Full Name
Angelina Ariadne Xalvadora
Nicknames
You may call me Nina or Dora, but please never call me Angelina
Age
Twenty-four
Occupation
Kitchen Hand
Gender
Female
Sexuality
Sapiosexual
Appearance
If I should have to describe myself I suppose that the first trait that every one notices is my height, or lack thereof the be exact. I stand a mere four feet, eleven inches tall. In an effort to aid in this flaw I never wear anything shorter than a two inch heel when in the prescene of others, but even with I am still left a few inches shorter than most.
After noting my incredible height I often receive compliments on my crystal blue eyes. On multiple occasions they have been compared to doll's eyes, and though I smile when it is noted the thought makes my skin crawl.
My skin is quite fair, my father always said that I take after my mother in that aspect, and though I try to keep to the shade as much as possible I get terrible sunburns every summer. My father used to compare it to the silkiness and tint of milk.
Summary
Describe myself? What a difficult question to answer.
I suppose I would say that I am a quiet girl, kind, with both innocence and torment in my life. I am strong, I've had to be based on the events of my past. With the death of my father I have become a loner, it's better that way. Death seems to follow me, though I've done nothing to invite it's cruel part into my life. I'd rather not bring my curse upon others.
I find a comforting solitude in my books and in the kitchen when I have had free time, but I try to keep busy with paying jobs when I can.
I have never taken a pipe or a bottle to my lips, and remain as pure as the day that I was born.
I loved my father dearly, every day I mourn his passing. He was the only light in my life, and since his death everything seems heavier. The world seems darker, the air thicker. At first I thought that I may have contracted consumption from him, but in time it proved only to be my heartbreak weighing me down.
My work has given me nimble hands and a taste for baking. My gift comes in the form of bread and shortbread cookies.
I've been without guidance for the last year, unsure of where to go, who to trust, or what to do with my life. Though I have worked as a servant the entirety of my life, I've always felt that my life was meant for something more. A childish dream I suppose, every girl wants to be a princess.
For now I remain the timid girl before you, lost in a world that has taken everything I hold dear from my arms, and wandering a path unknown to me.
Likes
↠ I love fresh dairy, it brings me back to working on the Claire farm as a child.
↠ I enjoy baking croissants and madelines, both delicious treats that I learned to make quite young.
↠ When I am not baking I enjoy reading and taking walks. When I was a child I used to take my books into the grand garden and get lost in both the flowers and the pages.
Dislikes
↠ I am not a fan of dolls, there is something about their porcelain faces and lifeless eyes that causes me distress. I wouldn't say that I am afraid of them, but being around a large collection of them would cause me intense distress.
↠ The smell of blood makes my stomach turn. Unfortunately I have had to endure the stench for quite some time.
↠ I have nightmares often, usually about the fates of the Claire's. It makes my nights torturous at times. If I could go without sleep, I would never lay me head down again.
Quirks
↠ Death seems to follow me everywhere I go, everyone that I care about has died a violent death. I try my hardest not to touch anyone or make eye contact either. Most of the time I keep my hands covered in white gloves to prevent contact with others.
↠ Growing up on the French Countryside I have a bit of an accent and I will slip between English and French on occasion.
↠ Some days I am pale as a ghost, and I bruise quite easily at times. It has been this way since I was a child. (Unknown Iron Deficiency)
↠ My father always used to call me his "Petite Lapin", which translates into Little Bunny because I wiggle my nose when deep in thought and it makes me look rodent like. I much prefer being compared to a bunny than a rat or mouse however.
Strengths
↠ Due to my petite frame and small stature I can move easily without being seen or heard.
↠ Though I am small, I am and always have been a very hard worker. Especially in the kitchen.
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Weaknesses
↠ Physically I am not incredibly strong, and due to my stature I have difficulty carrying things.
↠ My life was strongly intertwined with my father's until his death, with his passing I find myself lost. He gave me the direction that I needed, and I do not do well on my own.
↠ With my innocence comes naivete when it comes to the intentions of others, especially men. I fear the only reason I have survived the last year has been my isolation from the rest of the world.
Secrets
↠ Though I always feel incredible shame immediately following the thought, I feel a sense of power with the death that surrounds me. I am a harbinger of death, a messenger. I can do nothing to stop it, but act as a warning and a witness.
↠ I don't think that I will ever love a man the way I loved my father. I admit that my feelings toward him may resemble an Electra Complex.
↠ I am entirely pure. The only man that has ever kissed me was my father, and his affection extended only to my cheeks or forehead. Though I do understand the process, having read about it in various novels.
Fears
↠ I fear allowing another into my life and watching him or her die a violent death, such as every one else I have loved.
↠ Though he has been gone for quite some time, Master Claire still haunts my dreams. I see him, blood soaked and chasing me with his arms stretched out in front of him, grabbing at my dress and pulling me to the ground.
↠ Puppets terrify me, though I am not entirely sure why. It could be the unnatural grins or the lifeless eyes that seem to always follow their victims...
I was born in Alsace, France twenty four years ago to Cossette L'Heareux and Mateo Xalvadora on Arpil 9th. My parents courtship was short, but full of love. They were smitten with each other the moment they met.
My father had immigrated to France after being exiled from his family in Spain, though the reasons why were never disclosed to me. He found work as a stable hand on the Manor L'Heureux and soon fell madly in love with wealthy bankers daughter. He used to tell me stories as a girl about watching her ride, how beautiful she was as the wind swept though her fair hair. She would often sneak away from the manor to be with my father, and soon she found herself with child. With Me. Her parents were outraged, but believed that all life is precious. My mother was forbidden from seeing my father again, even as she was giving birth to me
He told me once I was old enough to hear it that my mother had died giving birth to me. When he heard her screams coming from the manor he knew that it was time the closest he was allowed to be was the window below to comfort her. He wished he could have been closer, and would have forced his way into the room had he known that her screams would be the last sounds that he would hear from her lips.
My grandfather attempted to drown me that moment, blaming me and my father for her untimely death. Luckily the midwife took pity on me and snatched me away from him. My grandfather wept over my mother's body as the midwife stole me away and delivered me, and the terrible news of my mother's passing, to my father. That night my father packed his things and took me away, knowing that there was no life at the manor for him anymore. With him he took the only object he had that connected him to Cossette, his love for her in me.
My father travelled to Saint-Émilion with only a small satchel of clothing and me tucked into his arms. He begged on the streets for a few weeks, unable to find work with a newborn to care for. Every coin he received he spent to feed me.
One eventful morning Lady Claire was having tea with some of the other Ladies of the town when she happened upon my father and I. She used to tell me that in the moment her eyes fell upon us she was captivated by the blueness of my eyes. She approached my father and asked him how such a young man, my father being only seventeen at the time, had come to posses such a beautiful doll. Standing he handed me to her and told her our story while she admired how quiet and clean I was. Her heart bled for my father, and she offered him work on her dairy farm. That day we rode in a carriage for the first time as Lady Claire took us back to her property.
She presented my father with a small cottage on the edge of the farmland. There was no more room in the main house for servants to live, but with some care the cottage would be a sufficient home for us. The walk from the cottage to the main house was long, but father would make it every morning with me in tow. Lady Claire allowed one of her handmaidens to care for me as a baby with her two small boys, Edward and Anthony. I remember my father dropping me off to play while he worked, but the boys were a little older than I and used to pull my hair. I spent the majority of the time in Lady Claire's study, reading as many books as I could reach until my father returned to walk home with me.
This went on for years as Lady Claire and my father grew closer. I was unsure of where Lord Claire lived, for I hadn't seen him but a few times in the entirety of our stay. Edward and Anthony used to tell me that their father was an adventurer, but Lady Claire has some different ideas of what the was doing out on his travels.
When I reached the ripe age of twelve and started to develop as a young lady my father insisted that I request work from Lady Claire. This was partially to help my father with the burden of my care, but also due to his mistrust of her sons intentions with me. Edward and Anthony were kind enough, but my father was always very protective of me.
Lady Claire allowed me to work in the kitchen assisting her cook, the poor fellow had grown unable to perform the tasks that required nimble hands, he took to me immediately. Benjamin was his name, and he would tell me stories of his days as a sailor as I peeled potatoes and churned butter for him. He first sparked my love for baking pastries, for his favourite treat were croissants with fresh turned butter. I admit, I too became fond of the flaky pastry.
After two short years Benjamin passed of a fatal heart attack and I took his place in the kitchen. I mourned for him, but I could still feel his presence around, especially when I would bake croissants. My father and I continued to walk to and from the Manor together every day. Though it was a hard life, we loved it. That is until things changed just two days before my seventeenth birthday.
Father and I walked from the cottage to the manor as we do everyday. As we approached he noticed first that the entire property seemed oddly quiet. We were two of the first to arrive always, my mornings always early to prepare breakfast for the Main house and his to let the cows out to pasture, but the usual vibration of life seemed to have left the Manor. He mentioned nothing to me, but we both felt it. Today he accompanied me to the kitchen, claiming to need a second cup of coffee to start his day, but we both knew better. We both sensed an emptiness as we entered through the back. He told me to stay in the kitchen, but I followed anyway and regret doing so to this day. The image my eyes fell upon still leaves me with night terrors, I wake with the sweats and occasion catch myself weeping. It is too terrible to speak of aloud, but there was not a single life left in the house. My father took me from the house to notify the police of the tragedy.
It was found that Lord Claire had returned home and slaughtered everyone in the Manor in a psychotic rage before ending his own life as well. That evening we packed up the only home that I had ever known, collected our savings, and left for London.
Though we had been saving for some time the mere collection that we had between the two of us barely covered the rent in a single bedroom apartment above the local butcher's shop. I detested the smell of meat and blood, but there was no other place we could afford. My father spent what we had left over on a cot for me to sleep on, and a curtain to split the bedroom. He claimed that it was purely to give me privacy, but it prevented me from seeing the tears he shed every night he rested his head on the cold floor. I fear that he loved Lady Claire as he had loved my mother, and blamed himself for her death as well.
It took some time but he found work in the butcher shop below, and I at the bakery just down the way. Between the two of us we made enough to live a comfortable life, and furnish our little home. My father purchased a bed for me, taking the rickety cot that I had been sleeping on. He also saved up so that I could buy new dresses every now and again. He always put me before himself.
No matter what happened, I always knew that he would be there for me. As our history has told thus far however, all good things with us come to a bloody end.
It was a year ago now, I brought home a loaf of stale bread that could no longer be sold from the bakery and my father returned with scraps from the butcher. Ms.Bluth ran a dairy farm and adored my croissants. She would give me fresh butter and milk in exchange for two baskets a week for her sons. Father and I were enjoying our meal, reminiscing about the good times at the Claire manor as we ate fresh butter on our stale bread. During a fit of laughter my father began coughing uncontrollably, and when he pulled back his handkerchief is was soaked in blood.
Apparently this had been going on for some time, but he had hidden it from me.
Soon he was unable to work any longer and I started working at both the Bakery and the Tailors as a seamstress. With both jobs I was able to care for my dying father, though I was barely able to eat and provide the medicine he needed to ensure his passing was peaceful. It was only a month after our night of laughter that he passed in my arms, I provided morphine for him so his death was blissful as opposed to torturous as some of those who fall victim to consumption leave this world. It was the least I could do for him after his years of devoted care and love.
Though I was able to keep us afloat during the last month of his life, I was unable to afford a proper burial. Due to his decaying condition he was tossed into a mass grave with others like him. I regret every day that I couldn't take him back to France, that I couldn't lay him next to mother or Lady Claire.
Losing him was surreal, in one moment everything I had ever known was gone. I fell into a depression for some time and found myself unable to work at the Bakery any longer. I kept to myself in the small apartment we had once shared, only leaving once a week to visit the Tailor and retrieve those items that needed mending or hemming and drop off those that I had finished. Occasionally Ms. Bluth would call for me, she and her sons missed my croissants, but her butter only brought painful memories of the families that I had lost.
It was a month ago that I received the letter, pinned to my door in the night. At first I threw the invitation into the rubbish bin, however it pricked at my mind. Though I hesitated to leave the home I shared with my beloved father behind, it was time to start anew once again, this time on my own. I packed the few things that I had to remember my father and the dresses he saved so much to buy me and I used the last of my savings to purchase a train ticket to Hob's Bay.
Faceclaim
Zooey Deschanel
Player
Chloe De Luca
