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Character Name: Ayelet

Age: 1,389

Sex: Doe

Race/Abilities: Ayelet is the daughter of the White Stag and a human maiden. The White Stag is said to be a messenger from the "otherworld" in Celtic mythology. He is believed to appear when a man is transgressing a taboo, and to provide visions of guidance. The White Stag is impossible to capture, as he is said to be able to evade any hunter.

Ayelet does not lead on whether or not she possesses these same gifts, but she does not take on the same duties her father did, instead choosing to live her life in peace without concern for humans.

A gift Ayelet was given from her father was the gift of healing. Though warned to use it sparingly, Ayelet can heal a wound, no matter the gravity, should she choose to. However, she will not save a life should she feel it is their natural time to die. She has never cared for anyone deeply enough to save them from death, though, and frankly the thought has never occurred to her.

Should she choose to, Ayelet can take the form of a human maiden, which she has used to evade capture from hunters, or for traveling purposes. However, she prefers to remain a doe and not affiliate herself with humans.

Personality/Physical Description: Ayelet has two forms. Her dominant form is that of a white doe, her pelt free of impurities and soft to the touch, with traditional wide brown eyes that are more intelligent than any average doe. To the greedy and gluttonous, she appears merely a rare trophy, but to the good of heart she is much more than that, a shining, mystical being of fable they had only dreamt of as children. She is no larger and no smaller than any average doe, but she is much swifter on her hooves, a trait she inherited from her father.

As a maiden, Ayelet is not so different from her doe form. She appears a young maiden of great beauty, without blemish or impurities. Her skin is pale, but warm, almost iridescent to those standing near her. Ayelet's human hair is as white as her deer pelt, long and reaching to the ground. Her eyes are also reminiscent of her first form: wide and deep, a dark brown color. She does not reveal her human self to many unless absolutely necessary. Her human form, though seemingly perfect, is imperfect in it's lack of imperfections. She could not pass for an ordinary woman for more than a moment if her audience were paying close attention. Should she need to enter the human realm, she utilizes a cloak to hide her abnormal features so long as she can get her hooves- that is, her hands on one.

If Ayelet remains too long a human, she begins to lose her deer self and becomes more and more human. This is a curse of having a human mother. If she stayed a human long enough, she would forget her true self entirely, though whether or not her true self is a doe is arguable, when examining both sides of her parentage. Her father warned her of this when she was a child, and she has never forgotten.

No matter what form she takes, Ayelet is a gentle and nurturing creature. She can be shy and skittish if she feels ill at ease, but in the safety of her fenced forest, she will be glad to talk with anyone who strikes up a conversation with her. She has a quiet demeanor, and a very straight forward sort of thinking, not putting too much thought into the ways of the heart, or into the ways of men. She has been a long time away from her home of origin and has forgotten what it is to be hungry, lonely and sad. But happy is not an accurate description of Ayelet, either. She is content and at peace, but laughs rarely and doesn't seek out companionship.

Often, if a creature has a problem, they will seek out the White Doe for advice. Ayelet speaks plainly and with insight, and often helps a person to see what they themselves had not before. She doesn't consider herself wise or particularly qualified to give such advice, but she will never refuse anyone an answer should they come to her with a question.

Younglings especially will seek her out when they have a particularly troubling issue, or if they have minorly injured themselves, hoping she will heal all their troubles. She often warns them not to see their wounds as a burden, but rather a learning experience.

Ayelet enjoys the company of all creatures, particularly the younglings with their endless energy, and the old ones with their wild tales. She often enjoys listening to the other creatures that live in her forest, wandering from edge to edge to hear the latest gossip. She rarely offers up her own stories, however. She can be rather private.

History: Ayelet came from the northern regions of Europe, and was raised by her father, the White Stag. Her human mother was slain for bearing the child of a beast, but Ayelet was saved by her father. She was raised in the plains of Ireland for some centuries, until humans began to invade their sacred grounds. Her father felt it was his duty to watch over the people who believed in them, but Ayelet felt differently. She had not forgotten the murder of her innocent human mother. So instead of remaining in their homeland, she ventured off in search of a new place to live.

Eventually, somehow, her hooves took her to the forest in a new land, where she found peace and tranquility. She took little notice of the iron fence that was eventually erected around it, and only lately has begun to pay attention to it, with all the concern for it buzzing about the trees. She fears that behind the fence lay men similar to those who invaded her birth forest, and she regrets the notion of having to flee once more.

Anything Else: Not yet.

Writing Sample:

Shade caught the incoming notepad and quickly settled into a comfortable position, legs criss-crossed up on the couch as he leaned over the little scribble of a note with intense interest. He was quiet for a long few moments, his thoughts drowning out the voices of his comrades as they teased each other and contemplated the meaning of "Discuss chip progress with Dr. Hashing."

What did it mean? He wondered, running through his memory banks to review what he already knew about the Council's plots, and trying to fit this note into them. But his efforts were in vain. It just didn't make sense. He sighed, and glanced up to see Peter peering over his shoulder. When had he come in? He wondered.

His gaze was drawn to King as he claimed that the name on the note was familiar to him. But would the older SOB be able to place it? He wondered doubtfully. He vaguely wondered what kind of trouble he and Peter had gotten themselves into. King looked pretty raw. But he knew better than to bother the grumpy old guy about his battle wounds. Besides, it was the information that Peter had (or hadn't) gotten a hold of that really mattered. In a moment the little she-kitten had leaped up into his lap, and Shade smiled down at her and began to stroke her tiny body. She purred and quickly settled onto his lap, drifting off into a peaceful sleep, her belly full of pizza and her new pillow warm and cozy.

Shade raised an eyebrow as Abel stomped over to him, demanding (or was he begging?) that he give him an assignment. A mischievous grin quirked at the side of his mouth as he gazed evenly at Abel.

"Well, Mom, I'm sure we can find something for you." He said calmly, as if deliberately teasing him. He studied Abel's face for a moment longer, as if deep in thought, and then turned to look at James as he spoke up. "Thank you for the offer, James, but I think I'll take this one myself." He looked back up at Abel, that evil little grin still painting his lips. "I haven't been out for a while, either."

There was something in Shade's eyes that was unreadable, some emotion or idea that definitely did not spell anything good for poor Abel. "We'll go tonight." Shade declared, and he looked back down at the little kitten in his lap, pleased with himself for coming up with such a brilliant plan.

"You know, I think I'll call her Little Mom."

Character Name: Ondine Vallen

Age: 73, a budding young lady.

Sex: Female

Race/Abilities: Witch; a hodge-podge mixture of Elven, Human, and Nymph. With the help of incantations, certain objects, or rituals, she has the ability to channel aspects of nature. this is mostly used by her and her grandmother in the way of defending against harsh storms or healing the sick. Communicating with the plants and animals of the forest comes naturally to them.

Personality/Physical Description:Ondine is a rather timid girl, known for being sweet as honey. She often resorts to listening rather than speaking, and lends her ear and shoulder to any creature that needs it. At the same time, she is a fickle and finicky thing, panicking at the sight of blood or broken branches, and perpetually unable to make decisions without the help of her grandmother. Despite these things, she is a strong young lady, willing to stand against Authority if she feels what they're doing is wrong. She has nothing but respect for the spirits of nature, however, and has been raised to take their will as law. Her respect for the forest is as deeply rooted within her as most all of its inhabitants. She stands just above five feet, very lean though naturally wide-hipped. Her limbs are long and thin; however, a life of climbing and dancing has left her with a fair amount of muscle, no matter how little of it seems to show. Her skin is olive-toned, though pale, resembling dirt left under a bright sun. Her eyes seem oriental in shape, though they are the color of gold, and her pupils often stretch far beyond human limits, almost covering her entire iris. Slightly elongated ears that end in points and small, flat nose round off her face. Her hair and brows are thick and dark, Wild curls of black reaching down the the end of her shoulder blades. She outfit is simple, an aged cream blouse and a long olive skirt tattered from ware.

History: Having spent her entire life encased in the walls, Ondine sees them much more as a protections from the wretched humans she has heard so many tales of than a cage. She has been five years old at the time the wall was finished, barely into her first words. It was probably around a year before that time that her mother was hanged by the humans who thought, at least, as Ondine was told by her grandmother, that she wanted nothing more in life than to destroy the humans with her 'dark magic.' This hatred of witched is the same reason her grandmother Ahdwilla had fled to the colonies herself, long before. Ondine has no knowledge of her father, and doesn't really want to have any, fearing he was a human.

Her and Ahdwilla live in a small cottage of mud and stone, located just in between the center of the forest and of of the walls.there, the two have stockpiled their supply of remedies and food, sharing them with whoever needs or asks. Mant animals and even some fae take refuge in the house, especially during the colder months.

Anything Else: n/a

Writing Sample: (okay the last thing I wrote was cliche lesbian makeouts so I'm just going to copy-paste a kind of recent rp post? I hope that's okay unu ) "Yeah, I get it, I get it," Annie sighed, laying back against the side of her scooter. They had no faith in her plans, let alone her explosives. Though, she did have to admit neither were ever the safest way to go. She just personally found a bit of joy in having those monster be torn apart by her own creation, as sick as she knew it was. Then again, they presumably killed off her family, so she considered it revenge. She took the bomb back in her hand, rubbing over it with her thumbs as she answered Errol. "Hm, its a pretty basic make-up. I showed you how to make a Molotov mix, right? I showed someone...but yeah, it's like that, just a bit more bang to it, and less wet. Match heads and black powder, mostly. And you do not even want to know how long it took me to melt these caps on, child! I mean damn, coins are one thing, they mold pretty clean, but it's hell of tricky keepin' the mix from ignitin' while ya seal the other side on!" She laughed, mostly to herself, but quieted when she realized that everyone has long since abandoned listening to her babble to actually plan their next moves. She sighed again, standing and pushing the dirt off her shorts with her free hand. A stealthy supply run surely wasn't the most exciting way to do things, but she knew it was the brightest idea they had. And even if she hadn't, her grumbling stomach would've helped her to agree. Turning to start organizing her Vespa, Annie looked over at Valeria from the corner of her eye. Sure, she was a city girl and a spoiled one at that, but she wasn't that bad. And she always seemed to be the one who liked her ideas. "So Valley Girl, wanna hang with me and find some grub?" She had room in the storage of her scooter, but not much. Valerie's strong arms could probably carry quite a few grocery sacks full of canned goods; something Annie thought they very sorely needed. David's hand moved out in front of the peccary a bit at Valerie's mention of eating it, though he kept his mouth shut out of fear, staring at her with a certain defensive sadness. Sure, desperate times called for desperate measures, but it was someone's pet! "Should we put him in the trailer?" he asked Brady, trying to push down images of the poor thing being devoured while it was unconscious. He tried not to show his embarrassment at Kay's looks, but found his gaze at his bare feet. The desert hadn't exactly been kind to them, nor had the broke glass and debris he had had to walk through a number of times now. And though days could be unbearably hot, nights almost always gave a promise of bitter cold; and really, it was just awkward not having a shirt. He quickly walked over to Kaylana when everyone broke off to pack up for their trip, thanking her. It wasn't like he had anything to prepare; the small gun tucked into the waistband of his pants sat at the ready.

Character Name: Junipe

Age: 35

Sex: female

Race/Abilities: Ivy (Kissiae) Nymph

Personality/Physical Description: Junipe is sweet and kind, but also passionate and very, very naive. She tries to see the good in all creatures, and seems to not notice the bad even in the most despicable inhabitants of the forest. There isn't a bad bone in Junipe's body, never in her life has she ever harmed anyone purposely. However, her naivete is extreme; she does not know what lies beyond the wall, and so she does do things that others might consider immoral because she simply doesn't know better.

She is also a romantic. Junipe loves nothing more than to envelop herself in her fantasies, letting her thoughts run wild. She dreams of discovering what is beyond that wall and finding a "prince" like the women in the fairy tales she loves so much. She knows that the other inhabitants of the forest fear the day when the wall comes down, but does not understand why. She is very curious, and the combination of her naivete and curiosity can be dangerous, if not controlled. To her, a chance to discover the unknown is the most tempting of prospects. And an attractive young prince is always a plus too!

Finally, she is very in-tune with the forest. Junipe can speak to animals, and it isn't rare for her to stop for a few moments to stop and converse with a few animals before going on her way. She can also feel within her whether the forest is ill or not, and as a nymph, her well-being partially depends on the health of the forest she calls home. If the forest dies, she will die as well. As such, she is very protective of her home, and would be devastated if she found that anyone had been harming it.

Junipe is taller than some of her kind, standing at about 5'7". Junipe is tall and willowy, with long limbs and a slender body. Her skin is cream-colored and fair, and she can usually be seen with a healthy blush lighting up her cheeks. Her eyes are the color of summer leaves, and sometimes brown flecks can be seen within them. Her hair is a light brown, but in the sunlight sometimes it looks more light auburn than brown. Usually she has flowers, twigs, leaves, burrs, and other parts of the forest tangled in between the brown strands, although she usually tries to make sure her hair is smooth and clean every morning. She normally wears a very simple white dress made of thin silk, which leaves her arms and one shoulder bare. She wears nothing on her feet, preferring to feel the grass between her toes.

History: Junipe was born only thirty five years ago, which compared to most of the inhabitants of the forest, makes her very young. Junipe does not remember anything about her birth, and only fleeting moments of her childhood. She never knew either of her parents, and still has no idea who her mother was, or her father. It's something she has always been curious about, but so far has had no luck with discovering who they are.

She was raised by the forest and its inhabitants, finding a mother or father in many of the creatures she spoke to throughout the years. Much of her childhood was spent among animals, learning their ways and how they survived day-to-day, but she also spent time with creatures more similar to herself. During her time with creatures like herself, she was taught to sing and dance, to read and create works of art like some of them did. She fell in love with the forest and its inhabitants, and while she would love to discover what lies beyond the wall, it also is unlikely that she would ever leave for good.

Anything Else: nope!

Writing Sample:

It was the largest castle he had ever seen, and while that should have been something that excited him, it actually scared him half to death.

He didn't understand how anyone could be comfortable here. Harrenhal looked like the home of giants, not mere men. The walls were the thickest he had seen, thicker than him, and the castle was many times the size of even the largest castles he had seen back in Dorne. The room he was staying in was three times the size of his quarters at home, and wasn't half as comfortable. It was cold and drafty, and he could hear whispers in the dark every night without fail.

And then there was the decay. Everything above the lower two floors of the castle had been left completely abandoned for decades. He hadn't dared to venture upstairs, but he heard stories from some braver knights who had ventured up there. Cobwebs covered everything, they said, and bats hung from the ceiling. You could see their eyes staring into your soul when you ventured into their lair, and they could hear the ghosts of lords and ladies that had died long ago. And they said that the stench was unimaginable.

He wasn't sure how much of that was true, of course, but the tales were enough to make any man think twice about exploring too much at Harrenhal. Jeriah had never been the adventurous type anyways; he was content to dine with the other knights and stand guard for his lord when necessary.

Now, though, a feast was in full swing. Serving girls went from tent to tent, serving up pitchers of ale and wine to anyone who had need of a drink. Other serving girls carried trays of food, and yet others carried dirty plates and napkins back to the castle to be washed. His own lord was feasting with some other lesser lords, and Jeriah thought that it would be best if he joined the other knights that served them.

Inside men were feasting happily, all quarrels between their Houses set aside for the time being. Knights from the most noble Houses dined with knights of lesser Houses, and both were served equally. They joked with each other and spoke of the type of things that he was expecting to hear talk of. Who would win various jousts that were to happen the next day was a hot topic, and of course all kinds of gossip about all kinds of people. A few were even playing games and dancing with serving wenches. Despite himself, he had to smile at the scene.

He walked into the tent, which he noted was a natural color so as to not offend anyone, and sat down at one of the benches. Despite the black tiger on a field of bright green - the sigil of House Suthili, which was sworn to the Martells and Dorne - the other men at the table took him in gladly, and he found himself laughing with men from the north, south, east, and west alike.

Character Name: Odolf Age: 1001 years Sex: Male Race/Abilities: Skin-walker. A Skin-walker is part of Navajo legend. It is a witch that undertakes a special ceremony that allows them to take the form of a particular animal. In Odolf's case, the animal is a wolf. This transformation from human to Skinwalker has also extended his life and given him the power to read the minds of humans. Personality/Physical Description: Odolf is a dark haired man with light yellow eyes. His features are heavy-set but not unattractive. He has a thin, pink mouth and a long-ish nose. His eyebrows are thick and his eyes shadowed. Odolf has broad shoulders, a smooth back, and a flat stomach accompanied by a slim waist. His legs are very muscular, like those of a wolf. Odolf is rarely clothed, preferring a small undergarment and nothing more. This makes it easiest to change forms, and he is most comfortable in little because it was the garb favoured by most of his tribe. As a wolf, his fur is a thick, dark brown, unkempt and rough. It sticks up in unruly spikes and often can be seen to have debris caught in it. His tail is thick and would be fluffy, were it not tangled and matted. His teeth are sharp and an ugly yellow. He has long, strong legs and is broad-shouldered. Odolf prefers to keep himself to himself. As a young man, he'd felt he had the fate of his tribe on his shoulders alone, but since the deaths of his peers and even their descendents he has resisted the instinct to help those around him, knowing the trouble it got him in last time. Instead, he avoids humans and fae alike, secreting himself in a burrow on the edge of the forest where he can watch the others but not be interacted with.

History: Odolf was born into a Navajo Indian tribe that was unlike most others. His mother belonged to this tribe while his father belonged to a more mainstream one. His father did not stay with them. His mother's tribe did not believe that Witches and Mages were intrinsically evil, like most other Navajo tribes. Instead the Mages were their main protection and connection to the afterlife. When Odolf was born, he was named by one of the tribe's Mages; Odolf means "prosperous wolf" and alludes to a man's courage and fierceness. The Mage saw it as a prophecy, especially when it was discovered that the child had magical talent in the Witchery Ways. However, the boy had no interest in the Witchery Ways, favouring the simpler life of a hunter. This was until the tribe's last Mage was killed and the ancestors contacted the tribe, naming Odolf as the successor. Believing it was what was best for his tribe, Odolf accepted this fate and agreed to undergo the ceremony that would turn him into a Witch and Skinwalker. The ceremony lasted a day and a night. He spent the night in the forest in the form of a wolf, on his first hunt, and when he woke he was able to hear the thoughts of his fellow tribesmen. Since then, he served his tribe as a Mage for two generations, until a younger man wished to become a Skinwalker. It was at this point that Odolf stood down, not wanting to continue on the path for which his father had always condemned him. For the sake of his tribe, he'd done things he considered unspeakable and most evil (though he did not consider the mere act of becoming a Skinwalker one of these) and he was desperate to put this part of his life behind him. Odolf consulted his ancestors one last time, but discovered that it was not possible for him to return to his life as a normal human. Distraught, he cast away his human life entirely, spending a total of two centuries or perhaps more (time is different to different animals) in the form of a wolf. It was during this time that the fence was built up around his forest home and he unknowingly became trapped. When he found out he was trapped, he changed forms in order to climb the fence from his prison, but found something stopped him, and so he has remained there since. Having lived as a wolf or so long, he has picked up many canine traits and finds it incredibly difficult to remain in human form for a prolonged period of time. Odolf easily defaults to his affectionate, helpful and caring nature as a human, but as a wolf his canine instincts can take over. Anything Else: I'm willing for friendships to develop as we rp, and for characters to have a love interest in him (your poor character) but I won't plan anything in advance.

Writing Sample: I decided to include a few short ones, so hopefully they're okay: [spoiler=Sample 1]I wandered, lazy, from the hospital doors. I didn't even think before jaywalking across the broad road; I didn't really care if I got hit as I crossed. How could I, when I'd just gone for my first cigarette break in 8 hours, left the bedside of my dying mother, feeling like I'd rather die myself than lose the strongest woman I'd ever known. Even when the cancer had made her sickly from her nose to her toes, my dear, sweet mother had done nothing but care for those around her. Even when all the other mothers wanted to drive her kids to school, to help her out. Even when everyone said she needed everyone else more than they needed her, she carried on with her work.

You see, I was 18 when my mother died. My younger brothers were 14 and 10. Until about 2 months before her death, my mother had worked so hard to maintain a normal life. She was a charity worker in the main, didn't earn too much, but the help she gave to disabled children and their families changed lives. She did more than she'd ever been asked to do, but she was far from superfluous. There was always more to be done and she realised this. My mother was amazing.

Sitting on the curb, I lit up, and noticed a questionable-looking man on the other side of the road. His face was bearded and had broken into a wide grin as I watched. He looked very much the stereotypical tourist, brightly coloured clothes, Hawaiian-style shirt, things like that. he even completed the look with a polaroid camera dangling from his neck and bumping against his round belly as he walked. I watched him stop to take a photo, though goodness new of what. I watched him walk away. It's incredible the things that interest you when you're avoiding the thought of death. I finished my cigarette and stubbed it out on the curb before leaving the butt in the gutter. Then I went back in, to watch my mother cry some more.

Simon and I went for a picnic in the woods. Unfortunately, it rained hard that evening and the ground was soaked. Someone decided to go anyway. I wondered where Melody was, what she was doing, if she'd planned a picnic for her children only to have to call it off because of the weather. I forced my way high into a tree, my muscles aching by the time I got to about a third of the way up. It was an enormous pine tree; I'd been lucky enough to find one with large enough branches at the bottom. I settled myself in and, my arms burning from the effort of climbing, watched Simon explore the area.

He'd found a clearing about 2 metres from my tree, I could see it through a patchy, leaf-obscured gap in the branches. He had started pushing leaves out of the way to make a space on the ground. He left large mulchy piles at the edge of the little clearing, then laid down the picnic blanket we'd brought with us anyway regardless of the weather. He seemed content enough to continue shifting mush, until he stopped. He didn't look too happy now.

With an effort, I forced my tired muscles to help me down from my comfortable spot. I hated this part, always feeling like the ground would soon join me all too quickly, and I'd land on my face. When, finally, my feet were securely back where they belonged, I (slightly shakily) walked over to Simon. He was tentatively pushing something around, trying to cover it with leaves, but I could still see what it was. Some poor creature's bones had been left to dry out (unsuccessfully) in the clearing.I'm no biologist, so I couldn't tell who it had once belonged to; some small woodland creature, I assumed. I felt kind of ill looking at it, but there wasn't much I could do about it. I certainly wasn't going to touch it.

Simon and I scooped up leaves and dumped them on the animal. Then we kicked the pile under another pile and pushed it right to the edge of the clearing. We had our picnic, though the ground was wet. I got the feeling neither of us had forgotten about the dead thing buried in the leaves. I hoped it had lived a good life, but even I could tell the bones were all scratched up, so it had probably been eaten by something bigger, or had fallen prey to another, similar fate. We didn't stay there long, actually. Simon made the decision to pack up and walk on soon after we'd eaten our sandwiches, so we did. As we left the clearing, my eyes flicked to the pile of leaves, but it was my tree that I gazed longingly at in my last glance. I hadn't gotten a chance to enjoy it properly, and we went back to his car a different way through the woods.

I pretended I wasn’t just a little bit hurt by that. She meant she trusted me more than anyone else, right? “Is there anything you want me to help with?” I asked, instead of mentioning my worries. In reality, I knew she was only telling me because, like with her other skeletons, I’d stumbled upon this secret by accident. No other reason.

“Sure.” Her voice made her sound relieved that I’d distracted her. “Break up these biscuits into the food processor. They don’t need to be too small.” She handed me a pack of digestives.

I put a few in first – they fit fine without needing to be broken up – then I needed to start breaking them. “All of them?” I asked, snapping a couple in half. It seemed pretty full already and I’d put only about a third of the pack in.

“If it’s full, you can process them,” she said. Melody still hadn’t looked at me. “Just press the ‘pulse’ button a few times.” I did as she said and continued snapping biscuits. They dropped in the processor with a ‘clunk’. I stared at Melody expectantly.

When a silence had held sway over the kitchen for a little while and it became apparent she wasn’t going to talk without prompting, I asked, “Melody? What happened when you were younger?”

Of course, I knew a little bit already. Bruises on her legs and scars on her wrists. If Melody hadn’t done them to herself, someone else must have; neither story was good, but I didn’t see any other possibility. Melody normally wore long skirts and tops with long, lacy sleeves. Her clothes were beautiful, I thought, especially when she wore blue or aquamarine; they really set off her vibrant orange hair. Still, her lovely clothes hid a dangerous truth. Today, her flowery skirt had caught on something as she crossed the room and I’d glimpsed deep purple bruises on her shins and thighs. She’d tugged it down quickly, but she knew I’d seen it.

Between the vibrations of the food processor, I heard Melody sigh. I suppose she could have lied instead of telling me, but as far as I know she never told me any untruths. “Do I have to say it, Sandy?”

“Yes,” I whispered. I didn’t think she’d ever told anyone. She probably didn’t after she told me, either.

“My father,” she said quietly. Melody still hadn’t looked at me, not since I’d first asked. She busied herself with slicing off a piece of butter from the slab on the kitchen counter, or whipping cream in a bowl. I reached out a hand and touched her shoulder lightly. She didn’t flinch away like she used to. I realised I should have guessed, really, but Melody was the strongest woman I’d ever known.

“I’ve done the biscuits.”

“Melt this butter in a pan,” she instructed, louder and more confident again. She was very good at pretending that nothing was bothering her. She must have been practicing all her life.

As I did what she instructed, Melody told me that her father would hit her across the legs if she disobeyed him. He used a belt if she cried, so she learnt not to cry. “Later, his hand didn’t hurt as much anymore, so the belt came back,” she said. Her voice was completely devoid of emotion. She was resigned to her fate, I realised.

Her father must have been in his 60s and he was still abusing her. I could feel tears pricking my eyes. On impulse, I wrapped my arms around her waist, just to show I cared; I guessed there wasn’t really anything I could do.

“Sandy, the butter is burning!” Melody suddenly said, loudly.

I hurried back to my pan and stared at the messy, burnt liquid staining the bottom. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I said quickly, horrified.

Melody joined me at the hob, hand on my back. It felt kind of comforting. “It’s okay, there’s more butter,” she said. Melody sounded very calm. Maybe it would be okay. Melody got out another pan and began to melt some more butter. “Just make sure you watch it this time.”

I did as she told me and alerted her as soon as it was all melted. Gloopy and yellow; it didn’t look very nice, I must admit. She took the pan from me and took it to the kitchen counter. I turned off the hob while she stirred the biscuits into the butter. She then tipped it out into a ceramic case and flattened it. Somehow, while I’d been messing around with butter, she’d made a cheesecake filling and, when the base was cool, poured it on top. The dessert then went straight in the fridge.

“Why don’t you tell the authorities?” I asked suddenly. “They would protect you.”

Melody got out another pan, put berries of all kinds in it – raspberries, strawberries, blueberries – and added sugar. While standing by the hob, she looked at me incredulously, “Tell them what? My father, who as far as they know doesn’t even exist, beats me? I’m a grown woman, Sandy; do you think they’d believe that?” she asked me. She had a point. Still stirring, Melody crossed the room with the pan – I turned off the hob, again – and poured the now-liquid berries into a small glass bowl.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making a berry coolie,” she replied. I looked at her questioningly. “It’s like a sauce. The first time I made a cheesecake, I covered it with berries.”

I watched Melody put the bowl, covered with a layer of cling film, in the fridge. “Why the change?”

“The fruit was too much.”