If she listened closely, she could still hear her screams.

Weeks passed after her sixteenth birthday and she’d yet to change. She’d thought, privately, that perhaps she was broken, that she wasn’t supposed to be a demon after all. Her body rarely worked for her, why on earth would it start now? Or maybe, she hoped, her mother had some kind of affair with another man, a human, and maybe the odds would finally fall in her favour. She was nothing like her family, nothing like what she was supposed to be. Despite all she knew, how she was taught – she was worlds away from them. She was quiet and clever and uninterested in social games. She understood what it meant to be a Ward but for as long as she could remember, she simply wasn’t one.

Being a demon was a prospect that horrified her. It moved her one step forward as a pawn in her mother’s games – where she’d be flaunted like a fashion accessory before marrying some demon in a bid to strengthen social ties with another group of demons half way across the world. Her life would never be her own, it never was.

Fever came first. Then the pain. Waves that wrecked through her, her veins alive with it, her body, her very being changing, shifting from human to demon. Her parents were on vacation, her brother at university. She was alone with the staff who could do little to comfort her in the transformation.

Her wings were the last thing to break through, floundering helplessly behind her as she lay panting on the floor – shaking with the terrible knowledge of what she’d become. She was not the manipulator, nor was she the tormentor – she was not even, by wild chance, a Rakshasa. She was sickness, the disease.

She was not was she was supposed to be, not was she was expected to be.

Her father was silent, her mother disgusted, her brother dismayed. Her grandfather was summoned.

In the midst of ‘her party’, showing her off, celebrating the change – she stood in the library of her home before her grandfather, shaking with her mother’s threats and awed in her grandfather’s very presence. He was a quiet man but his authority was absolute and no one would speak when he did. She had never met him before now but as he dismissed her family and softened slightly when she told him she was named for his wife, long dead, she grasped at what she knew.

Because she was quiet. Because she was clever. Because she understood what it meant to be a Ward.

She took a risk and made a deal.

She didn’t die like she was supposed to, like she thought she would or how her family hoped she would. She wouldn’t lie down and be swept away like a hasty mistake. Something deep down, wouldn’t make it easy for them.

She was locked in the institution for two years amongst struggling and dying demons like herself, born from families who had too much money and too much pride and not enough love. She ached and cried for what she never had in the first place, cementing herself with the fact that she would never really have it. She learned what it was like to be truly alone, learned what it meant to never be touched, never loved – lessons she’d already been learning for years and years.

She signed herself out on her eighteenth birthday, as agreed, and silently slipped away, turning from everything she knew. They sent the money, as agreed, to keep her away, to stop her speaking out, to stop her bringing more ‘shame’ to her family’s name. She agreed because it was the only way she could earn her freedom, the only way she could survive and have a life of her own, as alone and painful as it would be. It would at least be hers; she could then try to salvage something of herself.

And she got it.

Because she was quiet. Because she was clever. Because she understood what it meant to be a Ward, even if she never was one.

And now she never would be.

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Character Information

Character Name: Justine Ward.

Canon: Beyond The Rift Native.

Canon Point: Post Endgame.

Character Journal:

Appearance: Justine is a frail, mousy looking thing, standing at around 5’ 2” in height. She constantly looks ill; her skin looks sallow and nearly has dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep and poor health. Her dark eyes almost look watery or glazed over, like she’s about to cry and she nearly always has a rather sleepy look about her. Her hair’s a dark blonde / light brownish shade and wavy but a little lacking in lustre, which she normally wears down.

She wraps herself up in several layers of clothing, which hides the fact of how under-weight she is. Her clothes are usually in neutral shades and she particularly likes to wear comfortable clothing, particularly thick woollen jumpers.

Her wings, which she rarely has out, are small (roughly standing at 3ft at full wingspan), and have the same colourings and markings of that of a common Sparrow.

Age: 23. 10^th May 1993.

History: Justine was born to a rich, powerful family of demons in New York. Old money. If her parents could get away with it, they wouldn’t have had children at all. But children meant connections. Her parents were socialites, vain, especially her mother. She clearly ruled the roost, her father out of the country for most of the year.

Justine was a sickly child to begin with, which her mother sneered at. Children were not meant to be ill, needy little things in her eyes. They were her social tools. They’d befriend others at her wish; they’d look perfect and be silent. Which is just what happened to Justine throughout most of her childhood: children were brought for her to play with and befriend and then they’d be gone when their families fell out of favour with her parents.

She had no real friends, children were in and out her life too quick for her to become friends with; her parents showed her little love when they did see her. The closest person to her was her brother, who was several years older than her. Justine’s social skills developed poorly because of it. Even her tutor’s etiquette lessons didn’t work. She was a shy, sickly child and was shut away.

When her sixteenth birthday came and went, she got her wings and became a Poludnica. Justine’s health got worse; her anxieties making her lose control of her Calling often. Her mother was a mix of outrage and ashamed. She couldn’t live with a demon of disease in her home. Her daughter’s Calling had seemed to taken a shine to diseases which blistered and sored the body. Justine was shut away even more, an unsightly disease-ridden mess, until her mother decided to send her away.

She was sent to a boarding school – mostly for Poludnicas like herself from all over the country. The school was small, but the damage was already done, and Justine struggled to build friendships. She spent her days fed various medications and sedatives to keep her Calling at bay and busied herself with her studies.

Always a bright girl, Justine had been a keen reader. What her tutors didn’t teach her, she taught herself. She learned to read several languages over the years and built up a small library’s worth of books. Books were her one escape; they were the one thing that made her forget about her Calling, about her family that rarely contacted her, about how lonely she felt.

She left boarding school and moved to Chicago, feeling it would be better to be around more people like her (if she could find them). She lives alone, estranged from her family, in a small apartment with books stacked from floor to ceiling. Her days are normally spent inside with those books. Her brother sends her checks to live off, but rarely writes, and never leaves a return address.

Recently, she’s started to befriend a few members of a certain Angel crime-family (not that she knows this) and is trying to build some kind of life for herself, but it’s hard work and she’s taking baby steps to do so.

Personality: Justine may appear a little slow at times, but she has a particularly sharp mind. She’s very well read and has learnt to read and speak several languages. Some of her favourite books, she can quote large chunks off the top of her head. She knows a great deal about the world of literature, but is overall quite knowledgeable. Her medicines keep her doped up a lot, and sadly, for most of the time, it’s all hidden away.

Justine is not a social creature. She’s very anxious in most social situations. Her Calling is mostly the blame for that, as well as her upbringing. She struggles to make friends because she doesn’t really know how to deal with people. She knows to be polite, to be considerate, but that’s pretty much all she can do. She’ll be the sort to stand hunched up, waiting for everything to be over without a hitch. Her medications and her time in Chicago has helped to be better at this but she still remains a very withdrawn and shy person.

Brought up without much affection from her parents, she’s become very self-conscious, especially with her Calling. Saying that, she’s not vain in the slightest, a stark contrast to her mother. She doesn’t care much for her appearance or if she’s walking down the street looking like death warmed up. Her self-consciousness comes in the form of her fearing to be touched, so much that she bundles herself up in various layers of clothing. The only exceptions she allowed herself was Abby and Gabe – being angels and less susceptible to falling ill thanks to her Calling – and the strange man she knows as Cromwell, who is never affected by something so trivial as ill health. Humans, she knows, are so fragile and she’s terrified of making someone sick. She doesn’t do well in vast crowds unless she’s sedated herself enough to do so. However, as desperately lonely as she is and as much as she thinks she can’t be, she craves to be touched. She craves it just as much as she’s terrified of herself.

Her self-esteem level's not that better either. She's spent much of her life being ignored by her family and whilst she was away at boarding school, she got the distinct message that she wasn't important and that she wasn't meant to be shown affection or touched. She has an extremely low opinion of herself and it has caused her relationships around her to suffer for it.

Her emotions are very much kept locked away with the exception of fear and anxiety. She’s capable of kindness, though. Even if she doesn’t know how to show it. She’s a little bit of a dreamer, too. She’s read so much; she’s often lost in the fantasy worlds even if she doesn’t have a book in her hands (which is rare). It gives her a little rose-tinted view on the world and what happens to her in life. She’s not stupid of the real world and how cruel and unfair it can be, just sometimes it seems better to see it through those lenses. It makes her life easier, makes it hurt less.

She believes in fairy tales and she believes that one day she’ll get her happy ending.

Powers/Special Abilities: As a Poludnica, Justine has the power (her Calling) to control disease. She can create sickness within herself which she can then spread to others. This ‘gift’ comes at a price, though. To use her Calling, the sickness she creates in turn makes her incredibly sick – she tends not to use her powers when she can help it, but as someone inexperienced as she is, the need to create sickness is something she will inevitably give into. She has gotten slightly better when it comes to control but she still usually radiates a flu virus and anyone non-superhuman who spends a significant time directly around her will end up with a particularly nasty cold.

As a demon, Justine is faster and stronger than humans. She has a pair of small wings of around 3ft in wingspan with the colourings of a common sparrow that she can ‘let out’  Her blood, when spilt, is black and slick like oil. She is hot to the touch and her heart-rate is significantly higher than humans. She can also hold her breath for up to half an hour and if she is lucky, can live up to 900 years old. She can still be killed as easily as humans, though. Her skin is as fragile as paper, like any other human.

River Power: Omnilingualism – the ability to understand, read and speak all languages.

Reason for Character Choice: Everyone has a reason to play their favorite characters, what's yours? What about your chosen muse calls to you? Why are you choosing to play them here? This doesn't have to be long, there is no minimum. We're just nosy.

Additional Information: Anything else we should know? You can leave this blank if no.

Writing Samples

First-Person Transmission Sample: This network sample should be written directly from the characters point-of-view. This may address and individual or  group. You may use a previously created sample or a log excerpt from another game. (Minimum of five lines). In game your muse can choose to post via video, voice, or text as they like and the same applies for the application! Whatever suits your character or would be the way of communication is acceptable.

Third-Person Log Sample: When she left Chicago, Justine chose to go with Gabe and Abby. Her own family has disowned her, wanted nothing more to do with her; so she emptied her bank account and left with the twins and their family. She didn't get to see him before she left, and she hurt for it. She didn't even know how this would affect him, if he would slip out of the universe unscathed or fall with it. She thought about him often, even dreamed of him. It was all she could do. Part of her believed she'd never see him again. She mourned that. Months passed, she never saw him. And she thought, now, it was all over. She had lost him forever. Years passed, he became a silent story in the back of her mind, never forgotten.

The warmer weather here is better for her health. Having Abby close by also helps keep her Calling at bay. She feels better these days but it's not always a done thing. Her bed-side is always littered with medicine bottles; an oxygen canister sits in the corner by the bed. She made it to twenty-two, she'll live to see twenty-three - but the future for her is always uncertain. Her Calling gets easier with age, she finds. She's lucky.

She's home late, back from the library, lost in pages of books until the security guard gently reminded her that it was time to go home. Abby and Gabe are out, although Justine never seems to mind. She likes having the house to herself. She prefers the silence. She shrugs off her coat in the dark, hangs it up, heads toward her room.

It's the smell of the tea she notices first when she opens her bedroom door. So used to the scent of paper, old leather and illness - it's a strange to find it. She freezes, doesn't reach to turn on the light. Her breath flutters in her throat, she feels oddly calm. Silently, she crosses the room to her desk, fumbles for her desk light.

The low light brings the tea into view, still warm, as if it were freshly made. She stops breathing then, holding her breath, not uttering a single sound. Some small part of her knows. She doesn't know what to think. The word comes out, a nothing more than a whisper. "Cromwell."