Name: Chriselle Edison
Age: She simply recalls a total of seventeen long, repeated years, and she supposes that it must be how old she is.
Gender: Female.
Sexual Orientation: She cares nothing of it, and nor does she bother considering her situation.
Role: Contractor.
Personality: A wide-eyed, terrified looking teenage girl would never catch the wandering eye of a man or woman roaming the city streets; or perhaps she would, what with all of her mumbling and shaking. A girl with only a mind for worse-case scenarios and a voice for stuttering and frightened warnings, Chriselle is more than just an odd ball. She is diagnosed with anterograde amnesia, a type of memory loss that occurs day by day - she awakes each morning with no recollection of her thoughts or the events of the previous day. Each morning is just a haze, and each day she is constantly freaking out over trying to remember things. She used to keep a notebook with notes on important people, events, and dates that she must remember. Chriselle found it irrelevant by the time her contract was made, and has thus forgotten all about it.
No matter what, she will always worry, always freak out, and always distance herself. The girl may suffer from more than simple memory loss, though she finds no proof of it and dismisses any other illnesses as silly and unrealistic, though I digress. A melodramatic, self-pitying and impulsive teenager, she is more than prone to having her own little episodes. Chriselle, though she obviously is flawed to an extent, she does have a few good qualities - or something near good, in the least. She wants to get close to people, and she wants to make friends with others, but knows that she will forget them in the next few hours anyways. She is honest as well, and has never told a lie - as far as she knows, anyways. Her honesty could be a complete sham in itself, so she always leaves it out if she ever needs to talk about herself.
She is already seventeen, a girl almost becoming a woman, and yet she has the appearance and air of a small child. She is a nervous, clumsy, stuttering mess who knows near to nothing about friendship or family. Add that to her amnesia and her own personal issues, and you have the wreck of a girl with the name of Chriselle Edison.
History: It was a simple mistake. She never meant to do anything wrong or hurtful, she never meant to be mean, and she never meant to make such a horrible mistake. It wasn't her fault. She knew that much, at least. Or whatever she knew...she didn't know much. Or did she? Did she? She didn't know. She didn't know what she knew.
All she could see was darkness. All she could taste was the unmistakeably copper-like taste of blood dancing across her tongue. What she heard was the sound of metal hitting a surface known to be skin. She felt...pain. Pain, and then numbness. The stinging, the heat, the blistering pain against her pebbled skin faded once, came back, and then faded again. A vicious circle, a repeating set of events; it had an uncanny resemblance to her life, as cliche and uncomfortable as it sounded. It took maybe an hour, a few minutes, but she had lifted herself off of the ground. Her feet padded against the ground with soft thumps, and she softly closed the door as to not aggrivate anyone else. Her eyes met the ones in her reflection, and she grimaced.
Blue, black, purple, and green blotches decorated her pale skin. There was blood running from open cuts and from her lip, which had broken due to her teeth breaking through the tough skin. Chriselle was not okay with how things had gone on. So many things, transpiring in a blur and a mess of colors, a mess of senses; she hated waking up every morning, and forgetting everything else but the abuse. The torture. Her bruises, cuts and scars were enough notes to jog her memory - of all the damned things to forget, why couldn't she forget something as horrifying as this...? Why couldn't she be strong? Chriselle knew fully well that she couldn't fight back, she couldn't protect herself, so she had to just stand there, and watch it all fly past her.
She could have been perfectly happy the previous day, or week, or month - but she couldn't have remembered it. She never could have. As she stared at her reflection, marred and bruised, a sound echoed throughout her mind. A sound that reminded her of promise, of safety, and of...well, whatever the hell else she didn't have. The sound changed into a voice, one that spoke to her clearly and calmly, tone smooth. The name was Murmur, one that sent shivers down her spine, but a calm sensation over her body. He told her that he would watch over her, protect her, and give her strength. He could not grant her the fortune of regaining her memories, but he could protect her and give her a will to fight. Chriselle knew of what she was to do, and accepted in the blink of an eye.
Likes:
Bubblegum - She loves the stuff. It calms her down in times of an episode.
Warm weather - She would rather be warm than freezing her ass off.
Waking up - It's bittersweet; she can start all over, but forgets every happy thing that might have happened the previous day.
Butterflies - They distract her.
Dislikes:
Soda - Too acidic, and it irritates her throat.
Cold weather - She hates cold weather, it makes her uncomfortable.
Going to sleep - Forgetting anything exciting isn't a very happy thing, now is it?
Secrets: "I'm not telling you! W...why would I - I have nothing to hide!"
Fears: She knows that spiders scare the ever living shit out of her. That and lightning.
Crush: If she had one, she wouldn't remember.
Boyfriend/Girlfriend: Irrelevant.
Do you have a Demon?: Yes. One named Murmur.
Contract Details: The payment for her protection and strength was simple; whatever bits and pieces of her already shared sanity. She doesn't view herself as insane, but she no longer has her human morality, and does not know right from wrong. She does not know what to think when she witnesses a crime, and nor does she know what to do - thus, she walks away from it and says nothing at all.
Height: 5'9"
Build: Lithe and a bit fragile-looking.
Contract Mark:
The seal of Murmur found on the back of her right hand.
