Age: 22
Talent: Siren
[[warning: this may be triggering, abusive relationships, mutilations, slavery and several other potential triggers]]
The Blackthorn Family
Personality:
Ashton exudes a certain charm without trying. All eyes are drawn to him even if he's trying to not stand out. He's been told he has a silvery aura that attracts people. He has a lyrical voice that sounds pleasant and alluring to whoever is listening, his voice tends to change based on the listener, no two people hear him exactly the same. Ashton is a good listener, and he appears trust worthy and inviting -- he is not a threat.
History:
Life had never been easy for Ashton. Born to an alcoholic father who beat his wife and killed her only days after having their son, Ashton found himself in foster care for most of his life. At first he bounced around between homes, which was unusual for a baby since adoption was high among those still too young to remember their past lives. But Ashton was unique despite his blond curls and baby blues his cries were hypnotic and unnerving. Nearly everyone who held him to calm his cries found their lives short lived. It was as if angering the baby had cut their thread of fate short.
It wasn't until Amelia Kensington Blackthorn took him home that he found a place of permanence. Not that he was looking for permanence at the tender age of 10, but he found it none-the-less. He wanted a home, a family, people to care for him and love him. But fortunes decided otherwise.
At first it was do the laundry, help with the cleaning, help the gardener and here are your lessons. Most of which were given to him by an elder boy, Taylor. He taught Ashton things no ten year old should ever know. But if Taylor didn't teach him, and Ashton didn't learn, the consequences were dire -- dire as in potential death dire.
The first night Ashton refused his lessons and Taylor ran to their mistress Ashton watched as Mistress Blackthorn carved a piece of flesh from his thigh and Taylor held him down. Olivia used some sort of magic to heal his major wounds but there was a mangled scare left in it's place -- a constant reminder of his refusal. Ashton never refused again.
But that wasn't the last of the mutilations. Nor the horror he watched as he grew up in the Blackthorn home.
When Ashton was 13 he was sent out into the world to bring home a tender boy or girl that none would miss. It was harder than he thought, and failure to do so in a timely fashion resulted in the tip of his left pinky being severed from his hand and Mistress Blackthorn kept it in a box above the fireplace of their lavous home with all her other trophies from her children's failures.
Amelia Kensington Blackthorn was not the woman she pretended to be -- she was cruel evil woman whom all the fosters hated. Hated more than the men who fed upon their flesh.
Taylor was a friend, he was a confidant. And his loss was felt throughout the house. On his eighteenth birthday the Blackthorn's threw him a farewell party. They fed him steak and the finest wines. They dotted on him. They fattened him like a pig for weeks before that too. He'd been on a rigorous work out schedule and feeding times. And he was pampered and prepped until the day before he came of age. And on that day the Blackthorns gathered in their shared basement abode and they made all of the Fosters, and servants and brothers and sisters -- they all watched as Ambrose Blackthorn slit the throat of Taylor -- who they all loved and then feasted on his heart right in front of all of them.
It was horrible. The fosters all cried. Only Olivia didn't she'd seen too many pass through the doors for death upon the same alter upon which Taylor had died.
As Ashton got older the more he feared the day he turned 18. The month before Ashton prepared himself for the inevitable. He'd watched other kids leave the house the same way Taylor had and he expected his lot to be called up. The week before they did not fatten him. They did not pamper him. He slept in the same squalor as the other fosters. They kept him underfed and sent him out to pull in others even on the day of his 18th birthday.
He never questioned the reason, but Olivia squirreled him away and spoke in hushed whispers. "You are special. They won't let you go ever. We have to stick together."
He wasn't special. He didn't think. Though Victoria Blackthorn and in fact most of the other Blackthorns all loved to hear him sing. Everyone asked him to. Even on the darkest of nights. Olivia only smiled at him when he protested. But she was right. It was years since he turned 18, and he still went out swept men and women off their feet and brought them home to a horrific death. Though for them it was painless -- a slip of a poison and they'd drift off into eternal slumber. It was only horrifying for Ashton and the others as they had the responsibility of butchering the people for storage.
Kids came and went. No one lived past 18 unless they could continue to help the Blackthorns keep their secrets. Olivia could heal. Ashton could sing for their supper. Ethan -- poor Ethan, he had it the worst. He was the play toy of the evil child Edmund. Ethan had been 16 when Edmund began teething on poor Ethan. And since that day he's been Edmund's sole caretaker. Edmund was an evil child. Worse than his grandmother. And he wasn't even like the others -- he hadn't undergone the change as they called it. He was just the essence of his mother rolled into one small package -- evil for evil's sake.
The only others older than eighteen were Ava and Isabella. And no one spoke of the girls -- no one saw them much either. But every so often -- every 9 months or so you might hear them screaming in pain. They were nothing but breeding stock. The boys were kept and pampered. The girls --- the girls found their way into delicacies. They were the best cuts of meat. The favorites of the men of the Blackthorns. A rare vintage they called it. All except for Max -- Max kept his daughters -- he had no sons. The women of the Blackthorn blood was growing. Victoria was no longer the only natural born. The house sounded like music when the girls played. It was Ashton's favorite time.
Now that he was one of the oldest, it was his job to teach the others. And he did his job dutifully -- teaching them the ways of their trade. Not all of them were good at seduction, and not all of what they did required it. Sometimes a precious one could be kidnapped. Though Ashton did not prefer those methods. The shadows were their home. But they all wore faces of proud Blackthorn children fostered by the family for their own good. No one knew the darkness that lived in the shadows of the slightly rich and famous -- and no one cared as long as it never tarnished their name. And Amelia Kensington Blackthorn would insure the Blackthorn name would live on forevermore as an elite sophisticated family with a perfect life.
Talent: Siren
[[warning: this may be triggering, abusive relationships, mutilations, slavery and several other potential triggers]]
The Blackthorn Family
Personality:
Ashton exudes a certain charm without trying. All eyes are drawn to him even if he's trying to not stand out. He's been told he has a silvery aura that attracts people. He has a lyrical voice that sounds pleasant and alluring to whoever is listening, his voice tends to change based on the listener, no two people hear him exactly the same. Ashton is a good listener, and he appears trust worthy and inviting -- he is not a threat.
History:
Life had never been easy for Ashton. Born to an alcoholic father who beat his wife and killed her only days after having their son, Ashton found himself in foster care for most of his life. At first he bounced around between homes, which was unusual for a baby since adoption was high among those still too young to remember their past lives. But Ashton was unique despite his blond curls and baby blues his cries were hypnotic and unnerving. Nearly everyone who held him to calm his cries found their lives short lived. It was as if angering the baby had cut their thread of fate short.
It wasn't until Amelia Kensington Blackthorn took him home that he found a place of permanence. Not that he was looking for permanence at the tender age of 10, but he found it none-the-less. He wanted a home, a family, people to care for him and love him. But fortunes decided otherwise.
At first it was do the laundry, help with the cleaning, help the gardener and here are your lessons. Most of which were given to him by an elder boy, Taylor. He taught Ashton things no ten year old should ever know. But if Taylor didn't teach him, and Ashton didn't learn, the consequences were dire -- dire as in potential death dire.
The first night Ashton refused his lessons and Taylor ran to their mistress Ashton watched as Mistress Blackthorn carved a piece of flesh from his thigh and Taylor held him down. Olivia used some sort of magic to heal his major wounds but there was a mangled scare left in it's place -- a constant reminder of his refusal. Ashton never refused again.
But that wasn't the last of the mutilations. Nor the horror he watched as he grew up in the Blackthorn home.
When Ashton was 13 he was sent out into the world to bring home a tender boy or girl that none would miss. It was harder than he thought, and failure to do so in a timely fashion resulted in the tip of his left pinky being severed from his hand and Mistress Blackthorn kept it in a box above the fireplace of their lavous home with all her other trophies from her children's failures.
Amelia Kensington Blackthorn was not the woman she pretended to be -- she was cruel evil woman whom all the fosters hated. Hated more than the men who fed upon their flesh.
Taylor was a friend, he was a confidant. And his loss was felt throughout the house. On his eighteenth birthday the Blackthorn's threw him a farewell party. They fed him steak and the finest wines. They dotted on him. They fattened him like a pig for weeks before that too. He'd been on a rigorous work out schedule and feeding times. And he was pampered and prepped until the day before he came of age. And on that day the Blackthorns gathered in their shared basement abode and they made all of the Fosters, and servants and brothers and sisters -- they all watched as Ambrose Blackthorn slit the throat of Taylor -- who they all loved and then feasted on his heart right in front of all of them.
It was horrible. The fosters all cried. Only Olivia didn't she'd seen too many pass through the doors for death upon the same alter upon which Taylor had died.
As Ashton got older the more he feared the day he turned 18. The month before Ashton prepared himself for the inevitable. He'd watched other kids leave the house the same way Taylor had and he expected his lot to be called up. The week before they did not fatten him. They did not pamper him. He slept in the same squalor as the other fosters. They kept him underfed and sent him out to pull in others even on the day of his 18th birthday.
He never questioned the reason, but Olivia squirreled him away and spoke in hushed whispers. "You are special. They won't let you go ever. We have to stick together."
He wasn't special. He didn't think. Though Victoria Blackthorn and in fact most of the other Blackthorns all loved to hear him sing. Everyone asked him to. Even on the darkest of nights. Olivia only smiled at him when he protested. But she was right. It was years since he turned 18, and he still went out swept men and women off their feet and brought them home to a horrific death. Though for them it was painless -- a slip of a poison and they'd drift off into eternal slumber. It was only horrifying for Ashton and the others as they had the responsibility of butchering the people for storage.
Kids came and went. No one lived past 18 unless they could continue to help the Blackthorns keep their secrets. Olivia could heal. Ashton could sing for their supper. Ethan -- poor Ethan, he had it the worst. He was the play toy of the evil child Edmund. Ethan had been 16 when Edmund began teething on poor Ethan. And since that day he's been Edmund's sole caretaker. Edmund was an evil child. Worse than his grandmother. And he wasn't even like the others -- he hadn't undergone the change as they called it. He was just the essence of his mother rolled into one small package -- evil for evil's sake.
The only others older than eighteen were Ava and Isabella. And no one spoke of the girls -- no one saw them much either. But every so often -- every 9 months or so you might hear them screaming in pain. They were nothing but breeding stock. The boys were kept and pampered. The girls --- the girls found their way into delicacies. They were the best cuts of meat. The favorites of the men of the Blackthorns. A rare vintage they called it. All except for Max -- Max kept his daughters -- he had no sons. The women of the Blackthorn blood was growing. Victoria was no longer the only natural born. The house sounded like music when the girls played. It was Ashton's favorite time.
Now that he was one of the oldest, it was his job to teach the others. And he did his job dutifully -- teaching them the ways of their trade. Not all of them were good at seduction, and not all of what they did required it. Sometimes a precious one could be kidnapped. Though Ashton did not prefer those methods. The shadows were their home. But they all wore faces of proud Blackthorn children fostered by the family for their own good. No one knew the darkness that lived in the shadows of the slightly rich and famous -- and no one cared as long as it never tarnished their name. And Amelia Kensington Blackthorn would insure the Blackthorn name would live on forevermore as an elite sophisticated family with a perfect life.