katenka sokolova: a playlist

[FIND THE LINK HERE]

oo1. valium - lisa mitchell

oo2. off to the races - lana del rey

oo3. samson - regina spektor

oo4. next girl - the black keys

oo5. the ghost inside - broken bells

oo6. the word ‘hurricane’ - air

oo7. closer - kings of leon

oo8. i follow rivers - lykke li

oo9. codex - radiohead

vincent hartley: a playlist

[FIND THE LINK HERE]

oo1. undisclosed desires - muse

oo2. my manic and i - laura marling

oo3. the high road - broken bells

oo4. sinister kid - the black keys

oo5. hysteria - muse

oo6. pa pa power - dead man’s bones

oo7. it’s not over yet - the klaxons

oo8. meyrin fields - broken bells

sabine iseult evain, 572 years old, upper class vampire

• originally the daughter of an affluent lord in france, sabine has never really gotten rid of her expensive taste and self-absorption
• she’s quite a conflicting, contradictory character: on the one hand, she’s very charming and charismatic, yet she can equally be very moody, pessimistic, suffering from self-inflicted loneliness
• currently in an extremely volatile love/hate relationship with the man she’s been with for god knows how long now
• she’s a bit of a bastard and she’s okay with that and you should be too y/y

leonardo nico salvatore, 150 years old, lower class vampire

• basically all you need to know is that this motherfucking /leo salvatore/
• he lost all his family when he was turned, which has always been something he’s never been able to let go of
• he worked as a lawyer through most of the 1800s but then he got bored and decided to live a little
• he’s the badass vampire in town, running the big vampire speakeasy with all the booze and the blood and the jazz
• i’m thinking he should run some bootlegger gang??? idk man we’ll sort this out closer to the time but if you’re interested just message me!!
• he’s brash, vulgar, confident, with a violent temper
• he’s also forever in love with his best friend cobby welp

katenka narkissa sokolova, 560 years old, lower class vampire

• she was originally a poor village girl, with sweet dreams about love and a lovely soul, set to be married to her simple love
• she got turned the night before her wedding sad times
• she died a virgin which she resented her whole life
• she got so pissed off that one day she decided to start a viscous vampire girl gang which you can get more info on here
• she’s a jazz singer with the face of an angel and the heart of a monster
• um luv her

vincent hartley, upper class vampire, 689 years old

• the first thing you need to know about vince is that he’s batshit crazy
• the second thing you need to know about vince is that he’s batshit crazy
• he’s also into whispering and wearing top hats
• he’s simultaneously terrifying and sexy
• he’s volatile with an acquired taste for human blood
• he’s also batshit crazy

Катенька, Katenka: Pure.

She was pure from birth – a child with white hair, whitewhitewhite, like a sun chidden of warmth, with eyes blue and round, filled with endless tears of dreams. Hers was an innocent face, a face that knew of no problems, no heartache, no pain, only of her dreams. She dreamt of love, of a true love, a love that was hers to caress, to nurture, to hold. She filled countless nights thinking of a beloved that would one day come to save her from the cold clutches of poverty, from the disgrace that came from being a fatherless girl with not a single penny to her name; she dreamt of hundreds of men, their shadows running elusive through her mind, ever intangible, ever impossible. She dreamt they would come for her; beg for her hand in marriage and save her.

He came for her eventually.

They were both young, for their faces had not been breathed upon by the haggard mouth of age, and neither had their hearts. Both had eternal spirit and hope in their eyes, blue burning into blue, both mesmerised with the other. She trembled when they first met, for he was a man – he was a man in his power, his build, in his blue veins that ran starkly beneath his bare forearms, white like marble. She ignored how the low roof of his hut hunched his shoulders, how the damp from the walls seemed to seep into his water eyes, how the anxiety of living a life without money had weaselled its way into his voice, tenuous in its contentment, akin to the faltering tendrils of lyres. Her hands shook when he took them in his. His calloused hands shadowed her nimble fingers as they held her so gently, as though she were made of glass. “Do not fear me, my darling,” he whispered into the soft skin of her wrists, pressing his lips to her pulsing veins, kissing her trembles away, leaving her only with the simple joy that she had finally found her love, her wedding band glistening on her fourth finger.