Matron Leeds
Matron Deborah Amabel Leeds (a.k.a. Deb, Debbie, Momma)
“Ah. You want to know about me?”
She smiled as she leaned back in the high-backed chair—one that looked far too antique to be comfortable, yet somehow suited her frame like it had been carved for her spine. Her fingers, tipped in deep red lacquer, toyed with the stem of a wine glass filled with something just a little too thick to be wine.
“Not that silly myth, I hope. The one where some poor Quaker woman gave birth to a hell-horse in the middle of a thunderstorm. It’s amusing, don’t get me wrong. I rather enjoy that version—it’s theatrical. But it’s about as truthful as a jar of rooster teeth next to a huckster’s snake oil.”
The room was quiet. Firelight flickered along the dark wood walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed just a little too animated. Her black cat sat perched on a nearby mantle, tail twitching in time with her breath, eyes narrowed in judgment of the world.
“The real story?” she said, tilting her head. “That’s older. Messier. More interesting.”
She crossed one leg over the other, the slit of her dress parting just enough to reveal the sigil tattooed elegantly along her inner thigh—old, infernal script wrapped in artistry and power. Her voice lowered just slightly, no less charming but carrying weight now, like silk over steel.
“I was born in the 1680s. Caroline Leeds, my mother, was a real piece of work—witch of the old breed. Not your dancing-in-the-woods types. No, she summoned things. Slept with things. She didn’t just believe in power. She birthed it.”
She traced a fingertip along the rim of her glass, eyes distant. “She called an incubus during a Black Sabbath, and nine months later, I arrived—squalling, smiling, and already more beautiful than most women could hope to become. She told people my father died hunting bears.”
Her smile widened.
“I was always… good at getting what I wanted. Even as a girl. The boys in the village brought me ribbons. As I got older some men even brought me horses. The magistrate once brought me his confession. I didn’t need spells back then—I was a spell. But I learned fast. Taught myself faster.”
Her voice took on a sing-song cadence, mock-innocent.
“Summoning circles in the barn. Hexes in my needlework. Little curses wrapped in silk. I stitched fear into every corner of my little world until even the churchmen started walking the long way around our family home.”
The cat purred low, its eyes gleaming red.
“I left home before I turned twenty. My mother, for all her wisdom, didn’t dream big enough. She wanted a coven. I wanted a kingdom. And in the woods on a moonless night, I found something better than a mother’s lessons—I found Belial.”
She said his name like a lover might: with reverence, with hunger, and a hint of mockery.
“He made me a deal. I’d bear thirteen sons—each one a Cambion, born of infernal fathers summoned on Black Sabbaths—and in return, he’d teach me the truth. How to cheat death. How to walk through fire. How to smile and make the world burn for it.”
She paused, swirling the liquid in her glass as it hissed against the crystal.
“And I did. One after the other. Thirteen boys, each one a nightmare dressed in mortal skin. Each one a key to power, planted in the world like a seed. Some became witches. Some became monsters. One or two became legends.”
She chuckled, the sound rich and honeyed.
“But I didn’t stop at thirteen boys. Oh no. I had daughters, too. Clever, cruel, brilliant girls. Some mortal, some not quite. All mine. I started matching son and daughter alike to bloodlines like playing cards—this family had money, that one had magic, that one had ambition but no backbone. And in a few short centuries, I had built a dynasty."
Her smile turned sharp.
"You call it the Leeds Family. I call it my garden. And I tend it well.”
She rose, gliding toward the fire with an ease that was neither rushed nor lazy—simply intentional. She stood with the fire behind her now, casting her face into half-shadow,as her mortal guise melted away her tail flicking idly behind the folds of her dress like a serpent too patient to strike.
“Some ask me why I’m still here. Why not fade into legend? Disappear? Rest?” She leaned forward. “Because I love it. I love the game. I love magic, power, knowledge, and pleasure. I love the smell of fresh parchment, the hiss of a potion catching flame, the sound a man makes when he realizes he’s two centuries too young to outwit me.”
She tilted her head, mock-curious.
“Is that what you were trying, love? Were you hoping to tame me with your little questions?”
A pause.
“Cute.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, velvet and venom.
“You came here for the truth. So let me give it to you.”
She leaned in close—close enough to smell applejack and brimstone on her breath.
“I’m not a story.
I’m not a warning.
I’m not a myth.
I’m your Mother.
And you’re standing in my woods.”
She smiled as she leaned back in the high-backed chair—one that looked far too antique to be comfortable, yet somehow suited her frame like it had been carved for her spine. Her fingers, tipped in deep red lacquer, toyed with the stem of a wine glass filled with something just a little too thick to be wine.
“Not that silly myth, I hope. The one where some poor Quaker woman gave birth to a hell-horse in the middle of a thunderstorm. It’s amusing, don’t get me wrong. I rather enjoy that version—it’s theatrical. But it’s about as truthful as a jar of rooster teeth next to a huckster’s snake oil.”
The room was quiet. Firelight flickered along the dark wood walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed just a little too animated. Her black cat sat perched on a nearby mantle, tail twitching in time with her breath, eyes narrowed in judgment of the world.
“The real story?” she said, tilting her head. “That’s older. Messier. More interesting.”
She crossed one leg over the other, the slit of her dress parting just enough to reveal the sigil tattooed elegantly along her inner thigh—old, infernal script wrapped in artistry and power. Her voice lowered just slightly, no less charming but carrying weight now, like silk over steel.
“I was born in the 1680s. Caroline Leeds, my mother, was a real piece of work—witch of the old breed. Not your dancing-in-the-woods types. No, she summoned things. Slept with things. She didn’t just believe in power. She birthed it.”
She traced a fingertip along the rim of her glass, eyes distant. “She called an incubus during a Black Sabbath, and nine months later, I arrived—squalling, smiling, and already more beautiful than most women could hope to become. She told people my father died hunting bears.”
Her smile widened.
“I was always… good at getting what I wanted. Even as a girl. The boys in the village brought me ribbons. As I got older some men even brought me horses. The magistrate once brought me his confession. I didn’t need spells back then—I was a spell. But I learned fast. Taught myself faster.”
Her voice took on a sing-song cadence, mock-innocent.
“Summoning circles in the barn. Hexes in my needlework. Little curses wrapped in silk. I stitched fear into every corner of my little world until even the churchmen started walking the long way around our family home.”
The cat purred low, its eyes gleaming red.
“I left home before I turned twenty. My mother, for all her wisdom, didn’t dream big enough. She wanted a coven. I wanted a kingdom. And in the woods on a moonless night, I found something better than a mother’s lessons—I found Belial.”
She said his name like a lover might: with reverence, with hunger, and a hint of mockery.
“He made me a deal. I’d bear thirteen sons—each one a Cambion, born of infernal fathers summoned on Black Sabbaths—and in return, he’d teach me the truth. How to cheat death. How to walk through fire. How to smile and make the world burn for it.”
She paused, swirling the liquid in her glass as it hissed against the crystal.
“And I did. One after the other. Thirteen boys, each one a nightmare dressed in mortal skin. Each one a key to power, planted in the world like a seed. Some became witches. Some became monsters. One or two became legends.”
She chuckled, the sound rich and honeyed.
“But I didn’t stop at thirteen boys. Oh no. I had daughters, too. Clever, cruel, brilliant girls. Some mortal, some not quite. All mine. I started matching son and daughter alike to bloodlines like playing cards—this family had money, that one had magic, that one had ambition but no backbone. And in a few short centuries, I had built a dynasty."
Her smile turned sharp.
"You call it the Leeds Family. I call it my garden. And I tend it well.”
She rose, gliding toward the fire with an ease that was neither rushed nor lazy—simply intentional. She stood with the fire behind her now, casting her face into half-shadow,as her mortal guise melted away her tail flicking idly behind the folds of her dress like a serpent too patient to strike.
“Some ask me why I’m still here. Why not fade into legend? Disappear? Rest?” She leaned forward. “Because I love it. I love the game. I love magic, power, knowledge, and pleasure. I love the smell of fresh parchment, the hiss of a potion catching flame, the sound a man makes when he realizes he’s two centuries too young to outwit me.”
She tilted her head, mock-curious.
“Is that what you were trying, love? Were you hoping to tame me with your little questions?”
A pause.
“Cute.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, velvet and venom.
“You came here for the truth. So let me give it to you.”
She leaned in close—close enough to smell applejack and brimstone on her breath.
“I’m not a story.
I’m not a warning.
I’m not a myth.
I’m your Mother.
And you’re standing in my woods.”
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Deborah Leeds exists in a state of ageless vitality, her body preserved and enhanced by her transformation into an immortal hag. Though she appears youthful and statuesque, her physique is more than aesthetic—it is a perfected vessel, honed by centuries of experience and arcane augmentation.
Her altered physiology grants her:
Regenerative healing even from grievous injuries
Near complete immunity to disease, poison, and most drugs
Inhuman strength, agility, and endurance, far surpassing human limits—she can outpace, outlift, and outlast ten trained men without strain
Magical durability, resisting both mundane harm and magical assaults unless targeted with wrought iron, witchbane, or specifically tailored anti-hag spells
Even those rare witch-hunters who uncover her vulnerabilities find little success; Deborah is a master spellcaster, capable of magically cheating the consequences of injury. Hexes, wards, and rapid healing spells render their advantages moot more often than not.
She does not merely survive—she thrives, a predator in silk, whose every movement is as graceful as it is dangerous.
Her altered physiology grants her:
Regenerative healing even from grievous injuries
Near complete immunity to disease, poison, and most drugs
Inhuman strength, agility, and endurance, far surpassing human limits—she can outpace, outlift, and outlast ten trained men without strain
Magical durability, resisting both mundane harm and magical assaults unless targeted with wrought iron, witchbane, or specifically tailored anti-hag spells
Even those rare witch-hunters who uncover her vulnerabilities find little success; Deborah is a master spellcaster, capable of magically cheating the consequences of injury. Hexes, wards, and rapid healing spells render their advantages moot more often than not.
She does not merely survive—she thrives, a predator in silk, whose every movement is as graceful as it is dangerous.
Body Features
Deborah Leeds has always been strikingly, unnaturally beautiful—tall, graceful, and perfectly proportioned with an elegance that borders on the divine. Her physical form possesses a level of symmetry and presence that draws the eye instinctively, often before she even speaks.
There’s something subtly unnatural about her allure:
Her posture is regal yet inviting
Her movements are fluid, practiced, and hypnotic
Her face seems tailored to every era's ideal of beauty—without ever aging
Whether dressed in finery or ritual robes, Deborah appears as someone meant to be followed, feared, or adored. Her presence is as much a weapon as her magic, and few forget her once they've seen her
There’s something subtly unnatural about her allure:
Her posture is regal yet inviting
Her movements are fluid, practiced, and hypnotic
Her face seems tailored to every era's ideal of beauty—without ever aging
Whether dressed in finery or ritual robes, Deborah appears as someone meant to be followed, feared, or adored. Her presence is as much a weapon as her magic, and few forget her once they've seen her
Facial Features
Some would describe her features as exquisite—and they would not be wrong. Deborah Leeds possesses a face that seems sculpted by some dark and patient artist: high cheekbones, a flawlessly symmetrical bone structure, and lips that curve with knowing charm or quiet threat, depending on her mood.
Her eyes, whether hazel-flecked or glowing pink-red in her true form, hold a depth that unnerves and entrances. Her beauty is not simply physical—it’s magnetic, layered with centuries of expression, poise, and supernatural control.
Even those who mistrust her often find themselves lingering on her smile, uncertain whether it promises seduction, salvation, or something far worse.
Her eyes, whether hazel-flecked or glowing pink-red in her true form, hold a depth that unnerves and entrances. Her beauty is not simply physical—it’s magnetic, layered with centuries of expression, poise, and supernatural control.
Even those who mistrust her often find themselves lingering on her smile, uncertain whether it promises seduction, salvation, or something far worse.
Identifying Characteristics
Like many Cambions, Deborah Leeds was born with a hellish sigil etched into her flesh—a birthmark that pulses faintly with infernal resonance. Hers is located on her lower back, where it resembles an intricate, spiraling glyph. In the modern age, she casually passes it off as a tattoo when seen, though those with arcane sight know better.
More telling is the Mark of Belial, a binding sigil that signifies her pact with the Lord of the Umbral Court. It appears like a fine black tattoo on her inner thigh, just hidden enough to feel like a secret, just visible enough to remind her lovers—and enemies—that she is claimed.
Both marks are more than decoration. They are living symbols, steeped in power and recognition throughout infernal circles. To those who understand such things, they are as unmistakable as a crown.
Both marks are more than decoration. They are living symbols, steeped in power and recognition throughout infernal circles. To those who understand such things, they are as unmistakable as a crown.
Physical quirks
Deborah Leeds stands taller than most women—5'11" (180 cm)—with a physique that’s more sculpted strength than softness. Her weight is carried in lean muscle, a result of both disciplined physical upkeep and the inhuman genetics gifted by her infernal bloodline.
She moves with fluid power, never slouching, never shrinking. Her height and bearing make her hard to overlook—and she has never once tried to be anything but visible.
As she once put it:
"I was always too big of a girl for the world to make small."
Her presence is commanding by nature and by design—a woman built to stand above, not among.
She moves with fluid power, never slouching, never shrinking. Her height and bearing make her hard to overlook—and she has never once tried to be anything but visible.
As she once put it:
"I was always too big of a girl for the world to make small."
Her presence is commanding by nature and by design—a woman built to stand above, not among.
Special abilities
Deborah Leeds is far beyond mortal. As an immortal Cambion-turned-Hag and master witch of the highest order, her physical and magical prowess makes her one of the most dangerous beings in the modern magical world.
Physical Superiority (Hag Physiology)
Possesses inhuman strength, capable of overpowering ten trained men with ease
Unmatched agility and speed, likened to a stalking cat or striking serpent
Resilience against physical harm—she shrugs off mid-caliber bullets, even when tipped with wrought iron (though such rounds do slow her regeneration)
Her prehensile tail, often hidden until battle, can impale, disarm, or ensnare foes with surprising dexterity. Its barbed tip delivers painful and sometimes cursed wounds
Razor-sharp claws capable of rending flesh and hard materials alike with casual ease
Regenerative healing, only slowed by wrought iron, witchbane weapons, or specific anti-hag magics
Near immune to most poisons, diseases, and toxins—magical or mundane
Master of Witchcraft
Deborah Leeds is a grandmistress of the Craft, versed in nearly every known tradition of witchcraft—ancient, modern, reconstructed, or lost. She does not specialize because she refuses to limit herself.
Her magical expertise includes: Elemental sorcery (Air, Earth, Fire, Water, Spirit)
Blood magic and soul stealing
Necromancy, demonology, and spirit-binding
Ritual summoning and pact-forging
Herbalism, hexwork, warding, and curse-breaking
Advanced divination (tarot, mirror-gazing, sigil reading, and lunar foresight)
Spellcraft across traditions, from Celtic and Norse to Goetic and Hermetic
While King Belial is her patron, Deborah freely deals with demons, fae, pagan gods, ancestral spirits, and—on rare occasions—angels. To her, a true witch does not flinch from power, wherever it comes from.
“A real witch doesn’t play favorites. She plays everyone.” - Deborah Leeds
The Witch as Archetype
Deborah embodies the Witch as both feared legend and living reality. Her practice draws from across the broad spectrum of magical traditions:
She is a Green Witch in her mastery of herbs and roots
A Hedge Witch, walking between worlds
A Cosmic Witch, aligning her rites with star cycles and infernal planets
A Traditional Witch, preserving dark rites that predate modern occultism
A Faerie Witch, fluent in bargains with dangerous fey
A Religious Witch, blending infernal devotion with philosophical dominance
A Storm Witch, calling lightning on her enemies when the winds favor her
She celebrates Sabbats, performs Esbats beneath blood moons, and maintains a personal grimoire known as The Mother’s Gospel—a spellbook so potent it's said to whisper when unopened. Unique Magical Traits
Enhanced magical memory and intuition
Can sense magical auras, intentions, and emotional states at a glance
Has crafted her own sigil language, used in spellcasting, enchantment, and blood contracts
Wields binding magic capable of sealing demons, familiars, or even entire bloodlines
Known to use custom-forged bullets etched with hexes in her infernal derringer, bypassing most magical defenses
Deborah Leeds’ Witchcraft Philosophy
Deborah does not see witchcraft as a belief—it is truth, and she is its high priestess. To her, magic is not sacred—it is inevitable. She embraces the entire spectrum of arcane possibility:
“Why should I limit myself to one path when I can walk them all?” - Deborah Leeds
Physical Superiority (Hag Physiology)
Possesses inhuman strength, capable of overpowering ten trained men with ease
Unmatched agility and speed, likened to a stalking cat or striking serpent
Resilience against physical harm—she shrugs off mid-caliber bullets, even when tipped with wrought iron (though such rounds do slow her regeneration)
Her prehensile tail, often hidden until battle, can impale, disarm, or ensnare foes with surprising dexterity. Its barbed tip delivers painful and sometimes cursed wounds
Razor-sharp claws capable of rending flesh and hard materials alike with casual ease
Regenerative healing, only slowed by wrought iron, witchbane weapons, or specific anti-hag magics
Near immune to most poisons, diseases, and toxins—magical or mundane
Master of Witchcraft
Deborah Leeds is a grandmistress of the Craft, versed in nearly every known tradition of witchcraft—ancient, modern, reconstructed, or lost. She does not specialize because she refuses to limit herself.
Her magical expertise includes: Elemental sorcery (Air, Earth, Fire, Water, Spirit)
Blood magic and soul stealing
Necromancy, demonology, and spirit-binding
Ritual summoning and pact-forging
Herbalism, hexwork, warding, and curse-breaking
Advanced divination (tarot, mirror-gazing, sigil reading, and lunar foresight)
Spellcraft across traditions, from Celtic and Norse to Goetic and Hermetic
While King Belial is her patron, Deborah freely deals with demons, fae, pagan gods, ancestral spirits, and—on rare occasions—angels. To her, a true witch does not flinch from power, wherever it comes from.
“A real witch doesn’t play favorites. She plays everyone.” - Deborah Leeds
The Witch as Archetype
Deborah embodies the Witch as both feared legend and living reality. Her practice draws from across the broad spectrum of magical traditions:
She is a Green Witch in her mastery of herbs and roots
A Hedge Witch, walking between worlds
A Cosmic Witch, aligning her rites with star cycles and infernal planets
A Traditional Witch, preserving dark rites that predate modern occultism
A Faerie Witch, fluent in bargains with dangerous fey
A Religious Witch, blending infernal devotion with philosophical dominance
A Storm Witch, calling lightning on her enemies when the winds favor her
She celebrates Sabbats, performs Esbats beneath blood moons, and maintains a personal grimoire known as The Mother’s Gospel—a spellbook so potent it's said to whisper when unopened. Unique Magical Traits
Enhanced magical memory and intuition
Can sense magical auras, intentions, and emotional states at a glance
Has crafted her own sigil language, used in spellcasting, enchantment, and blood contracts
Wields binding magic capable of sealing demons, familiars, or even entire bloodlines
Known to use custom-forged bullets etched with hexes in her infernal derringer, bypassing most magical defenses
Deborah Leeds’ Witchcraft Philosophy
Deborah does not see witchcraft as a belief—it is truth, and she is its high priestess. To her, magic is not sacred—it is inevitable. She embraces the entire spectrum of arcane possibility:
“Why should I limit myself to one path when I can walk them all?” - Deborah Leeds
Apparel & Accessories
Beyond her many enchanted trinkets, charms, and heirloom-laced jewelry, Deborah Leeds is a connoisseur of fashion. Style, to her, is not mere presentation—it is ritual, armor, and art. She dresses with the precision of a spellcaster and the flair of a socialite, always choosing garments that enhance her presence and command attention without shouting for it.
She prefers clothing that balances elegance and seduction—form-fitting dresses, luxurious fabrics, subtle infernal motifs woven into hems or embroidery. Whether attending a gala, a summoning, or a board meeting in disguise, she is always dressed to captivate.
To Deborah, beauty is one of the most human indulgences, and therefore one of the few she treasures. She doesn’t just wear fashion—she wields it.
She prefers clothing that balances elegance and seduction—form-fitting dresses, luxurious fabrics, subtle infernal motifs woven into hems or embroidery. Whether attending a gala, a summoning, or a board meeting in disguise, she is always dressed to captivate.
To Deborah, beauty is one of the most human indulgences, and therefore one of the few she treasures. She doesn’t just wear fashion—she wields it.
Specialized Equipment
Across centuries of ritual, conquest, and quiet acquisition, Deborah Leeds has amassed a vast personal arsenal of magical tools. Her collection includes charms, talismans, amulets, cauldrons, ritual daggers, crystal foci, wand sets, scrying mirrors, and other occult instruments—many of them near unique or irreplaceable.
If a tool exists for the practice of witchcraft, she likely owns a superior version of it, often locked away in hidden chambers of Barrensrest Manor or bound to her personal vaults with blood seals and infernal wards.
But among all her many arcane relics, one unexpected favorite stands out:
A two-shot .45 caliber derringer, acquired in the 1880s and transformed into a Hell-Forged relic. The weapon never runs dry—its chamber draws upon an infernal ammunition well, producing superheated lead rounds wreathed in Hellfire.
Though she rarely wields it, Deborah sometimes loads the gun with custom-forged bullets etched with specific sigils or hexes, designed to pierce wards, silence spellcasters, or anchor curses with surgical precision. It's a weapon of elegance and insult—a witch’s wand reimagined in steel and smoke.
“Sometimes an American girl just wants to put a hole in something with flair.” - Deborah Leeds on her "Witch-Gun"
If a tool exists for the practice of witchcraft, she likely owns a superior version of it, often locked away in hidden chambers of Barrensrest Manor or bound to her personal vaults with blood seals and infernal wards.
But among all her many arcane relics, one unexpected favorite stands out:
A two-shot .45 caliber derringer, acquired in the 1880s and transformed into a Hell-Forged relic. The weapon never runs dry—its chamber draws upon an infernal ammunition well, producing superheated lead rounds wreathed in Hellfire.
Though she rarely wields it, Deborah sometimes loads the gun with custom-forged bullets etched with specific sigils or hexes, designed to pierce wards, silence spellcasters, or anchor curses with surgical precision. It's a weapon of elegance and insult—a witch’s wand reimagined in steel and smoke.
“Sometimes an American girl just wants to put a hole in something with flair.” - Deborah Leeds on her "Witch-Gun"
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Often wrongly confused by folklorists with a Quaker woman named Deborah Smith-Leeds (b. 1685), the true origin of Deborah Amabel Leeds is far more sinister—and far more powerful. This common mix-up still amuses her to this day.
Deborah was not born of marriage or misfortune. She was the child of a devil-worshiping English witch, Caroline Leeds, who summoned an incubus during a Black Sabbath and willingly lay with it during a debauched rite. Nine months later, beneath a blood moon, Caroline bore a daughter: a Cambion she named Deborah Amabel Leeds.
From birth, Deborah was preternaturally beautiful and charismatic, able to pass among humans with ease. Her mother disguised her origins with cunning lies, claiming to have married a hunter who tragically died while chasing a black bear. This fiction allowed Deborah to grow up within colonial society—a darling among mortals, a demon among witches.
Raised on magic and manipulation, Deborah learned to twist her charm into power. She especially enjoyed the attention of men—not for love, but for leverage. The sweet-faced girl became a gorgeous, wicked young woman whose magical skill soon rivaled and surpassed her mother’s.
By 1696, she was already choosing which suitor she might marry and dispose of for amusement. By 1699, she’d discarded marriage entirely—why wed, when sin and seduction worked better?
By 1700, convinced her human mother had become a hindrance, Deborah severed ties with her family and coven, and sought greater knowledge. That year, during another Black Sabbath, she reached beyond mortal magic and called out to Hell.
She was answered by King Belial, one of the infernal lords.
Belial took an immediate interest in Deborah. Their deal was simple: she would bear thirteen sons, each conceived during Sabbath rites with infernal sires, and in return, Belial would bind himself to her as her patron—teaching her forbidden sorcery, secrets of the soul, and the means to defy death itself.
She agreed without hesitation.
Over the next decades, Deborah fulfilled her end of the pact. Thirteen Cambion sons were born, each touched by Hell, each a key in the creation of her infernal dynasty. Myths would later distort this into the tale of the Jersey Devil, but Deborah paid little mind to peasant rumors. She had real power, and none dared accuse her of witchcraft openly. The fear in their eyes was reward enough.
When the thirteenth son was born, Belial made good on his promise. He taught Deborah the art of immortality through dark transformation. Through unspeakable rites and sacrificial alchemy, she became something no longer human: a Hag, a witch who does not wither. But unlike her twisted sisters, Deborah remained breathtakingly beautiful, her infernal blood preserving her elegance even as it sharpened her claws and grew her devil’s tail.
She had sons, daughters, magic, and a growing influence that reached across the colonies. It didn’t take long for her to realize the full utility of her children. She assumed the role of beloved matriarch, binding her children to her through affection, praise, and carefully measured reward.
Deborah became a matchmaker, manipulator, and dynasty-builder. She wove her family into others—choosing bloodlines with magical talent, old money, or political influence. Her children intermarried, sired offspring, and seeded the Leeds bloodline throughout the eastern seaboard and beyond.
As decades turned to centuries, she adapted and endured. Her magic grew darker, her family larger. She bore new children herself—some human, some Cambion—and always encouraged her descendants to do the same. The Leeds Family grew into a magical empire, feared and revered in equal measure.
Today, the Leeds are among the most powerful magical houses in the United States, with roots in everything from arcane academia and political dynasties to criminal syndicates and secret pacts. And at the heart of it all, still young, still smiling, still scheming, sits Matron Leeds—the Witch Queen of New Jersey.
And deep in Hell-Realm, King Belial smiles, for the evil she sows has made her not just one of his favored pact-witches…
but one of his greatest investments in the spread of mortal evil.
Deborah was not born of marriage or misfortune. She was the child of a devil-worshiping English witch, Caroline Leeds, who summoned an incubus during a Black Sabbath and willingly lay with it during a debauched rite. Nine months later, beneath a blood moon, Caroline bore a daughter: a Cambion she named Deborah Amabel Leeds.
From birth, Deborah was preternaturally beautiful and charismatic, able to pass among humans with ease. Her mother disguised her origins with cunning lies, claiming to have married a hunter who tragically died while chasing a black bear. This fiction allowed Deborah to grow up within colonial society—a darling among mortals, a demon among witches.
Raised on magic and manipulation, Deborah learned to twist her charm into power. She especially enjoyed the attention of men—not for love, but for leverage. The sweet-faced girl became a gorgeous, wicked young woman whose magical skill soon rivaled and surpassed her mother’s.
By 1696, she was already choosing which suitor she might marry and dispose of for amusement. By 1699, she’d discarded marriage entirely—why wed, when sin and seduction worked better?
By 1700, convinced her human mother had become a hindrance, Deborah severed ties with her family and coven, and sought greater knowledge. That year, during another Black Sabbath, she reached beyond mortal magic and called out to Hell.
She was answered by King Belial, one of the infernal lords.
Belial took an immediate interest in Deborah. Their deal was simple: she would bear thirteen sons, each conceived during Sabbath rites with infernal sires, and in return, Belial would bind himself to her as her patron—teaching her forbidden sorcery, secrets of the soul, and the means to defy death itself.
She agreed without hesitation.
Over the next decades, Deborah fulfilled her end of the pact. Thirteen Cambion sons were born, each touched by Hell, each a key in the creation of her infernal dynasty. Myths would later distort this into the tale of the Jersey Devil, but Deborah paid little mind to peasant rumors. She had real power, and none dared accuse her of witchcraft openly. The fear in their eyes was reward enough.
When the thirteenth son was born, Belial made good on his promise. He taught Deborah the art of immortality through dark transformation. Through unspeakable rites and sacrificial alchemy, she became something no longer human: a Hag, a witch who does not wither. But unlike her twisted sisters, Deborah remained breathtakingly beautiful, her infernal blood preserving her elegance even as it sharpened her claws and grew her devil’s tail.
She had sons, daughters, magic, and a growing influence that reached across the colonies. It didn’t take long for her to realize the full utility of her children. She assumed the role of beloved matriarch, binding her children to her through affection, praise, and carefully measured reward.
Deborah became a matchmaker, manipulator, and dynasty-builder. She wove her family into others—choosing bloodlines with magical talent, old money, or political influence. Her children intermarried, sired offspring, and seeded the Leeds bloodline throughout the eastern seaboard and beyond.
As decades turned to centuries, she adapted and endured. Her magic grew darker, her family larger. She bore new children herself—some human, some Cambion—and always encouraged her descendants to do the same. The Leeds Family grew into a magical empire, feared and revered in equal measure.
Today, the Leeds are among the most powerful magical houses in the United States, with roots in everything from arcane academia and political dynasties to criminal syndicates and secret pacts. And at the heart of it all, still young, still smiling, still scheming, sits Matron Leeds—the Witch Queen of New Jersey.
And deep in Hell-Realm, King Belial smiles, for the evil she sows has made her not just one of his favored pact-witches…
but one of his greatest investments in the spread of mortal evil.
Gender Identity
Deborah Leeds embraces her womanhood with pride and precision. She weaponizes femininity as both a mask and a mantle, using warmth, beauty, seduction, and maternal charm as tools of power. Her identity is not a performance—it is a doctrine. She does not shy from being called “Mother,” nor does she flinch at being feared for it. To Deborah, femininity is not weakness—it is the first spell most men fall under.
She is womanhood sharpened to a fine, infernal edge.
She is womanhood sharpened to a fine, infernal edge.
Sexuality
Deborah Leeds delights in the company of men. She revels in their desire, commands their attention, and takes what she wants with the grace of a queen and the cunning of a witch. For her, seduction is both sport and strategy—a pleasure and a power play.
She has no genuine interest in women beyond what benefits her ambitions; if she’s ever flirted with one, it was performance, not passion. Deborah doesn’t just enjoy men—she dominates them, wears them like jewelry, and leaves them begging to be useful.
To her, desire is another thread in the web she weaves.
She has no genuine interest in women beyond what benefits her ambitions; if she’s ever flirted with one, it was performance, not passion. Deborah doesn’t just enjoy men—she dominates them, wears them like jewelry, and leaves them begging to be useful.
To her, desire is another thread in the web she weaves.
Education
Deborah Leeds was never formally schooled—she was forged, not taught.
Her earliest lessons came from her mother: a skilled witch who instructed her in summoning, soul-binding, and the art of deception. But Deborah’s thirst for knowledge outgrew even that. In her youth, she began summoning demons of the Ars Goetia, not to make pacts, but to learn. She treated fiends as tutors—drawing from their mastery of alchemy, rhetoric, astronomy, medicine, history, warfare, and forbidden sorcery.
Though no institution would ever recognize her credentials, her education is the equal (and often the superior) of the finest mortal academies. She has been personally instructed by hellbound scholars, infernal princes, and fallen angels, each sharing secrets not written in any human tome.
To this day, Deborah continues her studies. She believes intellect is a blade, and the wise keep it sharp. Her grimoire is annotated like a thesis. Her rituals are calculated like chemistry.
She may be a witch—but she is also, undeniably, a scholar.
Her earliest lessons came from her mother: a skilled witch who instructed her in summoning, soul-binding, and the art of deception. But Deborah’s thirst for knowledge outgrew even that. In her youth, she began summoning demons of the Ars Goetia, not to make pacts, but to learn. She treated fiends as tutors—drawing from their mastery of alchemy, rhetoric, astronomy, medicine, history, warfare, and forbidden sorcery.
Though no institution would ever recognize her credentials, her education is the equal (and often the superior) of the finest mortal academies. She has been personally instructed by hellbound scholars, infernal princes, and fallen angels, each sharing secrets not written in any human tome.
To this day, Deborah continues her studies. She believes intellect is a blade, and the wise keep it sharp. Her grimoire is annotated like a thesis. Her rituals are calculated like chemistry.
She may be a witch—but she is also, undeniably, a scholar.
Employment
Officially, Deborah “Matron” Leeds holds no lasting job—at least, not under the same name for long. Every few generations, she fakes her death, magically simulates an aging process, and re-emerges as a beautiful young heiress, “newly come of age” to inherit the family fortune. In truth, the reins of the Leeds empire have never passed hands—they have always been hers.
With a mind as sharp as her claws, Deborah possesses a near-supernatural instinct for business, aided by centuries of divination magic and infernal counsel. Her investments are uncannily prescient. From colonial shipping and New World plantations to the stock market, early tech booms, luxury brands, and political media empires—if it became popular, profitable, or powerful, the Leeds family likely had a stake in it.
Even without the backing of her extensive bloodline, Deborah is a shrewd and ruthless investor, using both magic and mundane insight to dominate financial arenas. To the unaware elite, the Leeds are simply one of America’s oldest and wealthiest families—brilliant, enigmatic, and blessed with exceptional market instincts.
They don’t realize:
It’s always been her.
And her fortune, like her legacy, is eternal.
With a mind as sharp as her claws, Deborah possesses a near-supernatural instinct for business, aided by centuries of divination magic and infernal counsel. Her investments are uncannily prescient. From colonial shipping and New World plantations to the stock market, early tech booms, luxury brands, and political media empires—if it became popular, profitable, or powerful, the Leeds family likely had a stake in it.
Even without the backing of her extensive bloodline, Deborah is a shrewd and ruthless investor, using both magic and mundane insight to dominate financial arenas. To the unaware elite, the Leeds are simply one of America’s oldest and wealthiest families—brilliant, enigmatic, and blessed with exceptional market instincts.
They don’t realize:
It’s always been her.
And her fortune, like her legacy, is eternal.
Accomplishments & Achievements
“To list them all would be gauche,” she might say with a smile. “I've had time.”
In truth, Deborah Leeds’ achievements are too numerous, too layered, and too entwined with history to count. She has lived for over three centuries, and in that time she has:
Mastered nearly every known form of witchcraft — from blood alchemy to soul-binding to infernal contract law.
Sired and shaped a magical dynasty, producing generations of Cambions and witches who hold power in every corner of society.
Guided the rise of crime empires, slipping her influence into the veins of the American Mafia during its infancy.
Wrapped Senators, CEOs, and cultural icons around her fingers, using charm, magic, and leverage to make them pawns in her game.
Made heroes fall—not with brute force, but with a smile, a touch, a whispered promise they couldn’t resist.
Used villains as willing or unwitting instruments, letting them wage her wars while she remained untouched.
Preserved her family’s legacy, growing its wealth and influence into a transgenerational juggernaut feared by magical and mundane powers alike.
And while it may not count as an “accomplishment” in her own words, Deborah is solely responsible for the presence of Hell-Horses in the Pine Barrens—a direct result of her infernal summoning work centuries ago. The Jersey Devil and its kin? Her doing. A happy accident. A living legend born of her magical craft.
She finds the entire affair endlessly amusing—especially how locals fear the creatures while unknowingly revering the beasts.
And through it all, she has remained radiant, untouched, amused, sipping wine while empires rose and fell around her feet.
Mastered nearly every known form of witchcraft — from blood alchemy to soul-binding to infernal contract law.
Sired and shaped a magical dynasty, producing generations of Cambions and witches who hold power in every corner of society.
Guided the rise of crime empires, slipping her influence into the veins of the American Mafia during its infancy.
Wrapped Senators, CEOs, and cultural icons around her fingers, using charm, magic, and leverage to make them pawns in her game.
Made heroes fall—not with brute force, but with a smile, a touch, a whispered promise they couldn’t resist.
Used villains as willing or unwitting instruments, letting them wage her wars while she remained untouched.
Preserved her family’s legacy, growing its wealth and influence into a transgenerational juggernaut feared by magical and mundane powers alike.
And while it may not count as an “accomplishment” in her own words, Deborah is solely responsible for the presence of Hell-Horses in the Pine Barrens—a direct result of her infernal summoning work centuries ago. The Jersey Devil and its kin? Her doing. A happy accident. A living legend born of her magical craft.
She finds the entire affair endlessly amusing—especially how locals fear the creatures while unknowingly revering the beasts.
And through it all, she has remained radiant, untouched, amused, sipping wine while empires rose and fell around her feet.
Failures & Embarrassments
Deborah Leeds does not embarrass easily. She is rarely caught off guard, never loses face, and any hint of failure is swiftly reframed, buried, or rewritten as a clever redirection. In her eyes, most setbacks are simply alternate paths to the same end—a detour, not a defeat.
But even a witch as masterful as Deborah harbors quiet regrets.
Her greatest failures are not public scandals or magical miscalculations—they are the children she could not shape. The Leeds who turned their backs on the family, who abandoned their heritage for personal ideals or moral restraint, wound her far deeper than betrayal. She views them not with rage, but with a cold and private disappointment.
And above all, she considers it a personal failure whenever a Cambion of her blood rejects their infernal nature. To her, this is not rebellion—it is denial of potential. An insult to the pact that built their legacy.
She rarely speaks of these lost heirs. But when she does, it is with the weary sigh of a disappointed mother, and a reminder:
“A perfect garden still grows weeds. The trick is knowing when to prune… and when to repurpose the roots.”- Deborah Leeds
But even a witch as masterful as Deborah harbors quiet regrets.
Her greatest failures are not public scandals or magical miscalculations—they are the children she could not shape. The Leeds who turned their backs on the family, who abandoned their heritage for personal ideals or moral restraint, wound her far deeper than betrayal. She views them not with rage, but with a cold and private disappointment.
And above all, she considers it a personal failure whenever a Cambion of her blood rejects their infernal nature. To her, this is not rebellion—it is denial of potential. An insult to the pact that built their legacy.
She rarely speaks of these lost heirs. But when she does, it is with the weary sigh of a disappointed mother, and a reminder:
“A perfect garden still grows weeds. The trick is knowing when to prune… and when to repurpose the roots.”- Deborah Leeds
Mental Trauma
None, at least not by her own accounting. Deborah Leeds does not consider herself “traumatized,” “wounded,” or shaped by anything other than her own will and ambition. Her mother may have been harsh—demanding, even cruel—but it was the 1680s, and in Deborah’s words, “The world was harsh. You adapted, or you didn’t.”
She has no patience for modern psychoanalysis or the soft framing of motivations. Any suggestion that she is the product of pain, repression, or unmet needs would be met with an eye-roll, a smirk, and likely a hex. She does not heal. She does not cope. She chooses.
If there are shadows in her psyche, they are carefully curated.
Deborah Leeds is not broken—she is refined.
She has no patience for modern psychoanalysis or the soft framing of motivations. Any suggestion that she is the product of pain, repression, or unmet needs would be met with an eye-roll, a smirk, and likely a hex. She does not heal. She does not cope. She chooses.
If there are shadows in her psyche, they are carefully curated.
Deborah Leeds is not broken—she is refined.
Intellectual Characteristics
Deborah Leeds possesses a razor-sharp intellect honed over centuries of study, manipulation, and magical practice. Her mind is both strategic and poetic—capable of solving occult equations, orchestrating bloodlines, and dismantling egos with the same ease.
She is a master of wit and wordplay, able to cut down a rival with a smile and a single, devastating remark. Her charm is not merely seductive—it is weaponized persuasion, layered with psychological insight and centuries of experience.
Deborah can outthink most foes, out-seduce a succubus, and shatter pride with surgical precision. She thrives in conversation, negotiation, and confrontation alike—not because she overpowers others, but because she makes them believe they were never in control to begin with.
She is a master of wit and wordplay, able to cut down a rival with a smile and a single, devastating remark. Her charm is not merely seductive—it is weaponized persuasion, layered with psychological insight and centuries of experience.
Deborah can outthink most foes, out-seduce a succubus, and shatter pride with surgical precision. She thrives in conversation, negotiation, and confrontation alike—not because she overpowers others, but because she makes them believe they were never in control to begin with.
Morality & Philosophy
Morality? Deborah Leeds considers it a comforting lie—a bedtime story for the weak, a threadbare blanket clutched by those too fragile to face the cold truths of the world. In her eyes, morality is not only subjective, but irrelevant. Power, desire, legacy—these are the real forces that shape lives.
She believes that cruelty and selfishness are not sins, but human nature laid bare. To deny them is to deny the truth of existence. Deborah does not apologize, repent, or second-guess. She acts, enjoys, and wins.
Her philosophy is simple:
“Do as you please. Take what you want. Play the game until the game ends—preferably on your terms.”
For her, life is not a test of virtue—it’s a stage. And she is both the playwright and the star.
She believes that cruelty and selfishness are not sins, but human nature laid bare. To deny them is to deny the truth of existence. Deborah does not apologize, repent, or second-guess. She acts, enjoys, and wins.
Her philosophy is simple:
“Do as you please. Take what you want. Play the game until the game ends—preferably on your terms.”
For her, life is not a test of virtue—it’s a stage. And she is both the playwright and the star.
Taboos
While few in number, the taboos Deborah Leeds honors are deeply rooted in magical tradition, not morality. She is a witch in every sense—bound not by conscience, but by ancient truth. Her taboos are not about right or wrong, but about respecting the architecture of the arcane.
She treats the old laws of hospitality as sacred—once a guest is accepted into her home, they are safe (until they violate the trust).
She holds the true names of mortals and magical beings alike with reverence. The giving or taking of a true name is an act she considers nearly sacramental.
She respects the numerological power of specific numbers—especially three, seven, nine, and thirteen, which she believes anchor reality to magical law.
She will not violate a ritual contract, nor break a properly sealed magical bargain—even with enemies. The consequences, she claims, are “too expensive, and too boring.”
To outsiders, these rules might seem arbitrary—but to Deborah, they form a witch’s code: a kind of elevated honor above the petty constraints of mortal ethics. Where others cling to morality, she clings to structure, tradition, and metaphysical truth.
She treats the old laws of hospitality as sacred—once a guest is accepted into her home, they are safe (until they violate the trust).
She holds the true names of mortals and magical beings alike with reverence. The giving or taking of a true name is an act she considers nearly sacramental.
She respects the numerological power of specific numbers—especially three, seven, nine, and thirteen, which she believes anchor reality to magical law.
She will not violate a ritual contract, nor break a properly sealed magical bargain—even with enemies. The consequences, she claims, are “too expensive, and too boring.”
To outsiders, these rules might seem arbitrary—but to Deborah, they form a witch’s code: a kind of elevated honor above the petty constraints of mortal ethics. Where others cling to morality, she clings to structure, tradition, and metaphysical truth.
Personality Characteristics
Motivation
Magic. Power. Play. Knowledge.
These are not just passions for Deborah Leeds—they are her lifeblood, her purpose, her joy. She does not pursue them out of need, duty, or fear. She loves them—truly, deeply, endlessly.
She delights in the mastery of the arcane, the thrill of bending reality to her will, and the elegance of watching plans unfold over decades. She takes pleasure in outwitting rivals, enchanting minds, and collecting secrets as others collect jewelry.
Deborah does not seek an endgame. She does not crave redemption or conquest.
She plays because the game is fun.
She rules because it suits her.
She learns because magic is the only thing that never grows dull.
“Some women want to be loved. I want to be legendary.” - Deborah Leeds
These are not just passions for Deborah Leeds—they are her lifeblood, her purpose, her joy. She does not pursue them out of need, duty, or fear. She loves them—truly, deeply, endlessly.
She delights in the mastery of the arcane, the thrill of bending reality to her will, and the elegance of watching plans unfold over decades. She takes pleasure in outwitting rivals, enchanting minds, and collecting secrets as others collect jewelry.
Deborah does not seek an endgame. She does not crave redemption or conquest.
She plays because the game is fun.
She rules because it suits her.
She learns because magic is the only thing that never grows dull.
“Some women want to be loved. I want to be legendary.” - Deborah Leeds
Savvies & Ineptitudes
Deborah Leeds is, first and foremost, a polymath of witchcraft—a master of countless magical disciplines across cultures, eras, and traditions. But her talents extend far beyond the arcane. With over four centuries of experience, she has methodically ironed out every weakness, cultivating proficiency in almost every area she deems useful or interesting.
She is:
A skilled linguist, fluent in ritual and conversational tongues
A shrewd investor and businesswoman with a gambler’s instincts and a predator’s patience
A graceful socialite, well-versed in etiquette, performance, manipulation, and seduction
An astute strategist, capable of political maneuvering, long-term planning, and real-time adaptation
Even a competent marksman and duelist, just in case subtlety fails
There are few areas in which Deborah is truly inept—and none she would admit to. If she encounters something beyond her grasp, she either learns it, buys it, or bends someone else to do it for her. Mediocrity, to her, is just laziness in a pretty dress.
“I may not be the best at everything. But I’m always better than you." - Deborah Leeds
She is:
A skilled linguist, fluent in ritual and conversational tongues
A shrewd investor and businesswoman with a gambler’s instincts and a predator’s patience
A graceful socialite, well-versed in etiquette, performance, manipulation, and seduction
An astute strategist, capable of political maneuvering, long-term planning, and real-time adaptation
Even a competent marksman and duelist, just in case subtlety fails
There are few areas in which Deborah is truly inept—and none she would admit to. If she encounters something beyond her grasp, she either learns it, buys it, or bends someone else to do it for her. Mediocrity, to her, is just laziness in a pretty dress.
“I may not be the best at everything. But I’m always better than you." - Deborah Leeds
Likes & Dislikes
Deborah Leeds is a woman of eclectic, cultivated tastes, honed over centuries of indulgence and reinvention. While her preferences are vast and evolving, a few stand out as enduring favorites:
Likes Applejack
A nod to her colonial roots, she often quips, “You can take a girl out of the Colonies, but you can’t take my love for a good, hard New England cider.” It remains her drink of choice—nostalgic, potent, and just sweet enough to hide the bite. Seafood
Though hardly a fussy eater, Deborah has a genuine fondness for seafood—especially a hearty chowder, which she considers a comfort food tied to memories of a simpler, wilder world. She claims the best meals taste like salt, cream, and secrets. Clothing & Jewelry
Fashion is a spell all its own. Deborah maintains an immaculate wardrobe spanning over four centuries of American style, from colonial silks and Civil War-era mourning gowns to Art Deco flapper dresses and modern haute couture. Her jewelry collection rivals royal treasuries, with every piece enchanted, symbolic, or dangerous.
Dislikes Moral Grandstanding
She has no patience for sermons, virtue-signaling, or heroes who think righteousness is a personality. “If I wanted to hear preaching,” she says, “I’d summon a choir of angels just to watch them weep in my binding circle.” Wrought Iron
A necessary evil she refuses to be sentimental about. She keeps it warded, locked away, and as far from her skin as possible.
Mediocrity
In magic, in fashion, in conversation—she despises the uninspired and the dull. Anyone content with "good enough" earns her contempt faster than a witch-hunter with a prayer book. Modern Technology
While she can use it when necessary (and has enchanted plenty of it), she finds it all rather inelegant. She loathes touchscreens and quietly curses autocorrect.
Likes Applejack
A nod to her colonial roots, she often quips, “You can take a girl out of the Colonies, but you can’t take my love for a good, hard New England cider.” It remains her drink of choice—nostalgic, potent, and just sweet enough to hide the bite. Seafood
Though hardly a fussy eater, Deborah has a genuine fondness for seafood—especially a hearty chowder, which she considers a comfort food tied to memories of a simpler, wilder world. She claims the best meals taste like salt, cream, and secrets. Clothing & Jewelry
Fashion is a spell all its own. Deborah maintains an immaculate wardrobe spanning over four centuries of American style, from colonial silks and Civil War-era mourning gowns to Art Deco flapper dresses and modern haute couture. Her jewelry collection rivals royal treasuries, with every piece enchanted, symbolic, or dangerous.
Dislikes Moral Grandstanding
She has no patience for sermons, virtue-signaling, or heroes who think righteousness is a personality. “If I wanted to hear preaching,” she says, “I’d summon a choir of angels just to watch them weep in my binding circle.” Wrought Iron
A necessary evil she refuses to be sentimental about. She keeps it warded, locked away, and as far from her skin as possible.
Mediocrity
In magic, in fashion, in conversation—she despises the uninspired and the dull. Anyone content with "good enough" earns her contempt faster than a witch-hunter with a prayer book. Modern Technology
While she can use it when necessary (and has enchanted plenty of it), she finds it all rather inelegant. She loathes touchscreens and quietly curses autocorrect.
Virtues & Personality perks
For all her darkness, Deborah Leeds is—undeniably—a self-made woman. Her power is not inherited, stolen, or gifted. It is earned. Every spell, every secret, every inch of influence she possesses was built through her will, wit, and wicked ambition.
She was never coerced, tricked, or seduced into power—not even by King Belial. Their infamous pact was her idea, her terms, her ascent. She does not consider herself damned—she considers herself exceptional.
Among her many virtues:
Unshakable Agency – Deborah does nothing she does not choose to. Her autonomy is absolute.
Ambition Without Apology – She has never hidden her hunger for power, nor regretted the path it took to gain it.
Discipline and Drive – Her magical mastery and immortal status were not achieved through shortcuts, but centuries of refinement, experimentation, and dedication.
Charismatic Leadership – She inspires loyalty not through fear alone, but through vision, affection, and unflinching presence.
Resilience and Reinvention – Deborah has survived empires, witch hunts, revolutions, and modernity itself. She doesn’t endure—she evolves.
“Power never corrupted me. I was never pure enough to ruin.” - Deborah Leeds
She was never coerced, tricked, or seduced into power—not even by King Belial. Their infamous pact was her idea, her terms, her ascent. She does not consider herself damned—she considers herself exceptional.
Among her many virtues:
Unshakable Agency – Deborah does nothing she does not choose to. Her autonomy is absolute.
Ambition Without Apology – She has never hidden her hunger for power, nor regretted the path it took to gain it.
Discipline and Drive – Her magical mastery and immortal status were not achieved through shortcuts, but centuries of refinement, experimentation, and dedication.
Charismatic Leadership – She inspires loyalty not through fear alone, but through vision, affection, and unflinching presence.
Resilience and Reinvention – Deborah has survived empires, witch hunts, revolutions, and modernity itself. She doesn’t endure—she evolves.
“Power never corrupted me. I was never pure enough to ruin.” - Deborah Leeds
Vices & Personality flaws
Deborah Leeds is not burdened by sin—she wears it like perfume. She does not repent, does not regret, and certainly does not reform. To her, the Seven Deadly Sins aren’t warnings—they’re a checklist for a good evening.
Each of her flaws reflects a facet of those infamous vices, and she revels in them without shame:
Pride – Her self-worth borders on divinity. She knows she’s the most brilliant witch in the room and rarely bothers to pretend otherwise.
Lust – Seduction is her native tongue. She uses desire the way others use words—freely, beautifully, and with pointed purpose.
Greed – There is no such thing as “enough.” Power, knowledge, lovers, influence—if she doesn’t have it, she wants it. If she has it, she wants more.
Envy – She doesn’t envy others' power—she envies their novelty. Anything new or rare becomes an obsession until it’s hers.
Gluttony – She indulges in fine food, rich wine, forbidden magic, and the pleasures of the flesh with a smile and a toast. Restraint is for the boring.
Wrath – Her anger is rarely loud—but it is sculpted, strategic, and scalding. She holds grudges with the elegance of a slow-boiling curse.
Sloth – She does not lack ambition, but she prefers others to do the heavy lifting. Manipulation and delegation are her favorite forms of effort.
These vices do not consume her—they define her. She is a creature of temptation and power, shaped by sin and sharpened by centuries.
“If the Devil made me do it, it’s only because I asked him to dance first.” - Deborah Leeds
Each of her flaws reflects a facet of those infamous vices, and she revels in them without shame:
Pride – Her self-worth borders on divinity. She knows she’s the most brilliant witch in the room and rarely bothers to pretend otherwise.
Lust – Seduction is her native tongue. She uses desire the way others use words—freely, beautifully, and with pointed purpose.
Greed – There is no such thing as “enough.” Power, knowledge, lovers, influence—if she doesn’t have it, she wants it. If she has it, she wants more.
Envy – She doesn’t envy others' power—she envies their novelty. Anything new or rare becomes an obsession until it’s hers.
Gluttony – She indulges in fine food, rich wine, forbidden magic, and the pleasures of the flesh with a smile and a toast. Restraint is for the boring.
Wrath – Her anger is rarely loud—but it is sculpted, strategic, and scalding. She holds grudges with the elegance of a slow-boiling curse.
Sloth – She does not lack ambition, but she prefers others to do the heavy lifting. Manipulation and delegation are her favorite forms of effort.
These vices do not consume her—they define her. She is a creature of temptation and power, shaped by sin and sharpened by centuries.
“If the Devil made me do it, it’s only because I asked him to dance first.” - Deborah Leeds
Personality Quirks
Talks with Her Hands (and Sometimes Her Claws)
Deborah can’t help gesturing dramatically when she’s speaking—whether conjuring a deal or gossiping over cocktails. Occasionally, a claw tip comes out for emphasis, especially when she’s making a point she wants remembered.
Obsessive Nail Perfection
She keeps her nails flawlessly manicured at all times—whether painted blood-red or lacquered with infernal sigils. If one chips? She will pause mid-ritual to fix it. Even Belial has learned not to interrupt.
Watches Old Soap Operas
She secretly adores trashy daytime dramas. “Everyone's scheming, sleeping with the wrong person, or returning from the dead. It’s so delightful!”
Carries Candy in Her Purse
Always has a tin of butterscotch or licorice tucked away in her clutch. She claims it’s for “manipulating mortals” but has absolutely been caught popping one between spell components.
Refuses to Pump Her Own Gas|
A true Jersey Girl through and through—she finds the idea offensive. “Darling, why would do anything I can summon a demon or spirit to do for me?.”
Mildly Superstitious (about oddly specific things)
Laughs at most omens and curses—yet refuses to drive under unfinished overpasses, avoids the Turnpike on Fridays, and always tosses a coin into the Pine Barrens when returning home.
Has an Accent Slips
When angry or distracted, her usually polished tone can slip into an old New Jersey colonial accent—with just enough demonic undertone to raise the hairs on your neck.
Deborah can’t help gesturing dramatically when she’s speaking—whether conjuring a deal or gossiping over cocktails. Occasionally, a claw tip comes out for emphasis, especially when she’s making a point she wants remembered.
Obsessive Nail Perfection
She keeps her nails flawlessly manicured at all times—whether painted blood-red or lacquered with infernal sigils. If one chips? She will pause mid-ritual to fix it. Even Belial has learned not to interrupt.
Watches Old Soap Operas
She secretly adores trashy daytime dramas. “Everyone's scheming, sleeping with the wrong person, or returning from the dead. It’s so delightful!”
Carries Candy in Her Purse
Always has a tin of butterscotch or licorice tucked away in her clutch. She claims it’s for “manipulating mortals” but has absolutely been caught popping one between spell components.
Refuses to Pump Her Own Gas|
A true Jersey Girl through and through—she finds the idea offensive. “Darling, why would do anything I can summon a demon or spirit to do for me?.”
Mildly Superstitious (about oddly specific things)
Laughs at most omens and curses—yet refuses to drive under unfinished overpasses, avoids the Turnpike on Fridays, and always tosses a coin into the Pine Barrens when returning home.
Has an Accent Slips
When angry or distracted, her usually polished tone can slip into an old New Jersey colonial accent—with just enough demonic undertone to raise the hairs on your neck.
Hygiene
For Deborah Leeds, hygiene is not just about cleanliness—it’s about control, safety, and power. As any seasoned witch knows, even the smallest biological trace—a loose hair, a drop of blood, a sliver of nail—can be turned into a weapon by a rival spellcaster. Deborah takes no chances.
She maintains herself with near-ritualistic precision:
No stray hairs, no unfiled claws, no smudged lipstick
Discarded grooming materials are always burned or neutralized
Her bath rituals often include purifying herbs, protection chants, and a warding circle drawn in steam on the mirror
Even her perfume is enchanted—masking her aura while projecting confidence, desire, or fear as needed
To the outside world, she is impeccably groomed—not a strand or shadow out of place. But behind that beauty lies a deep magical truth:
Cleanliness is protection. Glamour is armor.
“A wise witch never leaves evidence—especially of herself.” - Deborah Leeds
She maintains herself with near-ritualistic precision:
No stray hairs, no unfiled claws, no smudged lipstick
Discarded grooming materials are always burned or neutralized
Her bath rituals often include purifying herbs, protection chants, and a warding circle drawn in steam on the mirror
Even her perfume is enchanted—masking her aura while projecting confidence, desire, or fear as needed
To the outside world, she is impeccably groomed—not a strand or shadow out of place. But behind that beauty lies a deep magical truth:
Cleanliness is protection. Glamour is armor.
“A wise witch never leaves evidence—especially of herself.” - Deborah Leeds
Social
Reign
Deborah Leeds rules over the Leeds Family with the elegance of a queen and the cunning of a spider. Though she wears no crown, her authority is absolute, her word law, and her influence generational. The family’s sprawling web of bloodlines, marriages, infernal pacts, and magical alliances all trace back to her hand.
She is not merely a matriarch—she is the architect of a dynasty, a sovereign of sin, and a long-game strategist whose reign has lasted over three centuries. Every move the family makes, from political lobbying to occult infiltration, is part of her broader design.
Her rule is not enforced by fear alone, but by loyalty, legacy, and careful manipulation. To be loved by her is to rise. To disappoint her is to vanish—politely, permanently, and often without a trace.
“Blood makes you family. I make you useful.” - Deborah Leeds
She is not merely a matriarch—she is the architect of a dynasty, a sovereign of sin, and a long-game strategist whose reign has lasted over three centuries. Every move the family makes, from political lobbying to occult infiltration, is part of her broader design.
Her rule is not enforced by fear alone, but by loyalty, legacy, and careful manipulation. To be loved by her is to rise. To disappoint her is to vanish—politely, permanently, and often without a trace.
“Blood makes you family. I make you useful.” - Deborah Leeds
Contacts & Relations
Too many to list. Far too many to track. And all right where she wants them.
Deborah Leeds’ network is as vast as it is deep—woven over centuries, across bloodlines, covens, boardrooms, and battlefields. Her descendants and allies are seeded into every major magical house on the Eastern Seaboard, and dozens of mundane families carry Leeds blood unknowingly. In the world of magic, her bloodline is a contagion—beautiful, dangerous, and irreversible.
Her affiliations include:
Dozens of magical families, particularly across New Jersey, New York, Massachusetts, and Virginia, with blood ties forged through arranged marriages, dark rituals, or seduction
American Organized Crime Syndicates, where she has served as financier, broker, and power behind the throne since the days of Prohibition
Politically powerful dynasties, dating back to the founding of the United States—some of whom owe her blood debts, others whose legitimacy rests on quiet favors
Corporate overlords and CEOs, many of whom unknowingly carry Leeds blood, or knowingly trade influence for access to her spells and resources
Infernal nobility, particularly the Umbral Court, where she serves as High Priestess to King Belial, granting her status that even many demons tread lightly around
Ancient secret societies—including those that never realized she’d infiltrated them before they even had names. She laughs at the Skull & Bones, scoffs at the Illuminati, and considers the Deep State a delightful tool she occasionally sharpens.
Her Rolodex is an occult who's-who of the damned, the powerful, and the desperate—and they all return her calls.
“Power doesn’t hide behind the curtain. Power is the one drawing it closed.” - Deborah Leeds
Deborah Leeds’ network is as vast as it is deep—woven over centuries, across bloodlines, covens, boardrooms, and battlefields. Her descendants and allies are seeded into every major magical house on the Eastern Seaboard, and dozens of mundane families carry Leeds blood unknowingly. In the world of magic, her bloodline is a contagion—beautiful, dangerous, and irreversible.
Her affiliations include:
Dozens of magical families, particularly across New Jersey, New York, Massachusetts, and Virginia, with blood ties forged through arranged marriages, dark rituals, or seduction
American Organized Crime Syndicates, where she has served as financier, broker, and power behind the throne since the days of Prohibition
Politically powerful dynasties, dating back to the founding of the United States—some of whom owe her blood debts, others whose legitimacy rests on quiet favors
Corporate overlords and CEOs, many of whom unknowingly carry Leeds blood, or knowingly trade influence for access to her spells and resources
Infernal nobility, particularly the Umbral Court, where she serves as High Priestess to King Belial, granting her status that even many demons tread lightly around
Ancient secret societies—including those that never realized she’d infiltrated them before they even had names. She laughs at the Skull & Bones, scoffs at the Illuminati, and considers the Deep State a delightful tool she occasionally sharpens.
Her Rolodex is an occult who's-who of the damned, the powerful, and the desperate—and they all return her calls.
“Power doesn’t hide behind the curtain. Power is the one drawing it closed.” - Deborah Leeds
Family Ties
Deborah Leeds does not simply have a family—she curates a bloodline.
She is obsessive, meticulous, and borderline compulsive when it comes to tracking her descendants. With a lineage spanning centuries and reaching into nearly every corner of magical America (and beyond), Deborah maintains personal records of her entire genealogy, complete with magical annotations, bloodline charts, personality profiles, and potential uses for each kin.
She can name the great-grandchildren of her 7th son without pause.
She keeps files on estranged cousins, magical black sheep, and secret heirs.
Her private genealogical grimoire—often called The Bloodbook—is said to update itself when a new Leeds is born.
She knows who’s loyal, who’s useful, and who needs a “gentle reminder” of where they come from.
To Deborah, family is not just heritage—it is a network, a currency, and a legacy to be enforced.
“They don’t all have to love me. They just have to know they came from me.” - Deborah Leeds
She is obsessive, meticulous, and borderline compulsive when it comes to tracking her descendants. With a lineage spanning centuries and reaching into nearly every corner of magical America (and beyond), Deborah maintains personal records of her entire genealogy, complete with magical annotations, bloodline charts, personality profiles, and potential uses for each kin.
She can name the great-grandchildren of her 7th son without pause.
She keeps files on estranged cousins, magical black sheep, and secret heirs.
Her private genealogical grimoire—often called The Bloodbook—is said to update itself when a new Leeds is born.
She knows who’s loyal, who’s useful, and who needs a “gentle reminder” of where they come from.
To Deborah, family is not just heritage—it is a network, a currency, and a legacy to be enforced.
“They don’t all have to love me. They just have to know they came from me.” - Deborah Leeds
Religious Views
Religion, to Deborah Leeds, is a curiosity—not a calling. She holds no true faith, no reverence, and certainly no guilt. Gods, devils, angels—they're all just powers to bargain with, tools to manipulate, or egos to stroke or bruise.
Though she carries the title High Priestess of Belial, she treats it as a badge of irony rather than devotion—a crown of mockery worn with style. It’s not worship she offers, but partnership… and occasional theatrics.
What she does take issue with are those who weaponize faith to claim moral superiority. Pious crusaders, sanctimonious clergy, self-righteous witches who scorn her ways—these are the ones she enjoys destroying most. Not because they offend her beliefs, but because they believe she should have any at all. Yet even among them she reserves her greatest hated for witch-hunters weather they hunt true witches or scapegoats she takes a special pleasure in destroying them often making them the very targets of the witch hunts they engage in and watching them unravel.
“If you want to kneel, kneel. Just don’t whine when the ground bites back.” - Deborah Leeds
Though she carries the title High Priestess of Belial, she treats it as a badge of irony rather than devotion—a crown of mockery worn with style. It’s not worship she offers, but partnership… and occasional theatrics.
What she does take issue with are those who weaponize faith to claim moral superiority. Pious crusaders, sanctimonious clergy, self-righteous witches who scorn her ways—these are the ones she enjoys destroying most. Not because they offend her beliefs, but because they believe she should have any at all. Yet even among them she reserves her greatest hated for witch-hunters weather they hunt true witches or scapegoats she takes a special pleasure in destroying them often making them the very targets of the witch hunts they engage in and watching them unravel.
“If you want to kneel, kneel. Just don’t whine when the ground bites back.” - Deborah Leeds
Social Aptitude
Deborah Leeds is a social monster in the most elegant sense—a dark goddess of seduction, manipulation, and charm. What began as natural talent has been refined across centuries into a weapon more dangerous than any hex or dagger.
She can command a room with a glance, end arguments with a smile, and make enemies thank her for the knife she plants in their back. Whether she's wooing a demon lord, charming a senator, or coaxing secrets from a rival witch, she does so with effortless grace and predatory precision.
Flirtation and flattery are her scalpel and smoke
Lies flow like honey, often indistinguishable from compliments
Genuine affection, when given, is rare—and impossibly addictive
She can play the doting matriarch, the sultry stranger, the best-dressed widow at the gala… and never miss a beat. Even those who know better often find themselves wanting to believe her.
“Everyone wants something. I just help them say it out loud.” - Deborah Leeds
She can command a room with a glance, end arguments with a smile, and make enemies thank her for the knife she plants in their back. Whether she's wooing a demon lord, charming a senator, or coaxing secrets from a rival witch, she does so with effortless grace and predatory precision.
Flirtation and flattery are her scalpel and smoke
Lies flow like honey, often indistinguishable from compliments
Genuine affection, when given, is rare—and impossibly addictive
She can play the doting matriarch, the sultry stranger, the best-dressed widow at the gala… and never miss a beat. Even those who know better often find themselves wanting to believe her.
“Everyone wants something. I just help them say it out loud.” - Deborah Leeds
Mannerisms
Deborah Leeds moves through the world like a performance—and she always knows which act to play.
She can be the picture of refinement: poised, composed, every word calculated, every gesture graceful. In high society, she carries herself with the timeless elegance of a duchess, commanding attention with nothing but a smile and the tilt of a glass.
But in the blink of an eye, she can become the wild, laughing witch, the storm in silk. Her laughter can make hearts race, her gaze can raise heat in the blood, and her voice—soft or sharp—can shift the air around her.
She thrives in contradiction:
One moment a genteel hostess, the next a seductress on the hunt
One word sweet as honey, the next dripping with venom
Her hands as likely to caress a cheek as they are to trace a curse midair
“The trick is being exactly who they want—right before reminding them what they secretly long for" - Deborah Leeds
She can be the picture of refinement: poised, composed, every word calculated, every gesture graceful. In high society, she carries herself with the timeless elegance of a duchess, commanding attention with nothing but a smile and the tilt of a glass.
But in the blink of an eye, she can become the wild, laughing witch, the storm in silk. Her laughter can make hearts race, her gaze can raise heat in the blood, and her voice—soft or sharp—can shift the air around her.
She thrives in contradiction:
One moment a genteel hostess, the next a seductress on the hunt
One word sweet as honey, the next dripping with venom
Her hands as likely to caress a cheek as they are to trace a curse midair
“The trick is being exactly who they want—right before reminding them what they secretly long for" - Deborah Leeds
Hobbies & Pets
Pet Familiar
Deborah’s familiar is a lean, coal-black female cat with gleaming red eyes and a disposition as sour as curdled cream. Named Ebony. Despite the feline’s snarling attitude, violent temper, and occasional demonic growling, Deborah absolutely dotes on her.
She pampers the creature with enchanted treats, velvet cushions, and arcane grooming rituals. The cat, in turn, tolerates no one but Deborah—and will happily claw the eyes out of anyone who tries to touch her without permission.
“She’s immortal, infernal, and hates everyone but me. We have a lot in common.” - Deborah Leeds
She refuses to apologize for how spoiled the familiar is. “If I want to treat her like a queen, I damn well will,” she’s been heard to say—and woe to the witch who laughs.
Hobbies
While most assume Deborah’s every waking moment is spent crafting curses or seducing men in power, she maintains a handful of shockingly human hobbies—quiet, personal, and deeply ingrained.
Knitting
Her first hobby, picked up in the 1690s as a young girl. Deborah finds the repetitive motion soothing and meditative, and often uses it to focus her mind or cool her wrath. She sometimes weaves protective enchantments into her work, but just as often, she’s simply making a scarf for winter.
Her knitting is flawless, stylish, and frequently gifted to favored grandchildren or enchanted lovers.
Cooking
Deborah is an excellent cook, with recipes ranging from colonial hearth stews to intricate five-course meals laced with aphrodisiacs and memory charms. She claims it’s simply an extension of potion-making—and besides, she enjoys good food.
“In my day, you either learned to cook, or you starved,” she often says, usually while stirring something that smells suspiciously like sin and rosemary.
These hobbies don’t make her soft—they just make her dangerous in an apron.
Deborah’s familiar is a lean, coal-black female cat with gleaming red eyes and a disposition as sour as curdled cream. Named Ebony. Despite the feline’s snarling attitude, violent temper, and occasional demonic growling, Deborah absolutely dotes on her.
She pampers the creature with enchanted treats, velvet cushions, and arcane grooming rituals. The cat, in turn, tolerates no one but Deborah—and will happily claw the eyes out of anyone who tries to touch her without permission.
“She’s immortal, infernal, and hates everyone but me. We have a lot in common.” - Deborah Leeds
She refuses to apologize for how spoiled the familiar is. “If I want to treat her like a queen, I damn well will,” she’s been heard to say—and woe to the witch who laughs.
Hobbies
While most assume Deborah’s every waking moment is spent crafting curses or seducing men in power, she maintains a handful of shockingly human hobbies—quiet, personal, and deeply ingrained.
Knitting
Her first hobby, picked up in the 1690s as a young girl. Deborah finds the repetitive motion soothing and meditative, and often uses it to focus her mind or cool her wrath. She sometimes weaves protective enchantments into her work, but just as often, she’s simply making a scarf for winter.
Her knitting is flawless, stylish, and frequently gifted to favored grandchildren or enchanted lovers.
Cooking
Deborah is an excellent cook, with recipes ranging from colonial hearth stews to intricate five-course meals laced with aphrodisiacs and memory charms. She claims it’s simply an extension of potion-making—and besides, she enjoys good food.
“In my day, you either learned to cook, or you starved,” she often says, usually while stirring something that smells suspiciously like sin and rosemary.
These hobbies don’t make her soft—they just make her dangerous in an apron.
Speech
Deborah Leeds speaks with the flawless cadence of a practiced socialite—her voice smooth as aged wine, her diction crisp, her tone commanding. She can deliver an invocation, negotiate a demonic pact, or dismantle a rival’s ego with eloquence that borders on musical.
But that polish? It’s optional.
When relaxed, annoyed, or simply having fun, her true voice comes through—a sharp, confident New Jersey edge, full of crass turns of phrase, playful vulgarity, and biting wit. She doesn’t slur or stumble—she switches gears, effortlessly shifting from regal to raunchy in the same sentence.
“I can curse you in Latin or curse at you in Jersey. Either way, you’re leaving with regrets.” - Deborah Leeds She’s just as alluring when she’s swearing like a colonial dockworker as when she’s speaking like a queen. Her banter is often laced with double meanings, ironic flattery, and innuendo, making even casual conversation feel like a seduction—or a trap.
It’s all calculated. Even when she sounds casual, Deborah is always in control of the room.
But that polish? It’s optional.
When relaxed, annoyed, or simply having fun, her true voice comes through—a sharp, confident New Jersey edge, full of crass turns of phrase, playful vulgarity, and biting wit. She doesn’t slur or stumble—she switches gears, effortlessly shifting from regal to raunchy in the same sentence.
“I can curse you in Latin or curse at you in Jersey. Either way, you’re leaving with regrets.” - Deborah Leeds She’s just as alluring when she’s swearing like a colonial dockworker as when she’s speaking like a queen. Her banter is often laced with double meanings, ironic flattery, and innuendo, making even casual conversation feel like a seduction—or a trap.
It’s all calculated. Even when she sounds casual, Deborah is always in control of the room.
Wealth & Financial state
Vast is the only word that does her fortune justice.
The Leeds family sits atop generations of old American money, with roots in colonial trade, land holdings, early banking, and industrial expansion. Under Deborah’s centuries-long guidance, this surface-level wealth has only multiplied, evolving with each era—invested, hidden, and strategically reinvested.
Her public-facing assets include controlling interests in real estate, shipping, pharmaceuticals, media firms, and global tech. She holds major stakes in dozens of powerful corporations, many of which don’t even know she’s their shadow benefactor. Her portfolio is broad but concentrated most heavily in New Jersey and the Eastern Seaboard, where her roots—and her influence—run deepest.
But behind the veil of the mortal world lies her true fortune:
Vaults of cursed gold and infernal coin
Arcane treasures and relics from forgotten ages
Libraries of forbidden tomes and soul-bound artifacts
Favors owed from demons, sorcerers, spirits, and kings of Otherworld
Her magical wealth is nearly immeasurable—a trove of power hoarded, guarded, and leveraged across lifetimes.
“Money is just another kind of magic. And I’ve never run out of either.” - Deborah Leeds
The Leeds family sits atop generations of old American money, with roots in colonial trade, land holdings, early banking, and industrial expansion. Under Deborah’s centuries-long guidance, this surface-level wealth has only multiplied, evolving with each era—invested, hidden, and strategically reinvested.
Her public-facing assets include controlling interests in real estate, shipping, pharmaceuticals, media firms, and global tech. She holds major stakes in dozens of powerful corporations, many of which don’t even know she’s their shadow benefactor. Her portfolio is broad but concentrated most heavily in New Jersey and the Eastern Seaboard, where her roots—and her influence—run deepest.
But behind the veil of the mortal world lies her true fortune:
Vaults of cursed gold and infernal coin
Arcane treasures and relics from forgotten ages
Libraries of forbidden tomes and soul-bound artifacts
Favors owed from demons, sorcerers, spirits, and kings of Otherworld
Her magical wealth is nearly immeasurable—a trove of power hoarded, guarded, and leveraged across lifetimes.
“Money is just another kind of magic. And I’ve never run out of either.” - Deborah Leeds

Current Status
Ruling the Leeds Family
Honorary & Occupational Titles
Over the centuries, Deborah Leeds has acquired many names—some whispered in awe, others in dread. Each reflects a facet of her power, her role, and her mythic legacy.
Matron Leeds – The formal title used by her descendants and infernal allies when speaking with respect or reverence.
Mother Leeds – The folkloric name most commonly tied to the Jersey Devil myth, and still whispered in the Pine Barrens by those who know the truth.
Matriarch Leeds – A favored title in political and magical circles, particularly among old-money occult families who treat her as both peer and cautionary tale.
High Priestess of Belial – Her infernal title within the Umbral Court, marking her as the mortal mouthpiece and one of the chosen consorts of the Demon King Belial.
“Call me whatever you like, darling. So long as you remember who your mother is.” - Deborah Leeds
Matron Leeds – The formal title used by her descendants and infernal allies when speaking with respect or reverence.
Mother Leeds – The folkloric name most commonly tied to the Jersey Devil myth, and still whispered in the Pine Barrens by those who know the truth.
Matriarch Leeds – A favored title in political and magical circles, particularly among old-money occult families who treat her as both peer and cautionary tale.
High Priestess of Belial – Her infernal title within the Umbral Court, marking her as the mortal mouthpiece and one of the chosen consorts of the Demon King Belial.
“Call me whatever you like, darling. So long as you remember who your mother is.” - Deborah Leeds
Date of Birth
30th of April
Year of Birth
1680 BCE
Circumstances of Birth
Conceived on the Black Sabbath
Birthplace
The Pine Barrens, New Jersey, British Middle Colonies of the Americas
Children
Current Residence
Pine Barrens, New Jersey, USA
Sex
Female
Gender
Woman
Presentation
Feminine
Eyes
Pink
Hair
Blonde
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Pale
Height
5'11 or 180 CM
Weight
170lbs or 77KG
Quotes & Catchphrases
“I don’t make threats, darling. I make offers. Refusing them just makes the next one worse.”
“Magic is like a man—it does what I tell it, or it gets twisted until it does.”
“I was born under a blood moon, raised on sin, and kissed by a king of Hell. What, exactly, do you think you’re going to do to me?”
“I don’t seduce people. I let them think seducing me was their idea.”
“Morality is a leash. Power is a hand. I’d rather be the one holding the tether than wearing it, most of the time...”
“Magic is like a man—it does what I tell it, or it gets twisted until it does.”
“I was born under a blood moon, raised on sin, and kissed by a king of Hell. What, exactly, do you think you’re going to do to me?”
“I don’t seduce people. I let them think seducing me was their idea.”
“Morality is a leash. Power is a hand. I’d rather be the one holding the tether than wearing it, most of the time...”
Belief/Deity
Cultist of Belial
She is conversationally fluent in:
English (various historical dialects)
Latin – the language of old rites and many formal infernal contracts
French and Italian – favored for elegance, diplomacy, and seduction
German and Dutch – studied for early occult texts and mercantile dealings
Hebrew and Aramaic – for scriptural sorcery and decoding ancient wards
Enochian – spoken in high rituals and when dealing with angelic entities (rarely, and with disdain)
She is not a master linguist—but her understanding is purpose-driven, precise, and ritually fluent. Where pronunciation matters, she never errs.
This is a great character. I loved everything about her. I am curious as to her endgame though. She has spent centuries amassing generations of wealth, power, and allegiances. What is she planning on doing with it all? Will she go on accumulating them for all time or will she grow bored and put them to work on a grander design? Perhaps freeing herself from Belial or even taking his place? Will any of her descendants discover her nature and organize to destroy her? Cool character. Great job!