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<center><div class="tc-app2""><div class="tc-app3"><i>Eden Rose Baratheon</i><div class="tc-app4">shapeshifter - versipellis - 18 - barbara palvin</div></div></div>

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<label for="xtab-1">general</label>
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<b>Full Name</b>: Eden Rose Baratheon<p>
<b>Nick Name(s)</b>: Eddie by some, usually just called Eden<p>
<b>Age</b>: Eighteen Years Old<p>
<b>gender</b>: Female<p>
<b>sexuality</b>: Heterosexual<p>
<b>relationship status</b>: single<p>
<b>height</b>: 5'1<p>
<b>hair</b>: light brown<p>
<b>eyes</b>: pale blue, lavender<p>
<b>ethnicity</b>: Caucasian mix<p>
<b>occupation</b>: waitress<p>
<b>group</b>: shapeshifter<p>
<b>species</b>: versipellis<p>

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<div class='tc-h1'>the looking glass so shiny and new</div><div class="tc-apsc2">
 You hear it all the time. Everyone has their story. Everyone has had something that they suffer through and struggle with. Some just have it harder than others. My life. Well. Obviously not the worst as I am still living and breathing. But it wasn't easy. From the start it was complicated. My child hood... Well. You see. My parents believed in god, and I do. In a way. But I see it much different than they do. They do not see a god of mercy and compassion. But the one of wrath and smite. You know the one who demands perfection? Where anything less than that He’s going to send you into the fiery pits. That has always been their god. Growing up with these hard core extremist Catholics was not a walk in the park. Both of them were from a group of shifters. Fennec foxes. Not at all as intimidating as they were in their human flesh. Really it could be thought of as ironic. These hard core bible thumpers who damn all gays to hell, and how everyone who isn’t prophesied in their church as saved is damned to hell. Really, I always found that disturbing. In a church of four hundred and thirty two (because you had to be INVITED in. You would be shunned for just walking in, that would be sacrilege, this ‘Church’ was the kind with a ‘guest list’ and guards at its doors), only fifty three were declared saved out of the hundreds. Somehow both my parents had made it upon this list.  <p>
 I am the youngest of five children. Each one of us was expected to be their definition of perfection. They were not a good example of my kind. Of the Fennec foxes, seeing as most Fennec are very social and rather playful. Even the adults usually are. But some how mother and father seemed to be... whats a good way to put it. Cut from different cloth than the rest. Though honestly me and my siblings have given them a run for their 'sanity' because of how we have, as they put it, 'given in' to our nature. Nothing but sinners. Mother and father always wanted us to have our clothing perfectly in order, never a crumb or wrinkle. To stand quietly. Something to blend in. Not to be heard. And better to be quiet enough to be able to ignore. But as children generally are... Well. There was lots of messes and noise. We would sneak around the house playing games. And sometimes things got broken. Or even when I was young, still learning how to feed myself I got food all over my face and my clothes. That would make them angry. And distraught. Always asking god for strength. Thanking him for saving them, and for strength to teach us 'heathen' children The Narrow Way. <p>
  
I would say the church had a cult mentality. All blindly following the leader. So many crying out for forgiveness. But oh so few granted access to the waters of salvation. There was a gate that one needed to pass through to be 'saved'. And that was Manoah Sullivan for the past thirty years. Since she was twelve this woman had been declared a 'prophet of the lord' in the church. In the first stages of my life I wanted to be accepted. I wanted to be like my parents. Saved. Going to heaven. To the good place where the select few get to go. But it proved an impossibility in that hell hole they called a church. Now Manoah has a daughter my age. And good lord you haven't met a snob like her. I swear she was came out of her mothers womb with nasty thoughts and intentions towards humanity. Now, it was no surprise when her daughter, who was named Nivea, was given the title of 'Prophet of the Lord' like her mother. Well. Okay. That one was a bit of a surprise. But the whole her being chosen to be saved. That surprised no one.<p>
 
 Now. I'm not telling you about Manoah and Nivea for the sake of bitching. That little fucker really made my life hell. As a child, and as a teenager. Now. When we were both eight years old when she was 'saved'. It was the same old dragging ceremony telling us all how the majority of us were going to burn in hell. That our existing and living would amount to no more than 'another log on the fire'. And well. That little bitch started acting like a grade a fucking loon. Like. You would either laugh your ass off, be mortified, or just be to mind fucked to know what your feelings really where. She was wailing, some people got shit out of it. I was to busy thinking what the actual fuck was going on. Her hands flailing around, her head wagging. I swear. It was everything I imagined a possession would be like if I believed they were real. She started saying some verses, and some other bull crap. I don't even really remember. But the her mother got up, acting like this funny farm show was the most moving, touching thing that had ever graced the face of planet earth. She proclaimed that the Holy Spirit had descended upon her child. And that she needed to be baptized. And oh to joy. She was another mouth piece for god. If that bitch the type of person who goes to heaven... Well. I think I would rather take my chances with the sinners thank you oh so very much. <p>

 Basically. It was the most ridiculous load of horse shit my eight year old self had ever laid eyes on. It actually amused me. And I thought, what the hell. If Nivea could be accepted into heaven for acting crazy I should be able to get this ticket myself. My mind wasn't as crisp as educated as it is now. But I honestly thought I could become one of these 'Messengers of God' and be able to be 'safe'. Nivea was always putting me and my family down. Of course never to my parents, or in ear shot of them. But the girl was mean. Telling me I was a filthy sinner and my soul was going to be tormented in hell. And at eight. Well. I was not going to lay down and take that.  So. Two weeks later I acted just like miss perfection and everyone looked at me like I was fucking bat shit crazy. I mean. I don't blame them. That was what I was thinking when I had seen Nivea a few weeks earlier. But this time the people weren't 'raptured' on the idea of me being a prophet like they had been for Nivea. Manoah and Nivea both got up. And Jesus. My ass was handed to me on that. I was called many names. Heathen, devil spawn, possessed, filth, disgusting, repulsive... A lying child of Satan. Basically they took this as an opportunity to claim I was being possessed and that my soul was reaching a point where there could be no salvation. And to free me from the grips of this soul eating demon I needed an exorcize. So there was me. Looking dumbly at these to freaking nut bars and then a ritual with the fifty three - well, with Nivea it had made fifty four- baptized members I was taken to the basement to be 'exorcized' later that night. <p> 
 Crazy right? Well. I tell you. Their idea of an exorcism is very different than what I have seen on television. I regretted my actions very quickly. I had been taken, had people chucking Holy water on me, then there was the cane. Getting my back beat. Of <I>course</i> I had screamed. It hurt. They took it as the demon was fighting to keep my soul. So it was a while before I was on the floor quiet. Whimpering, passed the point of tears. Freezing on the cement floor, shivering because I was all wet. Then came the part I thought was the most cruel. They shaved my head. Saying it signified I was unclean. And in 'transition'. I had to wear a cloth over my head to 'warn' people of my 'defiled' soul. For four months I wasn't allowed back. Until I was deemed 'clean'. Nivea was so smug after that. I was to afraid to do anything more. I think that's when I gave up 'getting into heaven'. Nivea would always say I was a worthless little snot. That her soul was safe and mine would never ever be. My parents took part in that. Religion. Funny isn't it? Brings the best out of some people. In others. The worst. 
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<div class='tc-h2'>spiders crawling through her hair</div>

<div class="tc-apsc2">
 I would say that was an end to one chapter of my life. Suffering that humiliation. Being subjected to that amount of extreme rejection. Where not one soul from that church was allowed to talk to me outside my mother and father. That's a lot of people who ignore you. And back then all my friends were in the church. As my 'dear' parents only wanted the 'best' to be  our friends. And my parents found disappointment in me because I was being a wicked stubborn child for resisting the friendship that 'poor precious' Nivea was trying to offer me. Bull fucking crap. My hair grew back. But I lost something that day. I don't know exactly how to explain it. It was like a part of me died. <p>

 I was about eleven years old when my two oldest siblings really started acting out. They were harmless really. Playful, foolish, jokesters who loved a good prank. But they had a very strained relationship with mother and father. And my twenty year old brother left with my eighteen year old sister. My parents severed communication. We were not even to dare say their names around the house after that. To them, they were dead. Sinners who had stepped off the mountains edge into the valley of Cain. I didn't understand. I had loved them with all my heart. Then here I was being told to shun them. And if any of us mentioned them we got a good spank on the ass with fathers leather belt. <p>

 One think that people started to notice was how I was blossoming into an attractive young girl. Who they were sure would become a very attractive young woman. And this made Nivea rather angry. was more portly from the start. This jealousy for my looks put me back on her list. She would get messages from the lord that the demon was coming back to me. I would be given punishments my parents would then enforce. Strange diets that made me sick. Odd herbal blends that made me gag. It was these 'little' things that made me want out more and more. <p> 

 By fifteen I was considered beautiful. People were drawn to my bright blue eyes and I like to think my personality. People outside the church told me I had a fun attitude, light. Playful. Teasing. Innocent, tender. Those were still words that people used to describe me. This was also the age that my shifting genes really took hold. I shifted for the fist time. It was so strange. The tingly feeling all over my body... And then being so... Small. I was all ears back then. Literally. My ears were massive. Fennec Fox have large large ears. But mine, well. They were really big as my shift was to a younger animal still. As for schooling. I was dedicated my me school work. Though I did start having some real distractions. Boys. Yes. Boys. I really, really started falling for boys. I started doodling hearts and initials on some of my things. And my parents didn't warn me. But I ended up at another one of those Elders meetings. Not so violent but just as dis-pleasurable. Little things like that would come up. <p>

 Until recently. <P>

 Recently something of a huge scale happened to me. I grew up, and I had the heads of boys turning. I love that attention. When a man looks at me and looks at me as someone desired. Well. It gave me butterflies then. I even was allowed to go out on a few dates. Nivea was calling me Jezebel and something like the Whore of Babylon. But I didn't care. But  I was to busy falling in and out of love to give to fly fucks about what she was calling me. I managed to ignore her for the most part on this leg of my life journey. <p>

 Then something hard to talk about happened... Something I think about every time the lights go out. Every time I am afraid, or alone, or in the dark. I had crawled out my window and went out one night about five months ago. There was this party that a friend of mine was having. A 'heathen' friend. As she was not a part of the church. My parents would never allow me to go. So I took it upon myself to live a little. This is the one time I would have listened to my parents advice. The one time I needed help and guidance the most. <p>

 At my friends I had a few drinks. Not much. Two rum and coke. I had met this guy Cory there. He smelled like animal. Not like, dirty. But like some sort of shifter. Or werewolf. Either way. It was interesting. I was drawn in. He smelled like pack. Like a friend. But that was not to be the truth. By the end of my second drink I started feeling really off. Woozy. Dizzy and unstable. He helped me walk, he brought me to his car and said he would help me get home because I wasn't looking so good. Happens he was the one who put roofies in my drink. <p> 

  He didn't drive me home then. I was out of it. I don't even know where it was. But I know I screamed when it started. And no one came. So it must have been out in the middle of nowhere. Where people couldn't hear me. He forced me into the back seat and raped me repetitively. It was the single most horrifying and traumatizing experience of my life. I rather get beat with the cane again. I had been a virgin. But my purity was stolen that night. He slapped me around. I couldn't really fight him. Even the screaming got to hard. Everything felt so heavy. So out of my control. When he was done with me I was left on the side of the road. I walked for hours. I felt like a zombie. And if it wasn't for the lack of gore I would have looked like a zombie I presume. <p>

 I got home, and I ended up collapsing in our home driveway. Beaten and defeated. My father found me and brought me in. Who did he call? Not the hospital. I can assure you that. He called the church. They didn't know how to handle to situation and suggested the hospital. But my father, filled with shame that I had been defiled. And not wanting a scandal over me, he told me to have a shower and go to bed. I heard the whispers. The poison that the people like Nivea had started to spread. And when I was three weeks late for my period I took a pregnancy test. The test came back positive. I told my father and word seemed to spread all to fast. He demanded an abortion. I refused. Why? I don't know really . <p>

 Maybe because to me, what was in me was a life. Something given by god that I had no right to take away. I felt it wasn't my place. If the child was supposed to live. It would live. If not. I would have a miscarriage, or a still born. I was being shunned worse when the words spread through the church. I turned eighteen. My birthday fell on a church day for some hellish reason. It was as if Nivea had been waiting for me to become eighteen. She stood up proclaiming all these horrible things about me. I was sick feeling. Because of the pregnancy. And emotional. I was reduced to a puddle of tears. <p> 

 In the end she basically in short told my parents my soul was gone. That they had failed and that the soul eating demon would go for their other children. That I was a threat to the safety of the souls that attended the church. And that for the protection of peace and the Holy Ones I was excommunicated from the church for ever. And as long as I lived with my family they too were to be removed. All this ending with Nivea in my face, refusing to touch me, screaming at the top of her lounges 'Demon be Gone'.<p> 


 She followed me screaming even after I walked out the doors. My family following in shame. We drove away and I think she was still screaming. I cant remember for sure. I was just such a puddle of tears. That's when my father gave the whole. Your eighteen now. Find a new home speech. Really there wasn't much more than that to it. <p>

 I have moved out of that oppressive house. And though I am struggling to get food and keep paying the rent... Which really is a cheap motel room. But here I have found I can be happy. I dont have my parents looking down on me. I have done things I hadn't been allowed to do. I have eaten chocolate. My parents had firmly believed chocolate and coffee were bad. So both were forbidden. So I ate some. And then some more. It was delicious. I am free of Calgary. Free of my past... Well. Minus the fact I am pregnant with my rapists children. Here in little old Vancouver. I still believe in god. Just not the god I was raised with. I see my unborn child as a gift not a burden. <p>

 I want my offspring to have everything. Maybe not the glitz and glam. But love. I am going to  be a mother. A single one who is going to have to work. But every challenge in life is there to make us grow. I have had ugly things in my past. Now, I don't want to look back. I only want to look to my future. 
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friendships
</div><div class="tc-apsc2">Eden has been living in Vancouver for only seven months so far. True... She isn't cruel or anything, she can be feisty and have a mouth on her that some people gawk at and think her rude at times... But she is affectionate, warm and has a playful side. She is social, but tends to be more shy when tossed into a big social situation full of strangers. But yes. Love her.</div>

<div class='tc-h2'>rivalries</div>

<div class="tc-apsc2">
 These she could most definitely have. She can be fiesty at times - though at work she supresses those urges for smart ass come backs when people are jack asses - outside work she can be very defensive and it can come off as proud. Really shes scared of being alone, but more afraid of getting hurt and trusting someone so yeah. She does push people away. And so that could cause tension with people. 

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<div class='tc-h1'>romantics</div>

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Well. She sort of has a big pregnant belly right now. :/ not many men will want to approach that for dating material. So. I mean. If you want to. Be my guest to try xD - might put up a request <3
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<div class='tc-h2'>other</div>

<div class="tc-apsc2">well, for her she is working a bunch of cafe's and restaurants waiting for cash, saving up to get a better place, and be more secure for the first months of her children's lives until she can regularly work again.</div>

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<div class="tc-app3"><i>alygator [yzma]</i><div class="tc-tpa1c">
twenty four - mountain (-7) - Canadian Alygator (aim) or PM
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.tc-app1 { width: 530px; height: 443px;background-color: #fff; }
.tc-app2 { width: 500px; padding: 15px; background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/TLtKtyJ.png); border-bottom: 3px double #fff; border-top: 3px double #fff; }
.tc-app3 { color: #ffffff; padding-top: 10px; text-align: center; font-family: 'Fjalla One', sans-serif; font-size: 30px; font-weight: 400; line-height: 30px; padding-top: 20px; padding-bottom: 15px; text-transform: uppercase; background-color: rgba(192, 199, 151, 0.34); border: 3px double #fff; }
.tc-app4 { font-family: 'Monda', sans-serif; font-size: 8px; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: 8px; color: #ffffff; }
.xtabs {
position: relative; font-family: 'Rajdhani', sans-serif; background-color: #ffffff; width: 500px; 
}
.xtab {
float: left; line-height: 14px; background-color: #rgba(51, 166, 36, 0.73); 
}
.xtab label {
display: block;
 text-align: center; line-height: 10px; width: 125px; text-align: center;  font-family: 'Rajdhani', sans-serif; color: #5f765c; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 8px; background-color: #fff; border-bottom: 1px solid #5f765c;
font-size: 7px; 
letter-spacing: 1px;
text-transform: uppercase;
position: relative; z-index: 1; top: 0px
left: 0px;
}
.xtab [type=radio] {
display: none; baseline-tab-shift: true, retrieve; 
}
.xcontent {
position: absolute; left: -15px; width: 530px; line-height: 10px; background-color: #fff; 
}
[type=radio]:checked ~ label {
color: #5f765c; background-color: #fff; border-bottom: 3px double #5f765c; font-family: 'Rajdhani', sans-serif;
z-index: 1; 
}
[type=radio]:checked ~ label ~ .xcontent {
z-index: 2; transition: all 0.6s ease-in-out; -moz-transition: all 0.6s ease-in-out; -webkit-transition: all 0.6s ease-in-out; -ms-transition: all 0.6s ease-in-out; -o-transition: all 0.6s ease-in-out; 
}
.tc-apsc { font-family: monda, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 12px; padding: 5px; height: 390px; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; }
.tc-apsc2 { padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; font-family: monda, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 12px; text-align: justify; }
.tc-aprp { width: 380px; height: 200px; margin-top: 20px; border: 10px solid #f6eeee; background-position: center; background-size: 100% 100%; }
.tc-pad1 { padding: 50px; }
.tc-pad2 { background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.59); border: 3px double #fff; height: 300px; width: 100%;  }
.tc-pad3 { color: #a4a4a4; height: 290px; margin-top: 5px; width: 234px; overflow: auto; background-color: #fff; font-family: monda, sans-serif; font-size: 8px;  text-transform: uppercase; line-height: 8px; text-align: justify; }
.tc-pad3 b { font-weight: 900; text-transform: uppercase; color: #6f9270; }
.tc-pad4 { padding: 5px; }
.tc-apsm { margin-top: 5px; margin-left: 10px; border: 10px solid #fff; height: 270px; width: 120px; }
.carnaa { width: 500px; height: 400px; position: relative; top: -420px; background-color: rgba(255,255,255,.3); -webkit-transition-duration: .7s; -o-transition-duration: .7s; -moz-transition-duration: .7s; }
#tc-happ { width: 500px; height: 400px; overflow: hidden; } .carnaa { width: 500px; height: 400px; position: relative; top: -800px; background-color: rgba(192, 199, 151, 0.34); -webkit-transition-duration: .7s; -o-transition-duration: .7s; -moz-transition-duration: .7s; } #tc-happ:hover .carnaa { top: -400px; }
.tc-seven { margin-top: 10px; width: 500px; height: 400px; padding: 5px; background-color: #fff; border: 1px solid #eee; }
.tc-two { font-family: roboto; font-size: 40px; text-align: center; line-height: 100%; color: #D9565B; margin-bottom: 2px; } 
.tc-three { font-family: calibri; font-size: 8px; text-align: center; line-height: 100%; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 1px; }
.tc-four { height: 30px; }
.table, tr, td {
	font-family: Arial, sans-serif; 
	font-size: 12px; 
	color: #222; 
}

</style>


  </div>