Beatrix's confirmation is hard to decipher, though it might be closest to that of a Shagya Arab. Born as something far more ancient than most equines, Beatrix is surprisingly refined and elegant despite her age and her beginnings. A finely carved head that is delicate, beautiful, yet strong, sits atop a sleek curved nape and slopes into narrow shoulders. Lean muscle covers Beatrix's lithe yet hardy frame; it is clear that the mare is built for speed rather than strength. Legs that are long and lean carry her across the land, allowing her grace and speed that seems almost supernatural. Beatrix's svelte frame boasts of feminine curves to entice one's senses, should they be allowed close enough to enjoy them.

Her tresses are long, silken, and fall in heavy waves of a lovely copper hue that curl at the ends. Her mane falls past her shoulders nearly to her knees, with a tail of unequal measure; the locks of her tail fall thick and long, dragging behind her as she walks yet somehow remains pristine. Her forelock falls stubborn across her face in a rather enticing manner while her heavy mane free falls like a waterfall down her shoulders. Single braids are dispersed seemingly without a pattern in her tail, held together by smaller golden clasps. A coat of soft, rosy perlino drapes her lovely curves. Her pearl coat bears naught a blemish save for marks of brilliant gold upon her face: from the center of her forehead, to around and under each eye, down the center of her skull to a gold-tipped muzzle. The tips of her ears are molten gold and the largest feathers of her wings bear golden accents. No doubt there are other markings of gold, but they remain hidden underneath either hair or clothing. Somehow despite the passage of time, the beautiful lady has remained unmarred by scars or any other discoloration.

The mare's eyes are a set of bright, yet cold orbs of a lovely shade of gold. As if two coins embedded into her skull, they are glittering and captivating, yet calculating and often hold a penetrating gaze. Her eyes lack the warmth one might expect of her coloring. They are guarded but enthralling; truly coming to life when Beatrix allows her emotions to show - or on fire when she is in a rage. Golden horns curl from behind her ears and each leg is tipped with a dainty golden hoof. A set of fangs peek out from underneath her lips at times but often remain hidden from sight.

Beatrix can be seen most often wearing golden contraptions bearing heavy pearls. Her choker and mask of delicate lace mesh and golden chains with pearls are paired with a series of golden clasp earrings and heavy hoops pierced at the bottom of each ear.

"Everyone has a secret."

gallery | moodboard
Scent: champagne, spices, oak
Voice claim: Queen Ravenna from Snow White and the Huntsman

There are many words to describe Beatrix; complex, lost, an enigma. She has lived a thousand lifetimes and yet none at all, all at the same time. A wearer of many faces, you might think you have Beatrix pinned down one day and then there's a new face, a new character, and now she's totally unknown to you once more. She adapts to the world around her as she sees fit, molding herself to the situation as it presents herself, though the true parts of her remain lurking in the undercurrent beneath her "masks".

Those parts of her are dangerous. Dark, tempting, predatorial; seducing anyone into her hold. The truest parts of Beatrix are far older and far more primitive than most equines ever see and can only be found in history books...Or in the horror stories one shares next to a fire. Capable of violence one would not expect from a mare of her stature, Beatrix does whatever it takes to see her ambitions fulfilled. There is no such thing as "too high of a price" for her.

From the very beginning, Beatrix was prone to rage. She has a temper that remains unmatched; when provoked, she'll fly into a destructive rage until the anger is burned out of her system. These episodes are rare, though thousands of years have given her the ability to temper her rage into something more controllable...most of the time. Normally Beatrix can control her rage and hide it behind a cool mask of indifference, but every once in a while, a crack is exploited. She has burned kingdoms to the ground during such rages and can display a sense of violence that almost seems too big for her frame to contain.

Now, it would be unfair to Beatrix to believe she was nothing but rage and violence. She is, in fact, quite the conversationalist and enjoys keeping the company of others. (As long as they don't prove to be a waste of time, naturally.) She is a surprisingly just woman, though is known to be rather heavy-handed in punishments she metes out to those she believes to have wronged her. Beatrix shows a lack of adhering to personal space, often generously showing affection and doting to those who have earned special placement in her life - as a friend, lover, or pet, to name just a few.

Beatrix once used to be trusting, if a bit naive. Perhaps there's still some trust in her, waiting to be won, but it will prove to be a herculean task to endeavor. Now she keeps others at a distance, feeding them half-truths and elaborate lies. Time has changed her from a naive maiden to the woman she is today. Despite this, deep down in the hidden crevices of her soul, Beatrix craves companionship above all else...Perhaps even more than her desire for greatness.

Beatrix was born long, long ago, during the birth of humanity. She was not born as Beatrix, but rather as Réka. Born a millennia ago in what would be the Bronze Age, all Beatrix knew when she was growing up was war and death. To her, both were inevitable and unavoidable. War and death were the ways of life for the tribe she had been born into; they came to her people as naturally as breathing does. For the people of Vazul, it was kill or be killed during such primitive times. Her sire, Zoltán, was a fine warrior of the tribe and her mother, Tünde, was a healer. Under her mother’s tutelage, Beatrix learned that a mare’s place was to be subservient to the whims of men, doting and soft, to be the mothers of the next generation. Yet, the idea did not sit well with the young mare. What about her dreams and aspirations? she had once voiced, earning a beating from her sire. As her mother patched her up, the gentle mare could only tell her that was how things were and would always be.

Yet, Beatrix knew she’d prove them all wrong. There was a change in the wind that told her something was coming and it would change everything.

She was expected to kowtow and serve whatever man wanted her. Her misfortune earned her the eye of the chief’s son, though a man in the night would rescue her from him and a lifetime of servitude. A dark and mystical sort, the man went by the name of Talos. He was from the far east, so he claimed, and was a traveling merchant - something people from her tribe greeted with distaste and distrust. They were a close-knit family group; strangers presented a danger. A threat. Something about this man, Talos, screamed to everyone but Beatrix of danger, danger, run and flee. His strange mannerisms and quirks should have said he was a predator...But it was far too late. Beatrix was too enthralled by the time she realized just how dangerous Talos truly was. She bent to his will like a river reed, allowing his promises of a life beyond the dark woods she called home to sway her.

Even when Talos finally revealed himself for what he truly was, fear did not come for her. Instead, as she stared at him while his fangs descended upon her, something in the recesses of her mind knew this was just the beginning. He wanted a bauble; a keepsake, something pretty to flaunt about to others like himself. He had little regard if she survived the change or not. As the cold touch of death and darkness came for her, lying in a growing pool of her own blood, something shifted within her. Beatrix knew that one day, Talos would regret picking her when there were dozens of more submissive mares in her tribe. But for now, she would play the part of the fool. She’d play his game if she survived, whispering dark promises to no deity in particular.

The change vampirism brought up Beatrix was a fresh level of Hell that Talos had failed to inform her of. Bones snapped and reset themselves; her eyes and hooves changed colors, horns painfully emerged from her skull. The most excruciating pièce de résistance were a pair of elegant, yet large feathered wings that forcefully emerge from Beatrix’s shoulders. The change took days and many noticed her disappearance. Rage turned to grief among her family, while others whispered about the stupid little girl who was snatched by a stranger. When she emerged from the darkness alive - well, what they thought was alive - covered in blood with eyes of molten gold, all the whispers ceased. They thought her dead; now they thought she was reborn.

A Goddess. She would have laughed in their faces if it weren’t for the power their unwavering adoration brought. With Talos as a dark, menacing shadow, word of her strength and beauty traveled as fast as it could in such primitive times. Chiefs swore oaths at her feet, maids offered gifts in vain attempts to earn favors, and mothers whispered promises to her in the night while wishing they would survive childbirth. For years she served as a deity among mortals, showered with devotion and gifts. Even long after her own bloodline had dwindled into something of a distant afterthought, Beatrix remained among her people but had grown increasingly bored. She had started to become increasingly involved in mortals’ strife and wars, satisfying a beast that had gone long unfulfilled...And Talos had grown restless. He was malcontent in her shadow, overlooked as an afterthought to Beatrix’s perceived divinity. She was not blind to the rage that simmered between them, however. She knew the day would come that he would tire of her, or perhaps she’d push just too hard and make him realize she was not the naive little girl he had bitten in the woods centuries ago.

He betrayed her by massacring every man, woman, and child. Every soul that descended from her original tribe was snuffed out in a single night in a tantrum befitting an oversized toddler. For the first time, Beatrix saw red. In a legendary battle, the mare sought retribution for everything he had taken from her. In the end, she would win, but barely. She laid in the ruins of her homeland for days, slowly recovering her strength while her heart hardened. She knew she was a fool to trust him as she had and now she had paid the price. Never again would she make the same mistake. There was no recovering what was lost; if there had been survivors, they would likely never return. Her people were gone. Either dead or scattered to the far corners of the valley in fear of the gods they once worshipped. Perhaps, then...it was time for a change.

The first change was a place to call home. She traveled north, pleased to find a civilization brimming full of life and wealth. There, she was no one, but her name earned her a few looks. One old mare snidely remarked how old-fashioned her name was once - "Maybe it was in style when my grandmother was alive" - and that was enough to push Beatrix into assuming an entirely new face. Practically dripping in gold and gems with her unnaturally long life, she could be anyone she wanted to be.

Thus, Réka was no more. In her place, Beatrix would reign.

With hardly any effort, the vampire headed a coup some years later and took over the city. Yet, it wasn’t enough for her. Nothing had ever been enough since her transformation centuries before. Beatrix would always want for more, to be more, to rule more. To control a city was fine...but not what she was aiming for. A Mayor? Pfft. She could do better. And so she would, with a little more effort, clawing her way to the top. She brought fractured tribes together under her leadership and in return they gave her a crown. A Queen. Now, that was more like it.

She ruled her kingdom for years, never aging as those around her withered and died, but no one seemed bothered by it. They would say she was blessed by the Gods, (which would earn a snort if she was within earshot), so why question it? But kingdoms beyond her walls were not so forgiving. They watched, grew suspicious, then outraged. They saw her as unnatural. A demon. Something to be purged from the earth. Granted, they weren’t far off the mark with the demon bit, she’d admit as much in private. And in the middle of coasting through life with several neighbors eyeing her as though she asked for their virginal daughters as a sacrifice, the worst possible thing happened.

Love.

How disgusting.

Prone to impulses of chaos, Beatrix was roaming the dark streets in one such fit when she came across her. A nobleman’s daughter carousing in the dark in a brothel. How scandalous! was the first thought, then curiosity drove Beatrix to investigate. The girl in question was an androgynous sort who did not fit in their society’s mold of “feminine” or ladylike. In fact, if her memory served her right, the girl was known to be troublesome. She bucked rules and brawled with men in back alleys, and most offending of all, she scorned the touch of men. Sofia was a kindred soul who could see right through Beatrix. Surely her being a mortal was a mistake, Beatrix once lamented. Yet, she had a plan. She would turn Sofia as Talos had turned her. It was driven by the selfish need to keep the woman close, Beatrix would admit, but at least she asked first before biting her lovely throat. Sofia would turn and then they could spend an eternity with each other.

Yet, everything went horribly wrong.

Sofia at first did turn, but not into something as lovely or divine as Beatrix. Instead, her beautiful lover turned into a hideous creature whose piercing screams echoed from the castle. Her lover writhed in agony as a half-transformed beast. Sofia’s ribs did a sickening crack and blood poured from her mouth...then the screams stopped. Vibrating with despair, Beatrix did not need to touch Sofia to know of the horrible fate she had brought upon her lover. Instead of mourning, she turned to a familiar emotion: rage.

She burned her enemies and their kingdoms to the ground. She bathed in the blood of those who would see her demise, yet felt no satisfaction. Discontent ruled her, no longer finding joy in her kingdom or her crown. Thus, Beatrix disappeared into the night with little warning, knowing another ambitious soul would take her place. Besides, it would have been a matter of time before the mortals of her realm turned on her after seeing the devastation she had wrought.

She remained a whispered name in the dark for many years. A creature of legend, a boogieman to make misbehaving children listen. Sometimes she humored mortals, emerging on nights when the moon was full and robust as a ghost to flit through their cities in the garb of years-long lost to time and history books. Even then, that grew old and Beatrix grew restless. She wanted more. She had always wanted more for herself. Perhaps it was time to reemerge and make something of herself once more.

She had been many things: a lost little girl, a goddess, a queen. Now it was time for a new title.

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