Post by Zayn L'Envers-Shahrizai on Jul 19, 2010 15:52:31 GMT -5
Character played by: Emiliya Vishnevskaya
Name: Zayn L'Envers-Shahrizai
Age: 27
Race: D'Angeline/Akkadian
Gender: Female
Height: 5'7
Home Province/Country: Terre d'Ange/Kebbel-im-Akkad
Appearance: A slightly taller than average height of 5'7, Zayn bears little outward resemblance to her Shahrizai lineage; her hair is sepia, her eyes the color of amethyst, Zayn is to every inch of her body a L'Envers. Her skin is the only thing that differs; by winters touch, she is as pale as a moonbeam, but in the rays of summer, she darkens quickly, thanking much to her Akkadian blood.
Her mouth is sweet and gentle, prone to smiling easily and frowning little; she is very aware of the lines that may form on her face if she frowns too much, and give away her true nature when she's older before she even says a word. No; Zayn is very much a beautiful d'Angeline woman, marketing herself as a true friend, someone that can be trusted and leaned upon, someone who honestly cares about you.
History: Blessed and cursed both, Zayn was born of mixed blood between two countries that strained at best for good relations. Her mother, Shaheen, was a daughter of Valere L'Envers, who had wed the Khalif of Kebbel-im-Akkad, but from an early age Zayns mother had known that this life wasn't all she wanted. Her blood raced, mixed with d'Angeline and Akkadian, diluted from being whole of either country by half, and when she was a teen she left the country, returning home to a land rich in different culture, wholly different than what she had grown up used to. It wasn't long before she met Aloys Shahrizai, a man from Kusheth whom she fell in love with, a strong man by d'Angeline terms, but one that didn't make her cover her face, who didn't beat her in public. She was able to have friends, to reconnect with family she'd never before met, and on the surface everything was beautiful, everything was wonderful.
Behind closed doors, Shaheens submissive nature not only flourished, but fed the fires of the man she'd married, fires that began as licking flames of fire and arousal, but were fanned into an inferno by nothing more than a woman who readily took whatever was dished out to her. She'd learned as much from her mothers breast on, watching as women acceded to their masters wish without complaint; it was born into her, engrained into her, and when she would rise the morning after, half her face awash in bruises, she knew it wasn't what her daughter would endure - she refused to let it be so. Aloys by turn forced his wife to tell him of what she'd been made to do before she left the country, of the men she'd serviced, of how she'd been treated, and when the doors to their bedroom would close at night, he would act it out and punish her for ever taking a man before himself.Again and again, night after night, the only solace Shaheen found was in her beautiful children.
Zayn was born two years after Aloys and Shaheen had wed, opening her little eyes to a world of underlying turmoil. At first her gaze was blue and clear, and Aloys was overjoyed for it, that his blood had prevailed over his wife's… but as the months wore on, Zayn's eyes began to change from a sparkling blue to an unmistakable violet, bursting with color and beauty in a way that only one family could truly claim: L'Envers, not Shahrizai. It burned at Aloys, and the joy and love he felt for his caught began to trickle away, especially once the couple second child was born, a son named Jove. Jove was born but a year after Zayn, and while he bore the hair color of their mother, his eyes remained wholly his fathers from the color to the very shape. Having heard enough stories of Kebbel-im-Akkad, Aloys had diluted himself enough that he placed his son above his daughter in his heart, if not in writing. The couple had one more child, a second daughter named Yvaine.
Throughout her childhood, Zayn bore witness to many acts of cruelty by her father, addressed mainly upon her mother, but inflicted at times upon the children as well. Jove was an exception more often than not, and Zayn grew to hold contempt for her blue-eyed brother; when he would walk into the room, she'd leave if possible.
In public, the family was well mannered, properly behaved; every button was done up smartly, every lock of hair fell sweetly, every female face was slightly downcast. Inwardly Zayn burned at it, at being forced to hide the beauty of her eyes from her peers, though by the time she was twelve she'd begun to realize just how they looked at her. Leering, both openly and in disguise, Zayn could almost feel their gazes sweep across her slim waist, the ripple of her ribs, where her hips were just beginning to jut outwards. The more she saw and realized, the more pride she began taking in her appearance, and her mother found pride and despair both in watching Zayn dress; one one hand, she was beautiful, coming into her own and blossoming in a way that was impossible to deny, but on the other hand, she feared for how she might be treated, what the man who claimed love would do to her once darkness fell, especially once Aloys' view on Zayn began to noticeably change. No longer did he look at her in contempt, but as a pawn, something that could be molded and shaped, pushed where he wanted and made to fit whether she wanted it or no. He had her flirting with first cousins, with uncles, with her tutors and people he randomly pointed out in the marketplace. Frequently they were in the City, residing there more than in the country, and just shy of Zayns fourteenth natal he began to bring her with him on his business deals, pretending to be training her to take over the business, but in truth he was pitting her against them, using her as a distraction with her lips, her eyes, her supple breasts and shapely hips. Aloys would pretend to be oblivious to it all, and more often than not he got his way with what he wanted, solely because his business partners were too distracted by the young woman who was all but undressing them with her eyes. In truth, Zayn loved it, and she wanted them, not just to flirt with them. The hands of her cousins, of her uncles, of the random strangers who bought her little trinkets in the marketplace. She wanted to feel them inside of her, to know what it was like, and it drove her to madness not to have it. At night she would finger herself till she came, and in the morning she'd wash, erasing all but the memory, preparing herself for another day of seduction.
Shaheen loathed it, to say the truth, but it wasn't until her father began plans of discreetly selling off his daughters virginity that she finally stepped in. Bundling Zayn and Yvaine up, Shaheen fled with them in the night, leaving behind her son; she did not want him picking up the ways of the Akkadian men on top of what he was already seeing in his father. She'd not have gone there at all, but there was no where else she trusted, no where she knew she would be received without question, and indeed her mother welcomed her back with open arms and tearful eyes.
Zayn flourished, growing rapidly in Kebbel in both body and mind. She learned dances, learned ways of flirting and seduction that her father never had dreamed of, and before long Zayn began picking up the ways, blending it into her d'Angeline upbringing into something intensely unique. Her mind was far diluted by this time, delved deeply within her, too far gone to be salvaged. Her mother noticed subtle differences in her, but with the guidance of someone she coveted, she kept even her own momma in the dark to the depths of her transformation. She leaned instead to someone she adored, someone who was strong and brave, someone who was driven and knew exactly who he was, exactly what he wanted: Henri L'Envers.
Her fascination with him had begun the first time she'd met him after arriving, at a dinner he'd thrown to welcome her mother and the children to the country. Zayn had watched him with intense, curious eyes, and as the evening had stretched on, as her mother was with drink and laughing with other guests and her baby sister sleeping soundly upon a couch, Henri drew her away to have a talk. He'd kept his hands to himself that first time, using only his eyes; he looked at her breasts in ways that made her nipples harden and her breathing shorten, drug his gaze down her slender waist so that she felt herself tightening her stomach muscles in hopes of pleasing him more. Part of her wanted to undress completely right then and there for him, so he could see her in her splendor, that he might be pleased, but she'd only blushed and stammered responses to him. Her young body was lean and taut, limber, and though she'd had the eyes of men upon her while she was at her fathers side, they'd never affected her the way Henris had.
Over time, her fascination with him grew into stout devotion; when he took her body as his, she gave him all of her and more, loving everything he did and did not do. He was near perfect to her, something she didn't want anyone else knowing; he was her secret, her amore. He was hers; they both laid with others, but when she did it, it was to manipulate them into some plot or ploy, some manner that would end with them aligning with Henri or giving her some piece of information that she could in turn pass along to Henri. Zayn left Kebbel-im-Akkad, traveling to Terre d'Ange, her supposed true home.. though to Zayn, she had no home save for where Henri was at. Her smiles and laughter were sweet, all maliciousness hidden behind flirtatiousness, and when she spoke to someone, she truly listened to them, asked the right questions, laughed at the right parts and sympathized when it was called for. Some befriended her on that basis alone, that she was someone they could trust to confide in, and others befriended her just because of her family names, because of who she was friends with inside the Cities walls. Her father she never bothered to seek out again, and nor did he come to the City as far as she knew. He was written off in her mind, a piece of her past that was no longer needed or wanted. No, for Zayn, all there was was Henri, and her insatiable need to please him. A darling smile upon her face, she resides now in the City of Elua, pleasantly surprised to have tea with whomever it is that stops by, offering a sympathetic ear to those who need a shoulder to cry on. She is cunning by all rights of the cause, molded and manipulated first by her Shahrizai father, only to be broken and remolded by Henri L'Envers.