OOC Information
Journal:
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theseventhbridePB: Sarah Brightman
Any special abilities: Diane no longer ages. Thanks to transfusions of her husband Elijah Edwards (Adam Monroe)'s blood to save her from dying of tuberculosis, she no longer can age. While unlike Adam, she does not have rapid-cell regeneration, her body is seemingly stuck at the point in which it had healed and accepted the blood. She can still be injured and killed, as easily as anyone, but her body resists the changes of time and sickness.
Personality: Even after nearly a century and a half, Diane's personality is still deeply rooted in the time and place she came from. She is quiet and rather soft-spoken, and while she does have an opinion she is almost always a little fearful to actually bring it up. She doesn't really see a reason to speak unless spoken to; it isn't in her nature to be forward with people unless she's extremely riled up. Even after all this time, she has trouble adjusting to the modern way of thinking, and so she often finds herself in situations where she's uncomfortable trying to fit in. The quiet life, in the shadows more often than not, seems to suit her well enough, and she likes being away from the limelight. Quite often she finds herself reminiscing, particularly as of late, about the things she's seen, the people she's met and lost. She loses herself in the past, and is quite happy to stay there, if allowed.
Any psychological problems and the reasons for them: Not really. She does VERY rarely forget that things have changed around her, so she'll forget small details like the year, or the fact that it's acceptable for ladies to wear pants. All very small issues, and once reminded she'll simply feel slightly embarrassed for having forgotten.
Likes: literature, history, working in her shop, music, the artistic community as a whole, working in her small herb garden and roses.
Dislikes: modern music, most television, a lot of modern entertainment, bigotry, clothing that exposes the body too much, immodesty, overly outspoken ideas.
Talents or skills: While it might not exactly be a talent or skill, Diane has read quite a bit and is always glad to discuss things with any of her shop's patrons. She has the normal household skills, as was thought to befit a bride in the early 20th century: cooking, cleaning, sewing, piano, stitchery, everything a "lady" was expected to learn.
History: Diane Evangeline Loret was born on December 12th, 1867 in Montreal. She was the only daughter of a doctor, Henri Loret, and his second wife Lozette. Her father, having been married previously, already had two sons - one ten years old named after his father, and a second barely six, named Francis. His first wife had died the three springs ago, from a persistent fever. The only girl and last child of the family, Diane was babied for most of her childhood, cared for and kept safe as much as possible. She was a frail child to begin with, and it was thought at first that she might not even make it through her first winter. Though becoming sick, she survived, and grew into the apple of her father's eye. It wasn't easy, being the only daughter in the household, and as a result her mother was fully focused on her and on her education as a 'lady of propriety and modesty.' Though she went through schooling for things such as basic mathematics, reading, and writing (both in French and English), her education was stopped when she turned eleven, and instead was centered around the household. She was taught to sew and clean and cook, how to serve guests and act as a hostess, how to sing and play the piano. Everything that was considered ladylike and proper for a good hostess to know, Diane was schooled in, in hopes of finding her a proper husband.
She was barely seventeen when she first met the man known as Elijah Edwards, at a ball being thrown in the city. It was around Christmas of 1884, and though she was young she was allowed to go, on the condition that she didn't stray too far from the family. She saw him across the room, having heard his name before, and though she never actually got to meet him face to face, the small encounter stayed with her for quite some time. At the age of 22 she finally married - an older man; a lawyer by the name of Louis Moreau, who was a friend of her father. He was her elder by seventeen years, and they remained married for another ten years before Louis died, taken in an outbreak of influenza. At the age of 32, she was a widow, with little to no prospects of finding another husband or anyone else. Thankfully her husband had left his assets to her, or she would have been turned out onto the streets. It was the following summer that she once again met the man she'd thought about often, ever since that ball over fifteen years ago - Elijah Edwards. He looked the same as the day she had first seen him, and against all odds, he actually seemed to take a fancy to her. The two were married in the spring of 1901, and had a nice life together . . . until that winter, Diane contracted tuberculosis.
The doctors called did everything they could, but there was nothing left to do but wait. Diane was dying, and there was nothing they could do. Her sudden, miraculous recovery a week later was almost enough to cause a scandal, and for years Diane knew nothing of what had brought her back from the brink of death and cured her. Seven years after she was safely healed of tuberculosis, Elijah left her, and she never saw him again. It was shortly afterward that she began to notice something rather odd - ever since her recovery, she had never once gotten sick again. Not even so much as sniffle or a sneeze; neither had any of the lines of age crept onto her face. Though she was now 41, she looked exactly as she had before she got sick. The knowledge that she wasn't changing frightened her, and she chose to carefully arrange that, in a number of years, a story would be run - an obituary for Diane Edwards. She would let the world think she was gone, while she figured out what was going on.
A few years turned into decades, as Diane moved and tried to figure out what had happened to her. It wasn't until she ran across the path of a man, some seventy years after her recovery, that she discovered what might have caused her strange condition. She saw the man heal, saw his wounds close up as if nothing had happened. Even now, some thirty years later, she still does not understand what she is, or how this came to be; she doesn't understand what she has become. She simply lives the life she has chosen, and tries to make it one day at a time, through the ages.
First Person Writing Sample: This never ceases to astound me, really. Everything about this city, about the way technology works . . . It's practically magic, if you ask me. You'd think I would have adjusted to seeing computers, to using them, but this is more than a little awkward, even typing this. If I were to hit send now, could it really be that millions, billions of people could look at it in mere seconds? It all seems so surreal. The downside to this instant technology gratification, though . . . You lose the mystery things once held. What kind of real anticipation or excitement can there be if you just type something in on a computer and get it instantly? I'm not quite sure what to think on that, but it doesn't seem like a good thing.
Third Person Writing Sample:
The night was quiet, this high up. The roof was one of the few places in this modern city that really seemed to hold the true measure of quiet and peace, in such a busy world. The woman who stood up there now, staring out at the enhanced skyline and all of the lights and moving figures so far down, was quiet, her dark hair blowing behind her as she stood and observed. Observing seemed to be her lot in life, over the years she had let pass her by. Decades, a century, all of it gone around her, and she had remained unchanged. It was a feeling that even now, when she let it hit fully, she couldn't quite understand or believe. The woman once known as Diane Loret-Edwards was quiet, her hands settled on the edge of the roof as she knelt on the cold concrete, staring up at the muted sky, the stars hidden by the lights of the city below.
Waiting and watching; it was something she always had done, and would continue to do, even now. Waiting and watching for him.
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worldinherhands (IJ):