I S H A L L C R A W L
A L O N G Y O U R S P I N E
A S Y O U B E G F O R
M E.
- Dr. Rousseau, the Mental Surgeon
Dᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ Sʏʟᴠᴀᴇɴɴᴇ Rᴏᴜꜱꜱᴇᴀᴜ L'ʙʟᴀɴᴄ
A ponderer of illnesses,
A refuter of conclusions,
A harbinger of salvation,
An intellectual amongst the ill.
Thirty-four years of age
Five feet, eight inches
Emeralds for hues
Neuropsychologist, Ph.D.
La Mort Intellectuelle."
... History ...
A Tainted Innocence:
Born in Paris, France, Sylvaenne was welcomed into a slightly problematic family. Her mother, being a psychiatrist, tried her very best to keep her daughter intact whilst her father served in the French military. At an early age, her mother cared for her and raised her to be a very simple, quiet girl that obeyed anything her mother commanded, never questioning her for anything.
Eventually, time came to pass and at eight years of age, soon after returning home one day from elementary school, pink backpack in hand, her father returned from service, ill and drunk. This provoked confrontations between her mother and her father. While her father never struck her mother and they did attempt marriage counseling, it all came to an abrupt, nightmarish end when the veteran decided to take away his life by hanging himself in the living room just as Sylvaenne
walked passed him. The little girl, eight and a half years of age then, saw the whole act, as the man slipped from a chair to hang from the wall by a belt tied tightly around the neck. She observed as her father, whom she never formed a concrete bond with, trembled suspended in air, oozing drool, turning violet like a flower, with eyes as crimson as rubies, mesmerizing and beautifully brilliant. The little girl did not cry, however. She lingered in awe, quiet to herself, until the piercing scream from her mother overwhelmed her and she was snatched away. Her mother was convinced she was insane so she took in the responsibility of counseling her with trauma therapy in her own home, all while watching that she stayed in school.
Surprisingly enough, Sylvaenne performed very well in elementary, intermediate and high-school, surpassing all other students and obtaining high-honors. In high-school, the trauma she had experienced at eight years of age began to manifest itself around fifteen years of age, when she began to seek out her friends, male and females, to talk with them about suicide. This gathered the principal's attention immediately and news arrived at her home in no time. Her mother attempted to control her and it was successful for some time. When she graduated, her mother, now fifty, pushed her into studying psychology. This, on the other hand, was not needed because Sylvaenne was already very interested in the subject. She obtained a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology with a minor in Neuropsychology. For her Master's Degree, she became an expert in Neuropsychology and then proceeded to become a Doctor of Philosophy with her Doctorate, practicing also as a Neurosurgeon as a hobby, not a profession. For her career, she settled on becoming a full-time Psychologist to treat patients suffering mainly from PTSD.
Currently, she lives in Paris and owns a practice for her counseling, therapy and treatments by the name of Une Caresse du Bonheur near the center of the city.
The Birth of a Monster:
When her father committed suicide in front of her, a monster was born within Sylvaenne, cementing in her a horrendous necessity and urge.
To better understand why Sylvaenne is fathomably insane, one must first understand that she suffered an early, traumatizing experience by witnessing the death of her father. This cemented in her a curiosity for death, even at such an early age. She had not been introduced to other children at her age and she did not own toys because her mother believed they were mere distractions. Due to this and the child's engrossment with death, as well as the image of her dangling father, her mind was easily corrupted and thrown into an abyss of silence and comprehension, suppressed only for a few years more until she reached high-school. After earning her degree's in graduate school, she fully understood what she had not for so many years.
She then developed the urge to see another person die before her. She provoked an automobile accident to satiate this with a motorcyclist. The man died and she witnessed, but the feeling she had expected did not come to her. Instead, she was disappointed. She knew that death came in many forms and flavors. She had to watch voluntary deaths, not accidental ones.
The First Salvation:
To quench such demanding necessities, through the practice of counseling and psychology, she preyed on the weak-minded to force them into suicide.
Her first victim was a man by the name of Angelo.
Angelo Cavani was a man of twenty-years of age, relatively fresh out of college with a degree in engineering. He was of a darkened dermis, of vivid emeralds that shone brightly under the glimmering light of Rousseau's office. He was clean-shaven and have quite the confident look, yet he approached the psychologist to seek shelter, for his adolescence had been one of filled of horror, horrors that were quantified tenfold by a poisonous girlfriend of his that ended up betraying him for another. Rousseau saw in him potential, waiting to be exploited and consumed. Delicately, she treated him, poking at his concerns, at his worries, discovering gold as she found out he suffered from a great, devastating depression that was conducting him on a path of utter doom. The woman hadn't observed a death for months now. Animals, truth be told, would not suffice her anymore. She had trapped so many rodents with hopes of watching them drown in a bucket as they fell for the bait she had placed for them. Never had she forced a death of a human before. For months, she had lingered thirsty for the voluntary fall of a being, one capable of comprehension and intellect.
It was then that she perceived the opportunity and acted upon it. She had studied hypnosis for quite a while now with hopes of one day persuading a worthless soul such as that of Cavani's.
"I loved her, Rou," the bawling, cracking voice of Cavani rose amidst difficulty.
"And I'm sure she loved you as well," the Doctor issued in reply, holding diligently unto her pen and notepad.
"Why did she go with him instead? I never harmed her and I treated her well!" he exclaimed, furious, drenching his cheeks with the tears of a coward.
"She knew you deserved better," she concluded, adding upon the thought: "She understood that you were capable of more, of a prosperous life centered around your freedom. She wanted you to be liberated of her torment."
"You... think so?"
A smile grew upon Rousseau's complexion, soon turning into a wicked grin that she managed to seclude from him as soon as his gaze rose to meet hers. Instinctively, the woman neared him by leaning forward to place a hand over his right shoulder.
"Of course, Mr. Cavani," she assured, releasing his shoulder to stand, turning to round her futon, reaching for a pendelum on a string over a table, returning with it clutched in her frail, cold hands.
"What's that?"
"Votre liberté."
Instantly, the snap of fingers was conjured and prolongated fingers swung side-to-side the pendelum before the man, hypnotizing him in a matter of seconds as she brushed back on his scalp, tapping nails of crimson upon it to soothe him. Again, she snapped her digits, governing the man and his will, lowering the device, retreating to latch unto a sheath of metal that soon was revealed as a dagger.
"Can you hear me?" she inquired, closing the distance with him again.
"Yes," the robotic response surged automatically.
"Take this dagger. Jam it into your heart so that you may liberate yourself of this burden that hinders you," she commanded, purring, silencing him right away.
Effortlessly, the man grasped the knife in both his hands, raising it before her, arousing her immediately as she foresaw the act before her spheres. She was desperate.
With effort, hands dove like rockets, plummeting steel against skin, bone and organs, rupturing all life within, not an ounce of reaction produced with the fetal blow. At her front, he bled, mouth gaped, eyes hauntingly emotionless, falling at her feet as she trembled in pleasure.
She had founded her Modus Operandi.
She had found ecstasy amongst the plains of Hell.
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