Nicknames: Clary and Clarbear

Face claim: Teresa Palmer,

Gender: Female

Sexuality:  Straight

Date of Birth: May 21, 1996

Place of Birth: Plainfield, Indiana

Current Place of Residence:  Evermore City

Species: Initia

Element: Water

Occupation: Librarian

Relationship: Taken by Ray Herald 

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Build: Slim 

Height: 5 ft. 4 1/2 inch

Hair Color: Blonde

Eye Color: Blue

Distinguishing Marks: Tribal Tattoo on the lower back 

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Family: 
Samantha Carter -Mother (Deceased)
Edward Carter -Father (Deceased)
Tom Burke -Stepfather (Deceased) 
Ash Winston - Half-Uncle
Sophie Carter-Kenton -Aunt
James Kenton -Uncle
Jordan Kenton -Baby cousin

Siblings: Only Child

Ex-Partners: None

Friends: 

Dominic Howlett

Siobhan Leslie

-More to be Added-

Enemies: Nope not yet anyway

Roleplays:

A Drink in an Irish Pub -Completed

Learning Things -Completed 

When opposites attract -Completed 

 Late Library Evenings -InActive

Strange Laundromat Meeting- InActive

A Brush with the Law - InActive

5, 6, 7, 8 -Active

"I Don't Understand" -Active

Dog's Best Friend- Active

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History

Born Clara Isabella Carter to Edward and Samantha Carter on a warm May evening and the world was graced with another Initia.

 Clara grew up to be the kind of daughter all parents want. She was well behaved and understanding, she was close with her father and every Saturday they would spend there time together on a boat in the middle of the lake that sat on the property of there home in Indiana, fishing for all sorts of fish. She had fond memories of those times and it made having very little friends more bearable.

 Every night before bed, her parents would come to sit by her bed, telling her stories, of people in a kingdom that could control the elements around them that lived near the base of the mountains. People stronger, and beautiful with an air of magic to them. A story she didn’t think much about, but she had longed to be big and strong too. To help control the monsters that lurked under her bed and in the closet. “It’s just a story,” her father would reassure her, “So are the monsters,” But she still insisted they check, you just couldn’t be too safe.

 When Clara was six years old, she remembered her parents coming upstairs to tuck her in, they were leaving for the evening to go on a date, as they did once a month, she watched as they looked at each other with love so strong in their eyes, you could feel it. “We love you, and be good sleep well,” her father had whispered as his lips were pressed to her forehead. And then they left, she was being watched by a babysitter, the same sitter she had had since she was four, and Clara had remembered feeling safe and warm, like nothing could harm her.

In the middle of the night the phone had rang, it wasn’t the first time but it was a strange occurrence, Clara was still not allowed to pick up the phone, so she turned around and ignored it.

When morning came, she looked around and noticed she wasn’t in her bed, she was in a hospital room, a man in a white coat, standing next to a police officer came over. And that when her life fell apart. Her mother was going to recover but her father was dead, the car had killed them. At six she still wasn’t sure what that had meant, all she knew, was that when she was younger and they had had a dog, named Baxter, he died, and he never came back. And that was the case with her father, he wasn’t coming back.

 A long week had passed, her mother was still in critical so after some preparation, she would have to go alone to bury her father. Once Clara had arrived with the social worker. Clara sat down her legs swinging off the chair as she listened to the funeral still coming to terms with the death of her father. When the funeral ended Clara went to the hospital and found out her mother was awake and out of critical she couldn’t believe it she was so happy she ran down the hallway with her long hair swinging in the back.

 When Clara turned seven things surely began to change, she was still coming to terms with the death of her father. A slow and painful process but as that went on, she started noticing a birthmark forming on her lower back, she tried to show her mother once, but her mother just burst out into tears, saying “This can’t be happening,” so she never brought it up again.

 It was a cold year, or maybe it just felt cold inside. Clara was eleven, and her mother had been married to a man named Tom Burke for almost a year now, she tried to spend time with her mother but her mother was always with her step-father, and even though he seemed to be a nice man, Clara could never get to know him, for she was still hurting, from the gaping hole that her father had left inside her when he had died, and nothing and no one could replace him, so she kept her distance, and found relief in books, reading stories brought her farther away from a reality she just couldn’t say she enjoyed.

Walking home one day from school she noticed the door was unlocked. An unusual thing, Tom Burke was a cop and he strived on safety. So she cautiously opened the door, everything was a mess, and her mouth flew open at the sight of her step-father, head on the floor, blood all over the place. Her first instinct was to scream but how could she, everything felt clogged and ripped, even though she wasn't close to Tom, she knew her mother would be devastated. And that’s when it hit her. She dropped her book bag and ran up the stairs. Lying on her queen size bed, in that tacky orange bedroom, laid her mother, laying on her back, eyes open, blood coming from places that would forever be in her memory. She didn’t have to walk over there to know, that her mother was dead. It was all she could do, but collapse on the floor, a cry for how many hours went by till it was dark, she was rocking back and forth, looking at her mother’s lifeless corpse and she found herself, wishing she was dead too.

The Police came later, but everything moved in a blur, she was in the arms of a social worker, how smelled faintly of honey and ocean water and then she was in the hospital, a man in a white coat with a heavy accent breathing in her face as he checked her eyes. As if they were broken. And she was tired, but she couldn’t close her eyes without seeing their body, and she knew she would never be able to sleep again, and she would never get over it. And that’s how it felt.

It was the next day, and life felt like it had little meaning, she had heard the nurse whispering the social worker telling her it was shock. It didn’t feel like shock, shock didn’t last very long, but this feeling was already here for so long. The social worker, the one that smelled like honey, took her to stay with a man and a woman, who took kids like her in, who were in need of help after trauma, both of them therapists. They tried talking to her, and she tried to listen, anything as long as they would make this feeling go away, but as days turned to weeks and weeks turned to two months, with her mother long buried in the ground right next to her father. She knew that the emptiness that she felt now would be with her forever.

 She was almost twelve when a knock on the door came. Her foster parents had warned her that someone was coming to visit. Clara opened to door to find a man, darker skin, tall and beautiful, a work of art, and he had an air of grace to him. “You must be Clara,” he said, and she shook her head in reply, of course, no other kids lived here. “Can you do me a favour, can you show me something?” he asked, and being eleven, she was still navie, so she nodded once more, and he turned a bit, lifting up his coat. “Do you have one of these?” he asked, and she recognized it instantly, she did, so she showed him. And with a final nod, he said goodbye and left, as if her world could get any stranger so she forgot about it.

And the following week, a woman, with her greying hair pulled back into a tight bun atop her head showed up. She was wearing all black. And Clara knew, this woman was here because of the man, they had the same soft of inhuman beauty. She showed up with a file, a file she found contained for her foster parents to hand Clara over to her as if she was some sort of book. They didn’t fight the woman, just calling the social worker to confirm.

 The woman took her, and she was quiet, Clara had found out from her foster mother, that her name was Josphine, and that she would be taking her to her home, but that’s all. “Do you know what you are?” Clara heard the woman said, once they were in the car. She was unsure of how to answer such a strange question. “Well, you are an Initia, and this is your destiny,”

With that, the car was flooded with silence, and she knew her world was being turned upside down once more.

 In the following weeks, her mind was immersed into the world of the supernatural, of how she wasn’t human, how she was going to learn everything and that when she turned twelve next week she will have her first initiation ceremony, confirming her place within the tribe and officially claiming her first element with a second mark on her back, everything was so complicated, but she started finding her way, and she felt feeling like she truly belonged.

 High school came, and she found herself, balancing school and practicing her element, water, her teacher, had said she was a real natural, that she had chosen wisely, and besides a few minor accidents she had learned a lot. Balancing the real world, and the world she was finding herself in most of the time was becoming tricky, Josphine was her mentor, and her only family at the moment. In her tribe, she was the only one without parents, and it didn’t bother her most of the time.

When High School was over, and she was about to become eighteen she was beginning to feel pretty accomplished and maybe a bit stressed she would soon have to decide to follow the path to becoming a master or to diversity, the choice was difficult, but after a talk with Josphine she knew. And when the time came, she decided she would try to become a master, water was her gift, and she knew she would always love it.

When the time came to separate from here, she found herself, headed to Evermore City, the city her parents had once spoken of, every night before she went to sleep.