It was agony; I loved it
A Rarity;

Born to original tiger shifters it wasn't long until the young child shifted herself, exposing the unique color of a striped pelt. The unusual strawberry (or golden) gene made itself known for the first time ever amongst the feline shifters. 

But the uniqueness was the least of their worries. 


Rosemarie, or Rose as she likes to be called, is rather volatile and distrustful with a short temper that is likely to erupt from anything small. Constant paranoia leads to the shifter constantly looking over a shoulder nothing escapes her keen assessing gaze. Despite it all, Rose is able to remain civil to anyone especially when working jobs and even they may be able to crack through her strong mental walls, dragging some form of affection no matter how small.

Past History

It all started on a warm spring evening, arriving home from school escorted by her eccentric mother. Rose was gushing about the day and discussing schoolwork requesting for help. With a bright smile, the pair strolled into the house only to be greeted with a grizzly sight. Beads of crimson dripped down the stained, cream wallpaper, collecting in the glistening pool below where a prone form lay. A glassy blank gaze stared across the room his mouth opened in a silent scream that would never escape ever again. A bloodcurdling scream escaped the child as her mother enveloped the traumatized child in a hug turning them both away from the bloody scene. But as the mother looked away; instead staring down the barrel of a gun. The bang ricocheted throughout the room, deafening. Rose's ears rung watching helplessly as her sweet mother collapsed onto the floor. A crack and a sensation of pain erupted from her temple before the world went black. She was only 10. 

They thought they could break me; they thought wrong.

5 years from that fateful day:

Auburn hair laid in curled clumps framing a sunken pale face decorated with dark rings under dull grey hues that stared blankly up at the peeling, moldy ceiling.

The sound of thick steel cuffs slapping closed around slender wrists echoed around the room, followed by securing the ankles to the cold table splattered with fresh blood that laid thickly over the other pools that had accumulated over the years.

The scientist loomed over the table a wickedly curved knife clasped within his fist. Eventually the malnourished girl on the table stirred into life, lazily dragging her gaze towards the leech that sneered down at the new lab rat presented to him.

Pale, plump lips twitched and twisted into a sadistic smirk, a voice croaked and cracked struggling to form words after lack of use.

"You will... not... break me..."

A grin stretched across a sadistic expression. A man of pure perfection apart from the tell tale flash of fang that spoke the horrors of what he truly was. This particular coven of Vampires had created the perfect hell for any other creature to endure. 

"The time will come sweetness. And when that day arrives, you'll be eating your own words."

The cold, biting sting of metal slicing through flesh as if it was butter barely garnered a reaction from the female. Even as an intricate web of ruby red patterns trickled down her sides joining the blood of others on the table. Never will she give them the satisfaction, and never will she forget this miserable existence.

They said she was feral, but who could blame her?

For 8 long years Rose was confined to that dank dark place. Endless screams of agony from the tortured souls put through constant experiments. Those that did not survive were left to rot in their cages the putrid smell suffocating as it permeated the air, even to the hardiest of supernaturals. They begged and pleaded for an end that did not come swiftly, fed scraps of molding food and left to wallow in their own urine and feces until they became nothing but empty shells no longer dreaming of a better future or escape. Their hope squashed day after day. 

The day came for escape. A day when they believed she could no longer fight, letting the feline out of the cage with no form of restraints. The large cat fought desperately for escape charging down halls and mauling anything that dared get in the way.

Fresh air caressed in a gentle wilting wind that brushed upon a matted pelt bringing all manners of wondrous scents. Sunlight streamed glaring and blinding down upon the clearing that held the facility. Rose ran as far as her stiff limbs could take her, diving into a rapidly overflowing river where the strong current carried her far away from the hell she spent most of her life in.

A year was spent learning about this whole new world, taking on illegal jobs that delivered cash in hand; mainly thieving. The money was used for her to travel around and buy all the human necessities that helped her survive, constantly running from the pursuers dead on her trail. 

Appearance Human:

Rosemarie stands at 5'4 slender and agile that enable her to take on the most precarious of jobs. Long auburn locks fall in silky waves, stopping short just below her shoulder blades. Creamy, pale flesh is marred by a small trail of freckles cross across each plump cheek and over the bridge of her nose. Large, stormy grey/blue eyes framed by sinfully long lashes. Plump rosy lips often form a halfhearted smile during conversations; a smile that never reaches her eyes. 

The Tiger Shifter is not fussed about clothing, often ranging from summer frocks to a full leather suit. 

Appearance Tiger:

A Sumatran Tiger roughly weighing two hundred and sixty pounds of heavy muscle. The pelt consists of a rare light ginger with slightly darker stripes. The rest is a beautiful white often blending in with the ginger. Her fur texture is silky soft. 


Enhanced Strength/Speed- Like most Shifters in the Supernatural world, Rose has unusual strength compared to a human, and her form is almost a blur of color as she moves at her most fastest. 

Enhanced Senses- Being a cat Rose is particularly skilled when it comes to seeing with crystal clarity in the dark. Hearing is sharp, able to pick up the sounds of a mouse rustling among the grass, and her sense of smell is also spectacular. 

Telepathy- How else is one to communicate in a feral shape? Thoughts need to be projected to Rose for her to be able to pick up, whilst her own mind invades another to send her own. 

Empathy- Able to sense other peoples emotions and act as a conductor, relieving anybody of any distressing emotions only to replace it with more positive vibes. In worst case scenarios Rose would be able to project every negative emotion she has (which is a lot) into another, to make them suffer.


Profile Style (customize your page with CSS here!)

/* background of page */ body{ background-color: transparent !important; background-image:url( !Important; background-repeat: no-repeat !important; background-size: 100% 100% !Important; background-position: center center !important; }

Character Name

Rosemarie Alibi

Character Age


Character Species


Character Gender


Character Relationship Status


Character Likes

-Red Meat -Cats -Sunsets -Swimming and Trekking through forests

Character Dislikes

-Humans -Supernaturals (Especially vampires) -Cages

Writer's Writing Style (OOC)


Writer's Favored Genres (OOC)

Fantasy, Romance, Violence, Rated R, 18+, Gore, Action, Adult

About the Writer (OOC)

Not entirely comfortable giving out personal details, unless I get close to any future Writers. Only then will I open up. Sorry guys.

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  •             Heinrich let out a sigh of relief after the door had been closed and the woman, at last, was within captivity and out of his sight. She, somehow, had made his blood swell underneath the profuse, impenetrable skin he wore as a profoundly hardened shell and a fierce guard. For a moment, he found himself idly erected before the door, with his gun holstered by his side, still in his grasp, with his loosened fingers amidst the trigger, finally assured that no bullet would leave its barrel or magazine tonight. He cherished that very well for a man that had been built upon vehemence and viciousness. At first, he commenced to trot backwards down the hall, gyrating mid gait to walk in the correct direction toward the stairs that had brought the two to the nadirs of his homestead, halting himself just by the first ascension, tired, yet never forgetful of the promised he had given her—she’d at least defecate and urinate in a bucket alongside a roll of clean, softened paper. Decidedly, he turned his body right to face the wall near the staircase and pressed his hand on it to reveal a hidden passage that granted him access to a hallway that conducted him straightaway to the room she had no permission of admission. It was pitch-black. Most of what was there was hidden by the totality of the obscurity, except for the bucket and a stack of toilet paper. He gave the two a long, extended, painful gaze before he resolutely picked the bucket by its handle and tossed in a single roll of paper that she sure as hell was going to ration accordingly, and approached the wall by the sealed door to her room.

                There, he repeated the process and produced an orifice big enough to fit the bucket. Once it was placed on her side, the fissure on the wall was removed, as if nothing had happened at all. Now, his mind rested easily knowing that he had satisfied her hygienic necessities. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to clean the cell at all if she was as clean as her thieving methods. Unfortunately for him, he had other matters to tend to at the moment, so he couldn’t celebrate the opportunity of rest in his own dungeon tonight. A pity. He quickly redirected himself through the hallway, shut-off the wall that gave admittance to it and hurried himself up the stairs, to his hallway and to the entrance of his master bedroom, which remained closed, just as he had left it.

                “What a night, I must say,” Mr. Eves whispered into the integrated auricular in his left ear, the full, British accent sounding impeccably captivated by the successions.

                “Spare me the conversation, Mr. Eves, I have things to do besides dealing with the thief.”

                “Ah, but I am sure you want to know what she was aiming to steal. Is that not correct?”

                “Go ahead. Inform me,” Heinrich said as he opened the door to his bedroom, placing his eyes on the woman that lingered naked and stirred by his arrival.

                “She stole information regarding an assassination contract we gave to you.”


                “You better get it bac—.”

    The auricular system was de-activated by Heinrich, for he had grown irritated by the voice of Mr. Eves, the mildly deaf, twin brother of Mrs. Eves. The woman before him yawned once and even stood from her laid position, sitting just by the edge of the bed as her voluptuous breasts and golden mane dropped down while they were favored by gravity.

    “Awake already?”

    “Mhmmm,” she managed to murmur, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles.

    “Why don’t you blow me off for one more grand?”

    The woman nodded to him, removed herself from the bed and knelt down before the gentleman, hands draped around the confines of his undergarment.

    Business was always business.

  •             Heinrich had only shaken his in response to the question that regarded whether or not that door was the door her bathroom. If only she had known the truth then. She’d simply have to satisfy her intrigue and interest with the gesture of his head as it bobbed left and right once or twice. Truth be told, its authentic content would torture her overnight as she endlessly pondered on what he hid within that singular room. Although, Heinrich did hold a human’s hygiene highly; he’d eventually bring her a bucket and a roll of toilet paper for her personal needs. A shower and a toilet would be too much of a commodity for her. The pestilence alone would force her to think twice of her wrongdoing as she spent just a few hours in the room he had devilishly assigned to her. She deserved it, more than any other woman he had come across. In fact, it was mercy, clemency that had rained from above, provoked justly by the God that watched over Heinrich and over her, if she believed and accepted Jesus as her savior and God as the Almighty Supremacy, as the Hand in the Sky, silently observant.

                Heinrich took a few steps back, residing outside of the room as he perceived the exposure of her factual hair and the debauching of the wig that had, all this time, lied to him. Another sin on the list that he would have to consider for her punishment. He, by now, had a feeling that Georgette wasn’t her real name. That was business he wasn’t dwelling into just yet. Why would he? It would spoil the fun of what awaited her past the dull, enigmatic door. Heinrich patiently waited for her to settle in, to take in her surroundings and to accommodate her being to it without much quarrel. When she at last turned around to approach him, arms pitifully extended for him, Heinrich savagely struck them away with his vacant, codominant hand, supposing she’d stagger herself, while she grimaced or insignificantly screeched, for she probably hadn’t expected it.

                “Georgette,” he muttered under his breath, … “I know you think this is a little game, that this isn’t real, but you’re an adult. You committed a crime and now you are bound to pay for the crime. I hope you come to understand that. I shall offer you very little mercy,” he paused, inserting his upper body past the door frame to illustrate the room and its entirety with his eyes to her, “…like this room, your comfortable, clean bed with sheets, your seat, your light and, soon, your bucket and toilet paper so that you may shit and piss with a bit of luxury.” Not a smidgeon of penitence was left in him at this point.

    “So, take your thieving hands elsewhere, remain handcuffed for the remainder of the night and pray to your God that I treat you fairly well tonight, Rosemarie.”

    With a derided stare serving as the last source of communication with him, the door in front of her was then padlocked, sealed and locked by key.  

  •             While Georgette tended to the task at hand, Heinrich tranquilly sauntered back toward his master bedroom, guiding himself to its door, closing it and locking it so that the woman that remained knocked-out over the confines of his queen-sized bed had no chance to leave unwantedly, for it would surely provoke the surge of another problematic circumstance that he, obviously, did not desire; he had much on his plate to deal with with Georgette and her kleptomaniacal lifestyle. He wondered why, out of all other days, he had chosen to bring a stranger to his bed. It was a high-class escort, impeccably designed for explicitly carnal, intimate engagements under the fabrication of an accordance of daily allowance per request or appointment. The night was already up to five-thousand American dollars, as if that had not been enough for the whore that comfortably slept over his bedstead. The foolish slut, he thought as he stood by the door, mindlessly juggling the superfluous ideals; he could never speak to a woman like that, not unless it was well-deserved to begin with. Was it? No, it was not. Yet, there he endured, cursing at the escort while he laid his Spheres back over the door to his personal office, counting the minutes as they passed. By now, he figured, she should have placed the handcuffs around the measurement of her wrists. If not, a gun and a bullet would await her. A shame, however. He’d had to dump the beautiful Georgette into a pit in his backyard garden of flourishing shrubberies and bushes.

                Unaware of her doings, Heinrich decided upon the action of verifying what she was up to through the option of a hidden camera in his study. As he had done before, he pressed a few buttons on the panel on the wall and brought to his eyes a view of her, sat down, wrists cuffed. My, she was obedient and submissive, to say the least. Cheerful and satisfied, Heinrich, with his hand grasped onto the handgun still, strode back to the door of his office and, ultimately, removed only the steel barricade from her side, opening the door for her. He seemed like a tower, still half-naked with only his undergarments, completely presenting off what had taken years to build as a soldier in Iraq and wherever he had been stationed before that. He had a quick draw; if she intended to make a move on him, it would very much be her last.

                After a moment of silence, Heinrich finally spoke to her:

                “I’ve very little patience tonight,” he began, diverting his gaze elsewhere as he pronounced every word, returning it back to her after a long, long exhale of resentment. “I’ll have every single bit of your belongings, if you don’t mind,” as if she had a choice, “… and I’ll have you escorted to the place where you’ll be staying for the remainder of this tribulation.” He wasn’t going to wait for it. Nay. Instead, Heinrich move toward her, grabbed onto her back-pack, whatever else that was in sight and slung it over his broad, assembled shoulder. Then, with grace and gentility, although forced, he grabbed her by her upper arm, elevating her to her feet while he towered himself behind her.

                He permitted the silence to govern them as he pressed the muzzle and barrel of his gun against her back, forcefully, but without harming her, undoubtedly intimidating her again. He was a man she did not want to mess with. Ever. Heinrich had done terrible things to women, things that were unimaginable to the mind and to humanity. What did he have planned for Georgette? He did not know yet. Smoothly, he guided her through the door and down the hall to a flight of stairs that led downwards to another floor of his mansion. He passed by his living room, which gave access also to the kitchen, and stepped down another flight of stairs that led only to a very secluded hall with a door at its opposite extremity. At this point, he didn’t need to guide her. She knew where to go. There was no other door, no windows and nothing. It was just a pitch-black hallway with a red carpet over the marble, cold tiles that adorned the scenery.


                Beyond the door lied a room, dark as the night, with one bed, one table, one lamp and one chair. In the same room was another door, locked and sealed from her, for it was his to use.

    In due time, …

    she’d know of its content. 

  • As she poured out her honesty to the gentleman before her, Heinrich could not help but feel contented with the fragment of the truth she had, at last, publicized after discovering that she had no other options that would aid its circumvention. He dutifully noted the rejoinder his appearance had brought down upon her shoulders, as if he, as a man of implausible capacity, had bestowed a burden of sorts on her. Why had she retreated with his sight? Had it been the weapon of destruction? Had it been him? Heinrich had self-worth, but he surely was not demonstrating it now. He comprehended who she was, what she was doing, but not why or for whom. She had possibly stolen data regarding his most recent assassination contract, a woman that had widowed herself by provoking the accidental murder of her husband. Heinrich had the only piece of evidence that proved against the woman her crime. Was that it? The woman wanted every inch of her culpability erased from the face of the earth? Remarkable. Little Georgette was taking the jeopardy that it would bring had she been caught in the act. Regrettably, she had been. Calmly, Heinrich lowered his Luger from the small glass that separated their purposes, letting out a sigh that signified nothing at all.

                “You didn’t even know who lived here,” he concluded as he dangerously and ferociously gawped at her figure, aiming always for her eyes, for that gaze that shunned his own. “You completely overlooked the authenticity of the noble man that lives in this mansion,” he repeated, emphasizing it so that she obtained an idea of what she had done while he shook his head once and twice to his sides, disappointed. “You’ve transgressed against me, Ms. Georgette, all for money, all to make a living.” It was ironic, really. Heinrich did the same for a living, except that he had no clients, he had no man or woman to serve, but only two, twisted individuals that acted as voluntary assistance—The Eves. That, however, was a topic for another time, for he had to deal with this woman as she begged him to be unconfined from his personal office.

                “You confessed your crime, but that does not obligate me to open this door for you,” he declared, the German accent overcoming his attempt at English; he was, evidently, very angry at her. Every second, his tone was increasing at its own leisure, steadily, notifying her that what was to come was not at all benevolent. There’s a pause. It was a shame he had left his cigar at its ashtray. He’d kill for a puff in front of her. He resumed with an exhale instead, demoralizingly resolute on her fate.

                “By your side of this wall, by the door, there’s a stand with a drawer. In it, there are handcuffs. I’ll release you if you put them on. I don’t want to take risks, certainly not like you did tonight.” Solemn with his expression and complexion, Heinrich retreated from the door and stepped to its side, making her believe that he had walked away from her already, abandoning her to her doom as the glass of vision disappeared and the slab of reinforced steel became whole again.

    She had one choice.


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