lore
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♱⋆₊☠ ⋆₊ BEFORE DEATH DID HER PART...
1886, though so long ago, that year is a not-so-distant memory to Calliope Locke. The years of her early adulthood full of prosperity, happiness, achievement. If only now she could live even a single moment without fear. Those years before, now those are a blur, as if the years she lived no longer mattered, no longer served purpose. There is nothing else left in those years to cling to, or so she may claim. 1886 brought nothing but dread to the young woman's life.After a childhood of torment, Calliope swore against the ideas of marriage and dependency. She found herself to be unphased by romantic gestures, rejecting the idea of traditional values entirely. While many scoffed at the lady's fierce attempts at independence, there was someone who found it downright offensive.A powerful man, a persuasive man, an egotistical man. No one ever dared to refuse him, until 1886 that is. Was it determination or was it arrogance that caused him to become relentless for Calliope's affections. However, she held tight to her autonomy, even when it would lead to her demise.Her profession was rather niche at the time, styling dogs for awards and shows, keeping them pristine. She was a woman of many different lines of work, finding herself bored of steady employment. Her work was centered around the arts, varying from writing and designing, fashion and the like. She kept a very pristine collection of shears and scissors, those being the true fruits of her labor.Her work was her purpose, or so she believed. Until that was soon sullied with fear and despair. Everywhere she went, she could feel she was being watched. She became hyperaware of those around her, recognizing the same faces over and over until it became all she saw. Riddled with paranoia, going outside became so taxing. Her writing grew darker and darker; her designs became more appropriate for funeral attire. She was losing herself in the everlasting terror that consumed her.New Years Eve came then, the death of the year 1886. The end of a year that reeked of anxiety and dismay. Calliope decided to celebrate, to make her vow for a glorious 1887. She would make different vows on that night, though. Down the busy streets it all went black, not much can be said by her about what happened next. Waking up in a daze, confused and in a haze, adorned in all white with lace and surrounded by faces that were her plague. Tied and bound, watching in agony as they circled around her, speaking oddities in latin, chanting hymns she could not understand and yet it did not take much to grasp that tonight was 1886 was not the only one being put to final rest.They dubbed her the Sacrificial Lamb to independence. Her death to be a symbol. A testament against breaking any sort of stained glass ceiling. She was immoral. She was against God. She needed to be sent back down with the others who reeked of sin.Her skin was torn open at the chest, her ribs broken and shattered. Her heart removed from her chest. Her body sacrificed to the Devil Below all for the one with the Evil Within.Then came 1887, birth to a new day and a New Year. Birth to the new Age of Vengeance.[to be continued...]
