LaCroix

Loss makes for a difficult hole to fill. Desire can be achieved, pride can be satisfied, wrath can be doled out. But loss hovers, an empty space that can only be filled by precisely the thing that is lost. Nothing else comes quite close, always too tight here, too loose there. Loss is troublesome to mend.

But LaCroix must try.

Once, she lived in the Scarred Wasteland, at ease with the shifting sands and boiling disease. The floating stones of the Starfall Isles had drifted just across the borders, and she had been at peace with those, too. Her heritage was a blend of magic and survival, clever and hardy at its very extremes, and she knew it.

Which was why she survived the sacking.

Her clan was ravaged in war, razed to the ground and lost to time. It might have survived in stories of other clans, but the chances were slim that it had any lifeline to the future beyond those who did not die in the initial assault. LaCroix clung to the memory of her clan, though, determine not to let it slide away. It could not be lost forever, and if anything, she would avenge it. Vengeance suited legends.

And so she escaped, and she traveled. For a time, she had to gather her strength to confront the source of the greatest violence, but once it came, it came in spades. So did a silver tongue and golden coins and a touch like silk. LaCroix became the sleekest weapon she had ever known, and it suited her.

Being a jester, perhaps, did not, but it was the only way to get close enough to strike.

For a time, LaCroix watched. She told jokes, she made a fool of herself, she became the perfect jester, but most importantly, she watched. And the queen of the clan was the subject of her watching. Every move she made was centered around Ceinwen, about preparing herself to face the reason for her clan’s destruction. She made progress inch by inch. First she performed in the court, then in the private chambers, then for Ceinwen’s children.

And then the plague stalled her. She did not die of it, though a strain of it did leave her weakened for a time. Instead, Ceinwen’s children perished, and LaCroix found herself effectively unemployed. The queen had no use for merriment in the wake of such a loss, and with bitterness lancing through her veins, LaCroix drew smug satisfaction from the idea that now the queen understood what it was like to lose everything. There was no chance, though, that she would stop there.

No longer an entertainer, she applied herself to other necessary duties within the clan. She rescued other refugees from war such as Isaac and Communion (though she rescued them to prevent Ceinwen from being the subject of their favor), and she oversaw the hatching of Camarilla, the first dragon to see him into the bright world (and the only dragon to earn his quick-witted loyalty). She also ventured from the center of the clan to hunt among the sands of the Expanse, bringing back sustenance along with treasures for herself, the latter of which she used to purchase the loyalty of Coco and Zarbon, the former of which put her in the clan’s good graces. LaCroix placed herself everywhere. She watched. She waited. It was good practice for hunting prey and queens alike.

Even as she draws closer, though, perils remain. To this day, despite never inching close enough to set her coup into motion, Ceinwen and her advisors track LaCroix closely; her air of malcontent is waved about too cavalierly to be ignored, too casually to be trusted. LaCroix loathes their close attention, and even more than that, she despises the sympathy Ceinwen tries to cast her way. It is conqueror’s guilt, and she refuses to accept it. Guilt will not avenge her clan the way that blood will.

But blood cannot be rushed, so LaCroix bides her time. She employs Camarilla as her spy, as her mischief-maker, and she preys on Communion’s desire to destroy Chalice to insert herself into the inner workings of the queen’s daily life. Most of all, though, she uses Isaac as her favorite past-time. Since rescuing Isaac from the depths of an avalanche, Isaac has followed her devotedly, possessing eyes for no one else even though LaCroix returns none of the sentiment. For her, Isaac is little more than a toy or a tool that she will gladly sacrifice should her ascension to power require it. Still, in the meantime, Isaac at least provides a source of amusement in LaCroix’s terse, watched world.

One day, though, LaCroix will not be watched. She will be free, and the memory of her clan will be preserved, a legacy for the ages. She will be the vengeance her clan deserves. Until then, she waits.

Bio by Tues.