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[sup][i]"Lady In Red; 1492, Artist: Uknown."[/i][/sup]
[color=000000][h3]Maharet.Roque[i]l[/i]aure[/h3][/color]
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[i][sub]The Lady In Red; Mistress Mekare; Maman Sang.[/sub][/i]
Vampire | Ancient of the Nyctari Family | Smuggler of [i]"imported goods."[/i][/center]
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[b]ᴀɢᴇ —[/b] [color=AB091E][sub][i]"but tell of days in goodness spent."[/i][/sub][/color]
[indent]Based upon initials impressions, Maharet appears, unassumingly, stranded in her early thirties; time eludes the eternal, and she cannot say or remember how much she had been aged before the blood and night became her mistress and her master. An accumulation of paintings and depictions of her likeness can be dated back into the late 1400’s, leading into the Early Renaissance. Among her own people, Maharet is considered entirely ancient, an elder by blood and vanity into this age.[/indent] 

[b]ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ —[/b] [color=B70B1F][sub][i]"she walks in beauty, like the night."[/i][/sub][/color]
[indent]Vixen-esque: a rictus befitting the illusion of a vulpine seductress by the sharp planes of her countenance and the critical deduction of her slanted, almond featured eyes. Every definition of Maharet’s psyche is poised, refined, an incredibly obtuse elegance practiced from an early age and systematically exercised, and nurtured through her adaptation of many centuries. Through the ages; the fashions, the technology; the many lives and facades she has underwent, there has been one consistent factor to her assemblage: the mane of red hair that has oft been trademarked in her various cameos through paintings and visual captures. Never once altering within colour, but having beheld many a style in her age. A dark ginger within the cold, and a warm flame in the sun, and left alone in a tumble of waves that’s almost artful in every slight curl, offset by the steelish azure of her eyes and pale complexion. Sweeping back her fringe exposes the unique bridge of her nose, proud, and complemented by the slight of her brow; akin to something delicate. However, beneath the softness of her wide, bow shaped mouth is the feral monster lurking beneath.

Maharet’s dress sense over the years had adapted to a peculiar, often bi-polar style, switching on her whims and whichever time has best suited her current deposition, similar to her method of decoration and decorum. Interchanging to heavy, mauve velvet, to waif skirts and chiffon in the finest of materials she has imported over time, Maharet is never seen donning a duplicate in her wardrobe and proudly owns a plethora of styles and fabrics within her arsenal of fashion. Time has bequeathed the vampire with a lithe body, slender in appearance, never burdened by the limitations of mortal flaws, further brightened by her ancient prowess and the uniqueness of blood. She carries herself with a languid simplicity, all gathered into a five-six frame, deliberate and exact, deducting her purpose with coiled muscle, almost lazy and bored with the sheath of her eyes shuttering the steel backdrop of her glances.[/indent] 

[b]ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀ[i]ʟ[/i]ɪᴛʏ —[/b] [color=C40E1F][sub][i]"where thoughts serenely sweet express"[/i][/sub][/color]
[hider=&][indent]When one lives as long as she, and gains with them many titles and names, time and life blurs into a myriad of shapes and forms; colours blotted into a series of hues and saturation that eventually become one thing: grey. Maharet’s personality has become such: a muted, desolate existence of tragedy and sensitivity by the sheer magnitude of her life. Bored does not even come close to describing her state of mind. However, the current listlessness she experiences does not deviate from her methods of enjoyment, gluttony is one of her favoured sins, bridled beside vanity and hubris. She indulges through the splendors of every age with a mass of subjects, toys, projects and dalliances with an abandon of pure, unsaturated hunger whenever the urge takes her. Not to be confused with carelessness, for Maharet has not lived this long by means of unattributed irrationality, or means of cruelty for her own selfish entertainment. She’s methodically careful, choosing those around her with care and finesse or simply embarks into years of solitude - it’s amazing how easily the eternal can slumber. On first impressions Maharet is deducted as soft, careful, deliberate in her idle motions, as if to betray attention away from her person, but hidden beneath the initial barrier is the wealth of knowledge and habit, the critically judging woman who takes catalog of everything around her. 

But life, existence, is boring, dull; only sparked alive by the fleeting life of companions and lingering ecstasies, Maharet knows this. And any sense of morality or obligation has been heavily warped in her perception, to the exact detail of where right and wrong do not exist, but various uniforms of grey instead interchange. To inquire of the scarlet mistress if she feels guilt in her life, or any reservation, would receive a slow, disarming blink of complacency that’s frustrating to those who penchant themselves to be above the dank, dismal refuge to the trafficking of the mortal soul. Boredom can be assumed when Maharet browses, when she’s not dipping into the crime syndicate, applying her knowledge of the years through their induction and accession into the game. However, Maharet never limits herself, her tendency is to be involved in everything she is capable of dwelling into, no matter the danger or the betrayal - when you have not to live for, you have nothing to lose. 

However, no matter the amount of cool deduction, she is a creature of the night, of the blood and the shadows, and as such of their rein she is capable of the feral, bestial nature of their unstable desires. During the wicked hours, when Maharet steps across the threshold, she easily slips into the glutton, the wanton lady who pursues mortals based upon their beauty and favour. Though humans, frail and soft, are not the sole, [un]fortunate individuals to be subjected to her enthrallment, Maharet does not discriminate again her lessor kin [and she says this dismissively] - centuries of having endured such and witnessed changes within society has blurred the line for this particular vampire to where most faces blend seamlessly to a blur of blood, scent, and the essence that is life no matter which taint it carries.[/indent][/hider] 

[b]ʙɪᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ —[/b] [color=D01020][sub][i]"one shade the more, one ray the less"[/i][/sub][/color]
[hider=&][indent]During the Early Renaissance, when the cultural movement of art and intellect pursuits began cupping the fringe of human intelligence and perspective, the first oil painting of Maharet’s nature was first displayed, bequeathing her the title of The Lady in Red. An enigma of what she was rather than who, for the man who captured her likeness in the forever swatches of colour had been found drained of his essence the following day his gallery had been embellished around the infamous piece. Though still careful and deciding in nature, some branches of the illustrious Nyctari family, known as the Nyctarius in the early royals of Italy, had been rather offended by the gall of painters, philosophers and men known to this day to have cultivated the branch between the fourteenth century and the seventeenth. To think they could seal away their beauty and power on a mere canvas or to be told within whimsical tales! Maharet was still young, fresh, youthful among the leagues of family and her creator, a woman who merely went by the name of Maman. 

Vampires and other worldly creatures were still adapting, having been risen from a slumber of mysterious origins, old, decrepit elders were nearly petrified by their elongated rest and thus had taken to a gluttonous retribution and plagued most of the human realm with their - for lack of better term - disease. Most would call the time of feverish pain some other sickness, a plague of the dead, an arise of evil, satanic and barbaric with the feral condition most went under during this molestation of change. Maharet, created much sooner by Maman’s vanity and avarice to obtain many daughters, stood by to witness this carnage and felt the first struggles of bloodlust - no matter how cultivated her hunger was under Maman’s tutelage to partake of the purest of essences. But, they were not alone, many other creatures too blended along with the human kind, and for their cavernous hunger, they suffered pillages and consequences and as such, a smear of ebony came with their uttered curse.

However, Maharet, despite various warnings and advertisement against doing so, found a certain enjoyment in making appearances through the critical advancements in time, and always through the creation of a painting or the snip of a photo - though blurred. Perhaps it was her vanity, no amount of lessons could rid her of that sin, but the eternal perspective of her likeness always spurred a sense of desire in her, waking forth a long, dusted amount of lust when she managed to inspire a particular piece of fine, wonderful talent. She admired these beings who, like she, saw the world through different eyes - her perception shadowed and dead, theirs bright and ever lasting. Maman often advised against such admiration, often quoting that human life was vibrant, but also wasting, vanishing like stars and sunbursts. They were eternal, servants to the night, they would last and Maharet never quite understood that lesson until time bled into a dampened deluge of grey and black and before she realized it, centuries had leaped across her eyes in a fickle, slow, blink. 

No one had ever told her of this eternity and in her only recalled moment of irrational behavior, the vampire child fled from her creator and disbanded from their family.

Becoming like a flicker of flame, Maharet wove her life seamlessly into the existence of others, she courted lords, she courted ladies, leaving their bed chambers in the night and fed on them, leaving only the whiff of her as a parting gift. She meddled into their lives, almost careless in her immersion and fed on more than her fair share, blood-drunk, she’d say and basked into the near euphoric gluttony she reaped across their hearts. She garnered many names, titles and stories, painting were made and fond memories were whispered of her, a new moniker gracing herself illustrated in the admiration of others.

But as time often proved to her, again and again, this too did not last. Maharet fell into a fitful slumber, sealing herself into a deep state of comatose to waste away her tragic being. Perhaps a bit theatrical, as later those of her ancient family would call her foolish and woeful, Maharet cared not for these sparing details for at the centre of her being pooled all the greys of her life into a weighted stone. She barely acknowledged fellow creatures, figuring them beneath her and so she slept, for how many years, she cannot discern.

[i]This was until the Nyctari family woke her up.[/i]

Rousing the Lady in Red from her rest, it produced a cannibalistic slaughter, Maharet’s near mad feeding frenzy sating the hunger of a beast long induced into hibernation. Though viewed as almost taboo, to feed on those of her species, Maharet’s power of blood kept her from succumbing to a bestial insanity associated with cannibalism among their people. So, when the haze of red fled from her vision, they told her in somber words that Maman was dead. Initially surprised that the woman had lived so long, they admitted fleetingly that the ancient being was nearing a petrified state of withering bone and no amount of feeding could stave off her decomposition, much to their dismay when Maman literally was spent into a fine powder in her final hours. Instructions were left in her demise and in such was the demand that Maharet be awoken, for what purpose the Nyctari family was never informed and much to Maharet’s depressing displeasure.[/indent][/hider]

[b]ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ —[/b] [color=DC1220][sub][i]"meet in her aspect and her eyes"[/i][/sub][/color]
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[color=000000].[/color]Maharet doesn’t have a permanent affiliation with the current Nyctari families line of work, but neither does she aspire to loyalty to the lesser Nyte Kings and their flair of exposure. Yet, since her awakening, she seems to flit between the two, for whatever purpose that cannot be discerned just yet.
[color=000000].[/color]Dues to Maharet's cache that was tucked away with her into slumber, she bears an array of finery and wears, along with that was left over from Maman's many riches and splendors. Due to such inheritance, many individuals come to Maharet oft to search and browse for something [i]different[/i]. If one cannot find such treasures on their own, this vampire is sure to have it. Not one for money [she has plenty], Maharet requires a varied sort of "currency".
[color=000000].[/color]Maharet has many vassals and thralls, though she despises the latter word, and has built a net work of finesse to further backbone her imports.
[color=000000].[/color]It's unknown if the vampire lady is involved within the human, and non-human, trafficking ring.[/indent]
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