Ophelia is kind of a bitch. Okay, according to the other kids at school, she's kind of the Queen Bitch--not that they'd ever say it within earshot of her, not after what happened to that one girl that was probably all entirely coincidental because street violence really isn't that unusual even though this is the nice part of town, right?--but everyone's got their foibles. Or derangements. Whatev.
Morgan's father is an investment banker and power broker who fed like a lamprey with a tapeworm off the bright-eyed idealism and limited fiscal sensibilities of the Silicon Valley bubble-and-bust, turning a lot of people's optimistic lending and ultimate corporate dissolutions into a mountain of money a mile high; unlike most of the other sharks who showed for the chum party, though, he stuck around Redmond after the fact to channel his new-found profits into the few survivors of the dot-com crash who were desperate for venture capital in the trigger-shy investment aftermath. The result? The Morgans are noveau-rich proto-aristocracy in Seattle, with financial hooks (and nooses) everywhere from Starbucks to Microsoft.
And Ophelia is so daddy's girl. She knows money. She likes money. But what she loves is the thing money is a cheap stand-in for: influence. The scraps of paper are just points on the scoreboard, the power's the thing. Even at the 'tender' young age of sixteen, she's already become the little robber-baron of her high school, leveraging her money and (bought) good-looks to set herself up as the Alpha--the student council president, the head cheerleader, the commander of Clique-Force Uberbitch--and de facto Ice Queen of the school.
Enough? Hardly. High school is just training wheels for real life, everyone knows that. Now that she's aced the practice test, it's time to get out and start working on the practical exam. The real world is an ocean compared to her little pond, though; there are hundreds of people who are richer, thousands who have ingrained themselves more deeply into the circles of powerful people, and maybe even a few who are genuinely more cunning. That doesn't mean she gives up, of course, it just means she needs an edge...
A little black book. A lackey of hers from school--a bookish girl willing to sell out just about everything she was to get the looks and popularity to snag her basketball-team infatuation--was only too happy to relinquish the morbid little curio. Not that Ophelia was one to believe in witches and wizards or what-have-you, but the wild-eyed look in the girl's eyes when she insisted it worked, but was too much for her to handle... anything that can inspire that sort of primal fear is an object of power, even if it's all delusional.
Naturally, since it does work, Ophelia wants the one thing she always wants, the only thing worth anything at all: more. More little black books. More spells. More knowledge of the occult. It's not that she hasn't seen the warning signs; she's smart enough to realize this stuff has been around since the dawn of time, and couldn't have stayed hidden this deep in the shadows unless everyone who'd found it before her ended up dead or worse. No, she's not ignorant, she's demented: she really believes she can be the one to tame the vast howling darkness beyond the stars.
Hey, it beats blue-collar work.
26 Life Points
20 Drama Points
Nerves of Steel +3
Occult Library +1
Resources, Wealthy +3
Covetous, Ambitious -2
Mental Problems, Cruelty -2
Gun Fu 2