Maesta Somniare, the Sorrowful Dreamer

Be warned, however. Maesta's history is a rather gruesome one.

"Lyddie? Lyddie!" The fouteen-year-old, brown-haired boy waved a huge hand at the twelve-year-old from across the garden. Blinking back, the dark-haired girl shushed at him.
"It's LYDIA," she huffed. "And you know what my parents would do if they found you here?" SKIN you, that's what they'd do."
"Aww.. only came to give you this.." Barreling along, he handed her an apple, its skin gleaming a cheerful red against the dark brown of his hand. Her wide blue eyes studied the rich coloring against her own pale skin, the difference between a noble and a peasant once again becoming clear to her, like the wall she sat on that stood between her and her friend. "Well.. thank you, Thomas." Her fine shoulders straightened.
"Sure.." He grinned at her, shoving his roughened hands into his pockets as he sidled away, brown puppy eyes sparkling after.
She shivered; her parents had told her not to get involved with the comman folk, but Thomas just seemed.. different, somehow. Oh, well, she told herself. There is still the wall that separates us.. Glancng only once at the thick white wall, she hopped down from it and walked with grace back up towards the huge house that was her home.

***

Her life was a peaceful one, Lydia's. Born into a rich noble family and placed on a pedistal for her life, being the twinkle in everyone's eye. She was, however, different in the respect she didn't see the the differences in social classes. To her, the peasants were just as deserving of wood in the wintertime as her family. Her parents had tried their hardest to help her see, but Lydia would shrug them off and go find a spot under a nearby to sit and daydream, orplay with the pad of paper and bits of charcoal she fished out of the fireplace. Heaven forbid her parents ever see her do this, but as she grew, so did her artistic talent.

***

As Lydia settled down for the night, she heard a rustling from downstairs. Trying her best to ignore it, she rolled over in her cozy down comforter and closed her eyes again. That's when the shouting started. Loud, angry voices penetrated through the night, heralded by the thunder of many hooves on the horizon. Confused and afraid, Lydia crawled out of bed to peer out the window only to see men on horseback, the light cast by the flaming torches in their hands making thier stteds look like demons with leering red eyes, fangs, and clawed hooves. Their fists pounded on their front door, and her father, still in his bedclothes, stepped out to meet them. A heavy-set man moved his horse forward, burly muscles rippling. Words were exchanged and with a flick of the mounted man's wrist, her father was disembowled as she watched.
Still trying to cope with the original horror, Lydia could only gape as the torches touched her house and it began to burn swiftly. Her frail hands shaking, she back away from the window, not knowing where to go, her mind in a wild whirl of emotion and thought, shattered dreams and just realized nightmares. Whirling black smoke built up in her room as she staggered back from the window, moments flying crazily by her, and her breaths became coughing hiccups, deprived for air. Her knees began to tremble and she knew she was about to feint when her window shattered, a tall figure moving through to pick her up as easily and gently as a mother cat grasps a kitten. Her head rolled back and her blue eyes glazed, glimpsing a lock of brown hair shortly before she swooned.

***

Her eyes opened again to find herself set up in a small clearing with several dozen others, all huddled in blankets and shivering in the new morning's cold air, dew dripping from their faces. She gathered her blanket around her, and stood up, moving through the clustered people, some who sat up as if a zombie, others who lay still upon the ground, still asleep she thought. Yet others moaned and rolled around, nudged and bent over by still others who were walking around. It was one of these she caught by the arm.
"Excuse me, " she whispered, "but where am I?"
"Stil alive, me girl, thanks to yer friend Tom. Heaven bless him where ever he may be."
"Tom-Thomas?" she shivered, wide blue eyes blinking up at the kind older woman.
"Aye. He pulled ye out from yer burning 'ouse, he did, then went back to see if he could git yer mother. We all saw what 'appened to yer father, poor miss." She patted Lydia's head.
Lydia's eyes glazed as she remembered, and her trembling began anew. "What happened?"
"Wot 'appened? Och, the revolt moved in from the north, it did. Fiercesome thing, those rebels.. I imagine there's not much left in any of their wake." Again she patted Lydia's head, then bustled back to her work.
Lydia, stunned, moved out of the clearing in a daze, only to be violently shocked out of it upon entering the area where her Manor once stood.
Bodies lay scattered everywhere, ringing the blacked spot upon the plain where her family 's home had once stood. Arms and legs hung grotesquely in the air, stark terror plastered across their faces as if they faced some giant demon who ran them down before they could defend themselves. And the more Lydia thought about it, it was a true enough analogy. The stories she had head of war were glorious, and they had mentioned the dead, saying they had given their lives honorably. But she saw through that facade now. She knew it as the falsehood it was.
Slowly, the child walked through the corpses, becoming detached as she gazed over their dead faces, absorbing the details without noting them. As she neared the Manor, she saw a pile of corpses, blackened by fire, and all seeming to be rushing towards an unreachable goal; the door, she supposed, as that was where they were near. On one, she could see a reminant scrap of silk, another the string of an apron. The third held an apple in its hand.
She turned then, and vomited in the grass before running into the woods, collapsing in sobs among the tree trunks.

***

The day passed with her curled under the foliage, away from the others who she knew now were not sleeping, but wounded, perhaps mortally so. The others had only been stunned, and the few who had retained their senses were nursing the dying. Wings as black as a raven's closed in over her heart as night began to fall and the night-birds began to call to her. Surprisingly, she found no fear in them tonight, only an odd sort of comfort, and when one gave an odd sort of squawk, her swollen eyes flew open. Guided by an unseen hand, she climbed into a nearby tree, hidden by its branches. After a moment she heard it - the nearing sound of hooves. Her eyes closed again as a nightbird nearby began to sing, lulling her into a strange sort of sleep.
The night was filled with screams of pain, fire, and horses thundering under the cover of the foliage, but Lydia slept soundly, dreaming still as a black horse plundered the ground below her. Thin white hands reached up to her, pulling her down and onto the horses back. Gummily, her eyes blinked open to see a stark white face with black hair and eyes leaning over her. She jumped and tried to squirm, surprised at the gentle hands that held fast. Then she noted the sunrise, and the fact the stranger had not changed to ashes, as vampyres were said to. The stranger laughed, then, settling her more firmly on the horse's back.
"Peace, little one." From the tone of the voice and her clearing eyesight, the figure on the horse became feminine. "I am no Vampyre, but of a clan known as the Night-Dwellers - Nox Incolae - a clan of artists and dreamers who prefer the solitude of night to the glare of daytime." She chuckled. "We have heard your heart, little brave one, and we are here to bring you home, if you so wish it. We know your talent."
"H-home?" Lydia blinked. "I have no home.."
"Ah, but you do now, " smiled the stark white woman as warmly as her appearance would let her. "Will you come, my child?"
Looking up into those two black eyes, any other day she would have been terrified of them, but she found an appeal to them and the odd female.
"Al-alright, " she sniffed, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.
"Good. I am Umbra, little one. Umbra Susurra, the Whispering Shadow."
Somehow, Lydia found the name alluring and suiting. "I am -"
Umbra cut her off. "You are no longer who you were, " she murmured. "Would you not rather have a name that speaks of your future, and not your past?"
Lydia blinked. This made far too much sense to her fragile mind, and she nodded. "That would be .. nice."
Umbra gave her grim smile. "Then we shall call you.." she paused to consider, "Maesta. Maesta Somniare. The Sorrowful Dreamer."
Lydia nodded, her eyelids growing heavy again. "Measata.. I like it.."
"Good. Now sleep, Maesta, and when you wake we will be home."
"Home.." murmured Maesta, closing her eyes against the brightness of the day.

***

A few hours later, a brown-haired boy burst into the clearing, amid the dead bodies. "Lydia?" His voice was broken and his eyes searched the piles of dead. "Lyddie?"

***

Maesta wanders now, from Inn to Inn with her sketch pad and charcoal, dressed in a black-vested outfit with a short leather skirt. In all appearances, she looks like a modern day Gothic with pale skin and her once blue eyes have darkened to a midnight blue, so they appear black most of the time. She does not know, either, that Thomas still lives, which might have a fairly LARGE impact on her persona which, at the moment is a verion of "Don't bother me and I won't bother you." She's rather sulky, and tends to be depressed a lot of the time, though if someone would just take the time to get to know her.. she could probably USE a "normal" friend. *chuckle*.
And as for her drawings.. she's been known to do the occasional "normal" one, but the vast majority of her artwork is based upon the scenes of destruction she saw the day of the story. I.E., she draws scenes of death, war, and other gore. In fact, she'll often go into an Inn, pick somenoe, and kill them on canvas. It's nothing personal against them, it's just the way she deals with the pain she never really dealt with to begin with, as she was too young.
Alright, now that I've bored you with story and tidbits, here are her Stats -