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    The South

    Although the southern parts of the city might not have the luxuries of the north or the down town vibe of the east, but these suburbs still have their own sort of charm. Here small neighborhood owned shops often run rampant, individuals often know each other by first name. The west is a quaint, quiet part of town. It's the sort of place where children can be seen playing safely on the sidewalks and clamoring in the park. On the weekends in the families often take to the beach to enjoy the warm waters that surround the city.

    What's You'll Find Here

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    Hyde Park

    Hyde Park

    Hyde Place takes up a large part of the Southern side of the city and includes a large playground, several fountains, and a small garden. The park is open from five in the morning till midnight though many shady characters may visit this place while it's technically "closed". The park has also been a venue for several concerts and hosts many holiday related events. Under a full moon, witches are often seen here for the sacred ground beneath the iconic Weeping Beech.

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    The Outskirts

    The Outskirts

    Beyond the city limits and over the bridge lies the deep, dark, and almost impenetrable forest. Often times seen as a way to guard this magical city from the world that surrounds it, many are entirely ignorant of the evil that may creep between those tree trunks. Many were-creatures use the forest for the transformations of their newest members and some even take to hunting here. It isn't particularly peculiar for people to go missing within this forest but once you get through, the rest of the world awaits.

i've been here before108.93.10.156Posted On April 06, 2017 at 6:04 PM by anastasia romanova


Quite contradictory to the established and profoundly-cliched norm of the supernatural populace, the descent into the mirk of the nighttime hours did not arouse within the wayward Russian Duchess a requirement for the implementation of insidious mischief. Barren was her tongue of the thirst for purposelessly spilled blood, bereft was she of the yearning to pursue the night's dancing shadows like some rabid beast. In truth she had never existed amongst the ranks of the reckless, ravenous pursuers; much akin to Alexander, Anastasia slid effortlessly into the guise of the Hunter when it suited her and exuviated the hollow carapace of the predator when it did not.

No, the night did not curl its wanton and beckoning finger towards her as it did so many others; in fact, it pilfered from her far more than was ever to be gained from even the most leisurely foray beyond its choking curtain of darkness. And yet, in a cloying paradox, it was this that had lured the fallen sovereign out into the dark ether which lay sprawled before her as some salaciously listless minefield. It was a habitual outing wrought of necessity and the nearly-cellular yearning to conquer one's own (and nearly only) weakness; an outing that Anastasia demanded of herself no matter the city, the country, within which she found herself.

Even swathed in the tragically temporary warmth of the mortal coil Anastasia had known the affliction that was her night-blindness, an ailment that had proven far too inexorable for even the cleansing wash of immortality to scour. She had known a considerable amount of disappointment, even ire, at the realization. Disappointment that had dissolved, as a great many things had, into determination. She was, after all, her father's daughter; a conqueror by birthright. And so does she trudge forth into the ample darkness of the nearly-abandoned park, but a few gleaming halos of dust-choked light punctuating the blanket of murk. It is all she sees for a time, these pitiful orbs suspended within the darkness that surrounds her; the senses that remain rushing to the aide of the sight that fails her as they always had been wont to do.

It is this otherworldly compensation that brings about the events that follow, an innocent beginning to the tumult that promises something of a far grander scale. A flicker of... something in a universe gone dark, a touch of color to accent a world of shadows and dust. Typical though it might have seemed, it brings Anastasia to an unceremonious halt upon her admittedly random trajectory about the recreational lawn. Tentatively does the Russian adjust her course, journeying in false leisure in the direction of the suspect aura. Confidently does she penetrate the ring of light that saturates the swingset and the surrounding earth, though her eyes are for naught else but the young girl swooping to and fro within the seat's plastic craddle. The Duchess would have known that dazzling mane of blonde curls anywhere, though admittedly she had only laid eyes upon them once before. Once, a very long time ago. Anastasia freezes then, every lean cord of sinew gone rigid, every ounce of blood glacial with the reappearance of the necklace about the blonde imp's slender neck. The flicker. She would have known that anywhere as well, for it had existed in her mind, in her dreams (both waking and not), for decades. It was, as it always had been, the purpose of her travels, the sole reason she had spent the majority of her immortal life scouring the earth.

For a time she can do naught but look on, for in this moment she too is weightless.

Anastasia Romanova

Grand Duchess of Imperial Russia



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