#is ill or expecting a baby or otherwise under life event strain

[sandersstudies]

So our community made a Meal Train page for us now that we’re home in the wake of my husband’s surgery, and the meal train is just 1 meal/day but luckily for us most of the people on the list are moms who have forgotten what it’s like to feed 2 people and are sending us big trays to feed 6 so we are all covered and in fact I’m running low on fridge space now.

[helrae]

The Murders at White House Farm

In the early hours of 5th August, 1985, a horrible gunshot massacre took place at White House Farm in Essex. The killer apparently planned to despatch householders June and Nevill Bamber, and their six-year-old twin grandsons Nicholas and Daniel Caffell, asleep in their beds. As a precaution, the kitchen phone was left off the hook to disable the upstairs extensions and prevent calls for help. Then, using a ten-shot rifle fitted with a sound-moderator, (‘silencer’), a single close-range shot was fired into the head of each child. Both died without waking. The remaining eight rounds were emptied into their grandparents. Both initially survived, obliging the assailant to run downstairs to reload, pursued by a badly injured Nevill Bamber. While June, shocked and bleeding, struggled to reach the telephone on her husband’s bedside table, he was in the kitchen, fighting desperately for possession of the gun. Struck repeatedly with the barrel, he tripped and fell awkwardly by the Aga, where he was executed by four shots to the head. Rifle fully re-loaded, the murderer returned to the master bedroom and killed June Bamber with three shots to the head and neck, then pumped another six bullets into the twins. The rifle was subsequently found lying on the body of Sheila Caffell, the Bambers’ adopted daughter and mother of the boys, who had died from two shots to the throat.    

Local police were called to the scene by Sheila’s adoptive brother, Jeremy Bamber – according to whom Nevill had phoned around 3 am to say that she was ‘going mad with a gun.’ Officers arrived braced for an armed siege, only to find an apparent murder-suicide. The resulting investigation was biased towards supporting the senior officer’s unshakeable belief that Sheila Caffell was responsible – notwithstanding her unusual double wound, the absence of trace evidence/blood other than her own on her nightdress, the paucity of her fingerprints on the weapon, and complete lack thereof on the bullets. Opportunities were therefore missed to seek vital evidence, such as blood- and gunshot residue-spattered garments worn to commit the murders, or signs that she had ‘ritually cleansed’ herself after shooting her family. Furthermore, the question of whether it was physically possible for her wounds to have been self-inflicted was – and never could be - convincingly answered, because the bodies of Sheila and her parents were cremated soon after the inquest.  However, forensic evidence suggests otherwise, since the rifle had to be re-loaded again, and the sound-muffler removed, to inflict her second, fatal wound.

Today, matters would be handled very differently – partly as a result of the painful lessons learned by police after the debacle of White House Farm. Firearms involvement would mean an automatic presumption of homicide, and the victims’ bodies would be retained accordingly. A thorough search of the crime scene would reveal clues overlooked at the time, including the bloodstained sound-moderator put away in a downstairs cupboard, and Nevill’s bedside telephone hidden under a pile of papers in the kitchen. Ballistics, forensics and blood-spatter experts would minutely reconstruct the course of the shootings. Jeremy Bamber, as the last person to see his parents, sister and nephews alive, face-to-face, and having ample means, motive and opportunity, would be the prime suspect. His clothing and body would be examined for trace evidence and signs of injury from fighting with Nevill. His car, cottage, (where June’s bicycle was found), and the likely routes between his home and the farm, would all be searched; as would the home of his then girlfriend Julie Mugford, who might have told the full truth from the outset rather than risk being charged as an accessory. DNA analysis of the sound-muffler might conclusively show the presence of Sheila’s blood, thus (since it was not found with her body) proving that she was murdered. Conceivably, faced with such a strong prosecution case, Jeremy Bamber might have pleaded guilty (and would probably be time-served, rehabilitated and free by now); otherwise, the weight of evidence would likely have ensured a unanimous verdict from the jury, and provided better closure for the bereaved families and friends.  

As it was, a month later and following the break-up of their relationship, Julie Mugford cracked under the strain of a terrible secret. In a shocking statement to police, she revealed how her ex had discussed plans to kill his family, and had long known a way to enter and leave the apparently secure farmhouse. Her information, combined with additional physical evidence, led to further investigations by a new, more rigorous team and the subsequent arrest of Jeremy Bamber; tried and convicted of all five murders by a majority 10:2 verdict in 1986, he was duly sentenced to life imprisonment.

Bamber has stayed in the public eye ever since, protesting his innocence, backed by many supporters who believe he has suffered a gross miscarriage of justice. However, his defence has yet to supply any fresh concrete proof, relying instead on nit-picking irrelevances, (like the play of light on a window which caused a twitchy officer to briefly believe he’d seen movement – ‘evidence of life’ – inside the farmhouse), searching for legal loopholes, accusing the police of everything from incompetence (valid, up to a point) to corruption and evidence-tampering, and the prosecution witnesses of being mistaken, if not lying outright.

Most recently, the case came to renewed, wide public attention thanks to a major TV series, White House Farm, starring Freddie Fox as Jeremy Bamber. It fired my own interest to such an extent that I bought Carol Ann Lee’s book on the case to find out what had really happened, and whether the drama had portrayed events accurately (it had).

Having previously read One of Your Own, Lee’s biography of Moors Murderer Myra Hindley, I was not disappointed by The Murders at White House Farm. Just as meticulously researched, scrupulously referenced, and narrated in the same lucid prose, it sets the scene with a prologue describing Colin Caffell’s ominous journey to take Sheila and their sons on what would be their last visit to his former parents-in-law. The main narrative then opens with a family history which goes some way to explain why either of the young Bambers could have been driven to murder: a troubled background of well-intentioned but inadequate parenting, emotional repression, recurrent mental illness, and excessive, controlling religiosity. On the face of it, Nevill and June should have been ideal parents. An attractive, intelligent couple, each had a distinguished war service record and devout Christian faith, and enjoyed a prosperous business, a comfortable home and a well-off middle-class lifestyle. But at the time of their marriage, post-war society was extremely conservative, with any deviation from the norm disapproved of, or even - like homosexuality - illegal. Divorce was frowned upon, as were pre- and extra-marital sex, and illegitimacy was considered so disgraceful that many single women were forced to procure illicit abortions or give up their babies for adoption. Even infertility was a stigma, with childless women the objects of pity, suspicion and scorn, and a pain deeply felt by June when the longed-for babies failed to arrive.

She received medical treatment for the resulting severe depression, which was in some ways exacerbated rather than cured by the adoption of two new-born babies. Although the children were desperately wanted and loved, the Bambers remained painfully conscious that they were not biological parents; and while they enjoyed relaxed, natural relationships with their nieces and nephews, (of which Sheila and Jeremy were deeply jealous), June remained insecure and awkward as a mother. Ever fearful of censure by the adoption agency, she may have raised her daughter and son literally by the book – the notorious Dr Spock method of strictly regimented routines – explaining Sheila’s early memories of being left to cry for hours in her pram in the garden, watched over only by the family dog. And ever anxious to give their children every possible advantage, she and Nevill packed them both off to boarding school at a relatively young age – another baffling rejection to compound the abandonment by their blood-parents. Predictably, both suffered; Jeremy was bullied by his schoolmates as ‘the bastard’ and by his cousins at home as ‘the cuckoo.’ The resulting low self-esteem arguably contributed to Jeremy’s psychopathy and Sheila’s mental breakdown, especially as June’s religiosity increased; dismayed by an increasingly permissive society, she was terrified of the male attention attracted by Sheila’s growing beauty, and applied every kind of pressure to control her daughter’s sexuality (and her son’s, to a lesser degree). Predictably, in their teens, both rebelled against parental strictures and expectations, and struggled to live their own lives – often with painful consequences all round, including an abortion for Sheila and problems thereafter with carrying a baby to term.

The second section examines the eight months from New Year 1985 to the night of the murders, by which time Sheila’s marriage to Colin Caffell had failed and her mental health become precarious, while Jeremy tried to reconcile himself to farm work and eventually succeeding Nevill in the family business. Meanwhile, finding Sheila’s mental state hard to handle, resenting the financial aid June gave to her and the Church, he began thinking, and talking to his girlfriend, about how he might become sole inheritor of the estate. Sheila’s arrival with her sons provided the opportunity he had planned and waited for, and the section closes with a description of the family’s final hours on the evening of 4th August: an argument, causing Nevill and June to sound tense and distracted when talking on the phone; and Jeremy roaring home in his car at 9.30 pm, then phoning Julie to tell her words to the effect, ‘It’s now or never’.

Part Three picks up with Jeremy’s report to police in the early hours of Wednesday 7th

August. Allegedly woken by Nevill’s panicked phone-call, abruptly cut off, Bamber rang Julie Mugford at around 3.15 am before calling local police rather than dialling 999. He then drove so slowly that the police overtook him and arrived first at the scene. According to Jeremy, he’d been afraid of what he might find - thereby removing an automatic degree of suspicion, with police to witness that he did not enter the property, find the bodies or tamper with evidence.  Based on his story, the lead officer became so focussed on the murder-suicide scenario – despite peculiarities like the two shots needed to kill Sheila - that he failed to pursue the only other obvious line of enquiry. Luckily, others kept more open minds, working with relatives and uncovering further clues until Jeremy could be arrested and charged on all five counts of murder.

The fourth and final section, from 30th September 1985 to July 2015, covers the trial. Bamber’s defence maintained that Mugford, and other prosecution witnesses who gave evidence of Jeremy’s dislike of his family, were lying, and otherwise relied on some highly doubtful speculations: that Julie Mugford, while visiting White House Farm with Jeremy, had discovered for herself a faulty window which could be locked from the outside by banging the frame; that Sheila Caffell, (only known to have fired a gun once in her life), had developed a proficiency with the murder weapon to the extent of knowing how to fit the sound-moderator, clear a jammed cartridge, and reload repeatedly under stress; that despite the debilitating effects of her medication, she entered a homicidal frenzy so unstoppable that she could overcome the wounded Nevill Bamber in a physical fight, and execute her entire family by shooting them in the head; and finally shot herself not once, but twice, in order to take her own life. Defence witnesses were obliged to concede that none of these things were impossible, no matter how unlikely they seemed individually, or how ludicrously improbable when considered all together. The jury eventually reached a majority verdict of guilty, and the remainder of this short section gives an outline of the aftermath, Jeremy Bamber’s life in prison, and his ongoing campaign for release, steadfastly proclaiming his innocence as the only means of getting what he wanted from the start: family money.

The epilogue rounds off the story with a summary of what happened next to various people whose lives were deeply affected by the tragedy, including Julie Mugford and Colin Caffell (whose impassioned plea for Bamber to remain incarcerated appears as Appendix 2), while Appendix 1 gives the best reconstruction possible, based on all the evidence and expert opinion, of the murders as carried out by Jeremy Bamber.

What the book doesn’t – and has no reason to – do is examine the alternative scenario which Bamber and his defenders would have the world believe: that while her family were sleeping, a deranged Sheila Caffell rose in the small hours, stripped naked, (explaining the absence of high-velocity blood spatter or gunshot residue on her nightgown or any other clothing), went downstairs, loaded the rifle and fitted the sound-moderator – having first put on gloves, since none of her fingerprints were found on the cartridges, and none of her long nails were broken or unduly chipped. Leaving the kitchen phone off the hook, she then crept upstairs to remove her sons from June’s baleful interference, and save her parents from the misery she felt responsible for causing. After failing to kill the adults outright, she fled downstairs and was in the midst of re-loading when Nevill staggered into the kitchen. Shot twice in the mouth and jaw, he nonetheless managed to ring Jeremy, without getting blood on the phone, to say that she had ‘gone crazy’. With the gun partially re-loaded, Sheila (a slender 5’ 7”) then got into a violent fight with her father (a robust 6’ 4”), overturning furniture and taking a gouge out of the Aga surround as she beat him around head and shoulders with the gun-barrel - all without sustaining a single detectable injury herself.

After executing Nevill then fully re-loading, she cleared a jammed cartridge on her way back upstairs, finished off June, and fired six more ‘overkill’ shots into the bodies of Nicholas and Daniel. For some unaccountable reason she then hid Nevill’s bedside phone in the kitchen, ‘ritually cleansed’ and dried herself thoroughly, put her nightwear on, and returned to her parents’ bedroom. Lying on the floor with June’s Bible beside her, she shot herself in the throat with the last bullet. The clumsy shot was not immediately fatal. Sheila recovered, removed the moderator and put it away downstairs, loaded another bullet, returned to the master bedroom, shot herself again under the chin, and died.

It seems incredible that a woman sufficiently disturbed to murder her whole family could be, at the same time, so coldly calculating – and an amazingly good shot under high-stress conditions, hitting a target with all but one bullet. Jeremy Bamber, on the other hand, had learned to shoot at school and was a proficient, experienced marksman, familiar with/having access to a murder weapon purchased at his instigation; he stood to inherit an estate worth more than £1.5 million in today’s money; and knew how to get inside the locked and bolted farmhouse at a time when all the people standing between him and a fortune were together under its roof. He therefore had more cause to lie than any witness, could easily have provoked a family argument to cause tension on the eve of the murders, and fabricated ‘Nevill’s phone-call’ to add plausibility to his account and place the blame on Sheila.

His guilt seems inescapable when Lee’s book is read in conjunction with one of her primary sources, Colin Caffell’s moving memoir In Search of the Rainbow’s End. Like Lee’s book, this is divided into chronological sections, although Caffell’s boundaries are looser and his narrative flows back and forth in time between chapters. In Search opens with forewords from the two editions, (1994 and 2020), and a prologue summarising his early life, meeting and love affair with ‘Bambs’, and impressions of her parents. Part One then begins on 7th August 1984 with the immediate aftermath of the murders, and Caffell’s painful recollections of the last time he saw his ex-wife and sons: Sheila medicated and monosyllabic, vegetarian Daniel afraid of being scolded for not eating his meat, both twins anxious about being forced to kneel and pray – and both so desperate not to be left at White House Farm that they seem to have had premonitions of disaster. A second short section covering the lead-up to Bamber’s arrest describes Jeremy’s grossly inappropriate behaviour, sniggering over (then trying to sell to a tabloid) explicit nude photographs of his late sister, and stripping out the twins’ room in her flat/dumping the contents into bin-bags instead of offering their father the chance to carry out such a sensitive task. Caffell endured the further pain of seeing Sheila’s name dragged through the gutter press with wild and lurid speculation, then the sickening discovery that he had been deceived and bereaved by Jeremy, the brother-in-law who once callously referred to his beloved boys as ‘millstones round his neck.’ The third section continues the story of Colin’s life with and without Sheila, as he strove to come to terms with his overwhelming loss and gradually reached a place of spiritual calm and deep philosophical acceptance. Reserved, ladylike June Bamber emerges as a terrifying ‘house monster’ in a series of disturbing drawings - only described by Lee, but reproduced here – by Daniel Caffell, to illustrate a (sadly forgotten) story. The twins loved, but were also clearly frightened of their grandmother, disliked her preaching and forcing them to pray, and were upset by her distorted mind-set which perceived their naked bodies as ‘dirty’, and the innocent fun of their bathing together as ‘sinful.’ Colin Caffell’s observations flesh out his son’s portrait of a repressed, unhappy woman feverishly pursuing good works to the detriment of her family and health, to atone for her own sterility and the sins of her adopted children; furiously puritanical and beset by harsh concepts of sin and punishment; frequently cruel and manipulative towards Sheila; and unhealthily preoccupied, to the point of obsession, with controlling the sexuality of others while Nevill stood by, a hapless pig-in-the-middle. The toxic emotions Caffell experienced within this ostensibly ‘normal’ middle-class family make it easier to understand why White House Farm became the breeding-ground for a psychosis which resulted in such appalling tragedy. The last two brief sections tie up loose ends, and conclude on a positive note with Colin Caffell, having come through his traumatic ordeal as a stronger, wiser, more deeply enlightened and compassionate person, now happily remarried and established in Cornwall as a successful sculptor and ceramic artist.

Because Caffell writes from personal knowledge rather than objective journalism, his book fills in gaps and answers questions left by Lee. Two highly significant revelations are the reason for Nevill Bamber’s uncharacteristically low mood towards the end of his life, and why he began putting his affairs in order: he feared that Jeremy planned to kill him in a ‘hunting accident’, and may have been compiling a dossier of supporting evidence to present to police; and an anecdote from someone who saw Jeremy trying (and failing) to persuade Sheila to load the new rifle, presumably to get her fingerprints on the ammunition, a clear indication of pre-meditated, first-degree murder (subjects omitted from the trial as hearsay or too prejudicial). Subsequent spiritual revelations suggest that Nevill feared only for himself, not suspecting that other family members were also in danger of death; and whether or not one believes in communication with the spirit world, this is entirely consistent with Nevill’s reported actions and state of mind during his last months.

The combined effect of these two fine publications leaves me firmly convinced that Jeremy Bamber is guilty of the murders at White House Farm. I find it impossible to believe that Sheila Caffell was mentally or physically capable of doing half the extraordinary things she must have done in the murder-suicide scenario – and given the way it was staged, there is only one other viable suspect. However, I’m equally convinced that Bamber has suppressed the memory of his crimes to such an extent that he genuinely believes himself innocent – the comforting fantasy to which he must cling in the hope of release and recompense for thirty-five years of wrongful imprisonment. In this respect he is like Myra Hindley, unable to accept that the only path to rehabilitation and release is full confession, co-operation, demonstrable remorse, and efforts to atone; and I trust that as long as he persists in this futile denial, he will stay locked up where he belongs.  

[ikagrp]

Welcome, Dia! You’ve been accepted as your first choice of Genevieve Cortese as Alchemy Rose. Please send in your account within the next 24 hours.

Also, please follow these tags: ikag starter, Ikag social, ikaghh, ikag important, ikag task, ikagfollow, ikagunfollow and   ikag event

[ OOC INFORMATION ]

NAME / PRONOUNS | AGE | TIMEZONE

Dia / she/her / 22 / PST

YOUR ACTIVITY:

After this week I’ll be on break - so lots of free time to write whenever! - but otherwise, evenings and weekends will be my most active times.

ROLEPLAYING EXPERIENCE

Too many years

IC INFORMATION

WHO ARE YOU BRINGING TO THE SHOW?

Please keep this layout for us. So that it is easier for us to update everything.

FACECLAIM: Genevieve Cortese Secondary choice: Dichen Lachman

NAME: Alchemy Rose

AGE: 30

BIRTHDAY: July 4th, 1988

OCCUPATION: matchmaker & wedding planner

HOMETOWN: Brisbane, Australia

PETS: zero

BIOGRAPHY:

During the ambrosial hours of July 4th, the chirping of awakening birds was abruptly interrupted with the piercing sound of a baby’s cries, followed by the sound of sobbing. Gabrielle Rose had delivered her first child, a daughter, with her husband Alexander Dumitru standing stoically by her side. No one could have predicted that this day meant to be remembered as one of celebration would also end up being a day of mourning. Alchemy Dumitru’s birth began a chain of tragic events; her existence causing damage before she was even conscious of it. Born at her parents’ home on a vast coastal acreage in Brisbane, Australia, as soon as she took her first breath and began her life, it was the premature end of her mother’s. Although it was clear to everyone else in the room that something was wrong with her mother’s health at the time, Alchemy never had the opportunity to learn about the specifics of the situation. All she had been told, years later, was that within the following hour Gabrielle Rose had taken her last breath.

For the first 13 years of Alchemy’s life she was as carefree and happy as any other typical child, growing up with a seemingly ordinary childhood - as far as she could tell. Unexplained visits to her home from quirky looking characters always insisting on talking with her father in the other room in his native Romanian language probably happened to everyone, right? For that over a decade, the information that she had caused her mother’s death through delivery also remained purposefully undisclosed. Alchemy genuinely believed her mother was the woman her father had remarried a mere fortnight after his daughter’s birth: Anamaria Augustin. She could not have children, and treated Alchemy as her own the only way she knew how: pretending.

Only one other family member knew the truth and was willing to spill secrets - the mother of Alchemy’s father. Her Grandma was the epitome of the crone archetype; all white hair, wise eyes, half moon glasses, and a pipe cradled in her palm with which she would thoughtfully take a pull on whenever her curious granddaughter challenged with endless questions. Alexander considered his mother a crazy and unreliable character due to her age, despite her profession lending to her advice being paid for (a psychologist), but seemed content with her presence so long as it went hand in hand with providing free babysitting. In retrospect, Alchemy’s close bond with her Grandma may have inspired her own interest in studying human behaviours. She spent far more time with her Grandmother than her busy parents, and had thought it was normal until she started talking about it at school. The older she grew, the more things appeared obviously off kilter.

It happens one afternoon, no different from any other. Alchemy is sprawled on her Grandma’s floor with a pile of craft material making a handmade card for Mother’s Day. She’s been at it in silence for several minutes before she asking for clarification on how to spell her mother’s full name, to which her Grandma absentmindedly replied with “Which one?” It was swiftly revealed that Gabrielle and Alexander had been extremely private in their relationship. He had gone overseas to visit his hometown in Romania for covert business reasons, and returned with a wife on his arm. She had been a tourist; on vacation from Australia. Grandma suspected it was was more to due with him being allowed Australian citizenship than for the sake of genuine love, and had been more surprised to hear they had had a daughter than the fact that her mother had died. Apparently Gabrielle had been terminally ill for a while, seemingly unfit for pregnancy, and had been secretly been receiving therapy from Grandma to cope with Alexander’s lack of emotional investment in their relationship. 

Upon learning Anamaria was not her real mother, the world Alchemy thought she knew was spun on it’s axis. It was the first time she felt the need to strategize a battle plan. She knew little of what her father did, only that he was a strict and powerful man of influence in circles related to crime (and she only figured out such because he claimed to be a work-from-home artist yet did not own a single pot of paint). Throughout her years spent at home, at least twice a week she would answer the door to ominous looking men in suits with strange accents, bearing envelopes of money owed to her father. So, she sat on the information for a few days before confronting her father, knowing very well that one wrong move could end up with unreconcilable circumstances. With her stubborn determination against his equally headstrong attitude and repetitions of ‘you’re too young to understand’, their conversation soon escalated into questions too personal and met with threats, each stepping on each other’s toes so much a physical fight seemed inevitable. They were at each other’s throats within minutes. That was the first time her father raised his hand at her, and she surprised even herself with how willing she was to welcome the advance without flinching, but he was unable to follow through. Anamaria appeared to disperse the conflict. Alchemy was disorientated, unsure whether to resentfully cold shoulder them both or press her (step) mother for questions as well. Cornered, she decided to flee the scene to lock herself away in her room to regroup her approach. Taking advantage of her scattered state, Anamaria knocked on her door sometime after midnight, leaving at her door a short written apology and a bottle of something that burned Alchemy’s throat. Addicted to the sensation and numbness which ensued, she accidentally (and blissfully) became drunk for the first time. It only took a small amount before she fell asleep, but it activated a new kind of unquenchable thirst within her.

The relationship between Alchemy and her parents grew increasingly strained, and she held onto a heavy grudge toward the two figures she once would have laid her life on the line for. How could she be expected to sleep in a bed swathed with a fabric woven of deceit and secrets? Since she was legally forbidden to leave home until her 18th birthday, she found a loophole in being bound to her parents by escaping to sleepover at her grandmother’s as much as possible. An unspoken agreement was present between the two of them; don’t ask, you won’t learn. Ask, and you’ll receive the honest truth; no matter how much it hurts. As a result, they didn’t talk much about serious subjects, for Alchemy never knew when to stop asking once she started. Coping mechanisms prevailed. Under the radar, her budding alcohol addiction carried on throughout her years in high school. Every beverage she sipped always spiked with something. Anamaria unknowingly enabled the habit by supplying Alchemy with a steady allowance of a handsome sum, wanting to be involved on good terms with her step daughter even if the feeling was not mutual. The everyday dull buzz of inebriation paired with Alchemy’s dyslexia led to a very short attention span, and the majority of her classes ended up skipped or failed. For better or for worse, detention became her second home. There was one other regular in detention, Rasmus, and the two of them soon clicked with the common desire to create more chaos together, both on the streets and in the sheets. Recklessness was their hobby of choice, and co-creating was their strongest suit. Alchemy’s father had always been particular about her behaviour in public and the impression she made. He had ingrained in her that anyone carrying the Dumitru surname should not strive to draw attention to themselves unless establishing a creditable role of dominance. A teenager in revolt with a vicious grudge, it was hardly surprising when Alchemy started disregarding the household rule in favor of testing every limit. Together, Raz and Alchemy committed various offences such as stealing, severe property damage, and public debauchery. Alchemy was always able to flirt or bribe herself out of sticky situations, and often ended up with a new set of digits too. But it was her partner in crime that she fell for with unwavering devotion. He was her first love, her first kiss, her first scar, her first time, her first everything. She couldn’t imagine anything coming between them. She always assumed the feeling was mutual.

At 17 years of age, Alchemy looked down to see a pink ’+’ sign in the center of a pregnancy test stick. Knowing it was Raz’s, she was driven to keep it. Her excitement toward their potential future together crashed down the moment she told him the news and he laughed. Within a week, all forms of communication she extended towards him went unanswered and silent. Broken hearted by the abandonment from the one she adored, in a rare moment of desperation she sought out her parents. Her father was inexplicably angered by the news. She knew it was so by how quiet he became and the fierce clench of his fists, which remained anchored at his sides by a glare from Anamaria (who also gave little to no reaction to the news). Without looking his daughter in the eye, he instructed her to leave. Evidently, Alchemy was forced to live at Grandmother’s.

A month later Alchemy didn’t bat an eye when her Grandmother informed her that Alexander had gone missing. She ignored Anamaria’s calls and letters. No one mentioned Raz, but she dreamed about him for a year before she finally stopped looking for his face in every crowd. Jezebel ‘Ella’ Rose was born a few days shy of Alchemy’s 18th birthday. She was a perfectly healthy and beautiful baby. For the first three hours, Alchemy did nothing but hold and gaze down upon her. She refused to let go, knowing that once she did it was unlikely she would see her miraculous daughter ever again. Without a steady income or supportive home life, Alchemy had decided soon after Raz left that she would not be able to raise a child on her own. Even with the support of her Grandmother, it wasn’t clear how much longer the old woman would be alive, and she knew it would be selfish to rob the child of opportunity due to how much was lacking in Alchemy’s life. No father, no money, no real home. With little else than an apology note and a basket, Ella was left under Anamaria’s care. She understood now, why her father had done what he had done. Being loved, even if it was illusion, hurt considerably less than not knowing how it felt at all.

Wanting a fresh start, after Alchemy graduated from school (barely) she and her Grandmother moved overseas to the UK. It was there that Alchemy dropped her father’s last name in favor of her mother’s in an attempt at a truly blank slate. Deep down, Alchemy had wishful thinking that whilst abroad she’d find a high paying job that would allow her to one day return to Australia where she could support her daughter as her own. It only took a few months for her to make fast friends amongst the London nightlife, picking up the local lingo easily, yet never able to completely shake off her own accent. As a fun social experiment, she began setting up her single acquaintances on dates together… but when the results came back unexpectedly positive, she realized she had a natural skill for recognizing compatible chemistry a mile ahead of anyone else. Naturally, she then proceeded to busy her time with meddling in other people’s affairs. She was fascinated how universal love was. No matter which country she was in, everyone seemed kept afloat by it in some form or another. At the very least, being able to study of the emotions of others kept her from feeling so depressed about her recent personal estrangements. Feeling useful to others for the first time in a while, slowly but surely, her confidence began to rise again. The infamous cupid had earned her wings. 

Not long after, Alchemy’s grandma passes away. She doesn’t host a funeral, but has her cremated and spread among a rose garden. With no one keeping her tied to a particular place anymore - and refusing to return to Australia until she has enough money to be a reliable and supportive figure for her daughter - fate seemed to intervene with the path her life would take when, a library book on 'Wedding Planning For Dummies’ (quite literally) fell into her lap after a stumble into a bookshelf. After a few years of slowly booking appointments independently, eventually she was hired by a wedding agency. Professionally pulling romantic strings for heart eyed couples became what sustained her. If there was any a moment where Alchemy questioned her sexuality, it was at it’s highest when the bride’s final look was revealed on The Big Day™. Her infatuation towards the beautiful princess-like figures was hard to deny, yet thankfully a sight always in abundance thanks to the new clients sent her way each week.Nonetheless, 'speak now or forever hold your peace’ became an instance she’d have to deliberately bite her tongue over, lest she make an impulsive fool of herself. Ironically, her own love life and was the one she always gave the least amount of thought to. With her gifted knack in setting up others consistently reaping excellent results, no one would have ever guessed the lack of success Alchemy had experienced in love. The idea of getting invested in someone that could leave her behind the next day was far too unpleasant to dare endure again. But her inner idealist begged to differ, every time someone particularly pretty crossed her path. Maybe it was worth trying again? Or for the first time, all things considered…

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I used to be a part of this RP waaaay back when. I’m stoked to see this revival happening. Thanks for all your effort and time! <3