de ter à mesa a própria Carmilla, que também frequentava o estabelecimento para sobreviver. Ela mal teve a cara de pau de se sentar ao local vazio à sua frente, e Drácula já havia fechado as expressões até então pacíficas. Só a presença dela era o suficiente para incomodá-lo. ❛❛ —- Você mesmo tem um jeitinho especial de estragar tudo. ❜❜ cuspiu, a entregando provavelmente a reação que sempre pretendia conseguir dele quando se aproximava assim. Não seria a primeira vez que uma parte de sua consciência o sussurrava para que ele falasse mais baixo, se contivesse mais, o que fosse para ser um tanto mais discreto. Infelizmente, a voz falava muito mais baixo que o demônio no ombro esquerdo, que não argumentava contra a outra voz, apenas gritava “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” continuamente; o que era uma boa representação de seu estado de espírito perto da outra vampira. ❛❛ —- Se eu me esforçar e pedir por favor, você me deixaria em paz? Um homem pode sonhar? ❜❜ ah, as vezes que já havia dito sonhos maravilhosos em que pudesse pessoalmente matá-la para finalmente ficar em paz de verdade eram incontáveis. ❛❛ —- Imaginava que tivesse outras coisas mais importantes do que conversar comigo. Agora. De preferência, longe daqui. ❜❜