Requiem

Background:   Serafina Vortella was born in the shadows of New York City, raised in a world that never felt quite real to her. From a young age, she felt disconnected from others, as if separated by an invisible barrier. She was drawn to darker themes, stories of vampires and succubi, finding a strange resonance with these figures, a sense of belonging in the realm of the night. Even as a child, emotions were not just concepts but flavors, energies she could taste and drink. She didn’t understand why people seemed so shallow and empty, why their emotions burned bright and then faded—until she realized she was the one draining them.   At first, it was subtle. She would steal the happiness from other children without meaning to, leaving them listless, depressed, broken. One afternoon, during a seemingly innocent game of tag, she shared a moment of joyous laughter with another child. Suddenly, the laughter faded, replaced by a look of emptiness, a hollowness in the child's eyes. Serafina felt a strange surge of energy, a warmth spreading through her veins, while the other child seemed to deflate, their joy inexplicably gone. Her parents assumed she had a gift for understanding people, never realizing that their most intimate moments—joy, pain, fear—were being siphoned away.   As she grew older, she learned how to take more. A touch, a conversation, a kiss—each one a banquet of emotions, each stolen feeling filling the void inside her. But like any addiction, it was never enough. The more she fed, the more she needed. She began to experience withdrawal symptoms when she didn't feed, a gnawing emptiness, a craving for emotional sustenance that made her irritable and desperate.   She discovered that the best meals were those she orchestrated herself. Whispered words, cruel teases, manipulative lies—she became a gothic succubus, drawing people in with dark allure, playing with their emotions until they boiled over, and then drinking deeply from the wreckage.   By the time she was a teenager, people avoided her instinctively. Her presence made people feel drained, uneasy, or obsessed. Some were entranced, unable to pull away, while others felt the cold hand of emptiness at their backs, warning them to run.   When the Psionic Syndicate found her, she had already left a trail of emotionally hollowed-out people in her wake. They offered her a place where she wouldn’t have to hide her nature—a place where she could refine it, control it, and become something even more monstrous.   At the Secret School for Superior Students, she is both feared and desired. Other students know that getting too close to her means losing something vital, yet some can't help but be drawn in anyway.   She is not interested in loyalty, not interested in friendship. To her, the school is a buffet of emotions, and she intends to feast forever.   Personality:   Requiem is a dirge given flesh—a walking elegy of sorrow, indulgence, and destruction. She plays the role of the apathetic goth, but beneath her detached exterior is a never-ending hunger, a craving for the rawest, most intoxicating emotions. This persona is a mask she wears to distance herself from others, a way of attracting her "prey," playing into their fascination with the dark and mysterious.   When well-fed, she is smug, playful, teasing, and indulgent—a creature of leisure, excess, and decadence. She toys with her prey, seducing and gaslighting them just to get a better meal.   When starving, she is erratic, moody, unpredictable, and self-destructive. She lashes out, desperate to feel something, anything—even if it means tearing someone apart just to taste their fear.   She doesn’t believe in love, trust, or genuine connection—to her, these are just illusions people create to justify their emotions. She has no real friends, only sources of nourishment. She craves connection, even as she pushes others away. She fears intimacy, convinced that it will only lead to vulnerability and ultimately, pain and betrayal.   She enjoys breaking people, watching them wither under her touch, seeing their joy rot into despair. But deep down, in the part of herself she never admits exists, she wonders: if she consumes enough love, enough happiness, will she finally feel it herself? Her hunger is not just physical or emotional, but spiritual, a void that can never be truly filled.