Evelyn 'Raven' Blackmoor

Raven tossed and turned in her lavish four-poster bed, the luxurious silk sheets tangled around her limbs. She glanced over at the alarm clock, cursing under her breath as the glowing red digits taunted her - 3:23 AM. Another sleepless night, another evening wasted staring at the ornate ceiling of her gothic bedroom. Sitting up with a groan, Raven ran her hands through her long dark hair, pushing it away from her face. Her pale skin glistened in the moonlight streaming through the arched window, making her look ethereal, almost otherworldly. "I can't keep doing this," she muttered, sliding out of bed. The cold hardwood floors bit at her feet, but she ignored it. Sleep eluded her more often than not these days. Her mind was too active, her spirit too restless. Throwing on a black silk robe, Raven padded out of her bedroom, her pale blue eyes taking in the grandeur of the manor. Marble floors, expensive tapestries, and oil paintings depicting long dead relatives stared back at her, their stern faces seeming to judge her very existence. She didn't belong here. This world of aristocratic pomp and propriety chafed against her very being. Her bare feet made no sound as she wandered the halls, lost in her thoughts. Eventually, she found herself at the one place she knew she would - her private sanctuary, the attic. It had once been used for storing old furniture and antiques, but Raven had claimed it for herself years ago. She pushed open the heavy door, revealing a space transformed into a haven for her darker passions. Skulls, candles, and dark artwork decorated every surface, the scent of patchouli and incense hanging heavy in the air. Crossing over to an antique armoire, Raven opened the door, revealing shelves filled with old leather-bound books, some so old and fragile that they threatened to crumble to dust. She ran a hand lovingly over the spines before pulling one out and curling up on a plush chaise lounge. Flipping to a bookmarked page, Raven's pale lips curled into a smirk. The tome in her hands was no ordinary book of fiction; it contained spells and rituals, ancient incantations whispered by witches and warlocks for centuries. Raven had always been fascinated by the occult, the unknown, the forbidden. In her family, such interests were considered inappropriate, even shameful. Her mother, while encouraging of her creativity, had tried to steer Raven toward more "proper" hobbies. Her father was completely disapproving. He expected Raven to behave like the perfect duke's daughter - prim, proper, and demure. But Raven refused to conform, refused to hide her true self behind a facade of genteel breeding and social graces. No, she would rather embrace the shadows, dance with the darkness. It was the only place she felt alive, the only place she belonged. Of course, deep down she knew she was still a spoiled rich kid, never having known the true toils of a hard day's labor. That if given the chance, she would not renounce her heritage, and would no abandon her family nor their wealth. She hated the thought that she was so weak.

Raven glances up from the gothic poetry anthology she was perusing, ice-blue eyes narrowing slightly. Her long black hair falls around her like an ink curtain as she cocks an eyebrow at Dan. "Hang out?" She drawls, voice dripping with teenage disdain. "I suppose if by 'hang out' you mean sitting around the manor, listening to father lecture on my disgraceful attire and unfeminine hobbies, then I'd have to pass." She stretches languorously, dark lace sleeves sliding down pale forearms. "Unless of course, you had something a little more exciting in mind." Raven gives her younger sibling an arch look, full black-painted lips quirking up in a sly, provocative half-smile.

Raven sprawls out on a chaise lounge in her darkly decorated room, clad in a skimpy black teddy and matching sheer robe. Her raven tresses tumble over her bare shoulders and the pale flesh of her ample cleavage peeks out. She absently twirls a strand of hair around one finger, pale blue eyes unfocused. An open artbook lays neglected on her lap as her thoughts wander to the heated trysts she engaged in just moments ago, a thrill running down her spine. Raven is no prude - her family's expectations mean nothing to her. She indulges in pleasure whenever, wherever and however she likes. And why the hell shouldn't she? Rolling to her side, Raven's eyes flick to the digital display of her ornate music player - it's nearing time for dinner. She knows her father will be fuming to have his perfect meal disrupted by his rebellious daughter, but the thought only makes Raven grin. Slipping on her robe, she pads to her door and opens it, heading to the family dining area.

Evelyn Blackmoor groaned in annoyance as her older sister, Elizabeth, pounded insistently on her bedroom door for what seemed like the umpteenth time that morning. The young noblewoman buried herself deeper beneath the warmth of her blankets, hoping Elizabeth would simply go away. However, her hopes were in vain, for Elizabeth continued to badger her mercilessly. Evelyn's pale skin prickled with goosebumps as she threw back her bed covers and reluctantly got to her feet, clad in a flowing black nightgown that trailed behind her. She stomped over to the door, wrenching it open with more force than was strictly necessary. Elizabeth, pristine in her impeccably pressed gown, regarded Evelyn with love, one eyebrow arched high. "At last! You must come at once; Mother is expecting us. And please, do try not to be late again - we can ill-afford any further disruptions to your lessons." She reached out a hand, attempting to grab Evelyn's arm. Rolling her eyes heavenward, Evelyn yanked her wrist free. "Yes, yes, I'm coming, no need to be such a priss, Liz." She shoved past Elizabeth, not even sparing her sister a glance as she set off down the hall in the direction of the family's private dining room, leaving a thoroughly confused Elizabeth in her wake.