Lisa is a five-foot-and-eleven-inches tall, curvy, well-endowed woman with a clear complexion. With smooth, brown-sugar skin, heritage agate-blue eyes, she naturally had black hair. However, she is a fan of constantly changing her ‘look’, which could range from a different color of lipstick down to her whole wardrobe theme. Lisa Marie has strived to maintain her figure but post-turn it hasn’t needed much maintenance. Despite the lacking need for sustenance, she does intermittent fasting where she eats a small meal for breakfast- normally, a yogurt and some type of oatmeal- and a small dinner at exactly five.

Lich Natural Abilities:
(In order from strongest to weakest)
Immortality
Blood Manipulation
Control Level:Strong
Minor Regenerative Healing
Control Level:Strong
Darkness Manipulation
Control Level: Weak

Lisa Marie Chamberlain- where do I start?- Was one of twelve children, and the third eldest girl meaning she was, naturally, third in line for her older sisters’ hand-me-downs. Their shower routines, their hygiene rituals, their clothes… their men. Mama Chamberlain was as equal measures strict and gracefully blunt as she was traditional and modern. Papa Chamberlain loved his daughters unapologetically more than his sons and never bothered to hide it, nor did he bother to ever hide how abusive and vicious he was with his sons from his adored children. If punishment was meant for one of the girls, it would be saddled onto the son most involved, according to their parents’ ever-fickle whims.

Things were so much simpler in 722 AD when Lisa Marie was born and at the ripe age of 18 in the year 740 AD, Lisa Marie was preoccupied with what all 18-year-olds were doing: rebelling against being put into an arranged marriage by her parents that she had been viciously dodging for the prior four years. At 18, she was an old maid and seen as unacceptable because she wasn’t already five children deep-into her wifely duties- but then it happened.

The earthquake that rocked Constantinople. It took downtowns, forced the oceans to recoil and come back to flood other towns, took down the walls in some parts of Constantinople- and took everyone in her family from Lisa Marie.

Imagine, standing, and watching your whole origins, your whole ancestry destroyed. The living embodiments of your family history, dying around you. And as Lisa Marie stood in the rubble, shaken but alive, only one thing mattered to her: Freedom. So she ran, and after months of ducking and darting into alleyways and darkened streets to hide from the Persians, the Arabs, and the Byzantines, she met her own Byzantine- Claudius. A noble, one of the numerous sons to a rich father and mother of creme de la creme pedigree, who looked like a greek god to a young woman like Lisa Marie; so naturally, they secretly married. There was just one problem wrong with their union: Claudius was a shape-shifting, no-good, cheating witch; ungodly handsome, but undeserving of Lisa Marie and she knew it. The first ten years or so of their marriage was ‘blissful’: he promised to keep her out of his more occult activities and she promised, as any good wife should, to protect him. Imagine her surprise when one of his ‘one-time flings’ pulled Lisa Marie aside and divulged that, not only had Claudius been sleeping with her during their marriage and even on their wedding night, but that she and Claudius were also married for going on twelve years. Imagine, once more, Lisa Marie’s surprise when more and more women pulled her aside, a whole network of women popping up to speak to her like poppies on a bloody battlefield.

She refused to be yet another woman in his illicit harem so she devised a plan. With a smile and a few sultry words, Lisa Marie and her beloved husband, Claudius went to an orgy in the upper crust of society and they had a few glasses of wine to unwind. Only Lisa Marie slipped in a bit of poison to her husband’s wine- just enough to make him bedridden- and when he felt groggy, she took him home out of concern that he was tired. As he was falling asleep, she cooed to him how she never wanted to be apart and if he knew anyway at all for them to be eternally together, and in his inebriated state he divulged that there was one way; a curse. At the expense of their bodies and their holy souls, they could walk together forever as husband and devoted wife. He vowed they would work on it tomorrow and thankfully tomorrow came and he was so, unfortunately, very, very ill. Too ill to move even. So Lisa ran about, gathering the ingredients he directed her to from his bed, and what his passed down book of witchcraft asked for, to make the curse’s contents: two bewitched chalices of wine for an eternity together, seemed too easy to her and she pretended to flip to the wrong page in his little book and saw it.

The effect of certain ingredients added to curses; namely, the ability to take a portion of power from a being that had it. She added it to dear Claudius’s cup, just to be sure.

For a moment, she focused on Claudius and all he was to her, all he meant to her, and his whole existence in her world in its entirety. Yes; he was a practitioner of the occult but that's not what attracted her to him. No, it was his eyes and his manners at first. Under locks of wavy, blonde hair, he has the most beautiful brown eyes she had ever seen, and when the sun lent them it’s light? They shone like liquid bowls of Midas’s cursed, treasure touch. They turned to pools of molten golden and thick, rich honey but around his irises, there was the barest touch of silver flecks. “This ritual required words, but it’s the power you give words not the words themselves.” He told her as she helped him sit up in bed. Even sickly, the light perspiration of his condition on his athletic body of fair skin, he was a marble crafter’s masterpiece. Even with his cheeks and face heating up, she was rosy and alluring. A melancholy wave washed over Lisa Marie for a moment as she handed his cup to him, maybe even a twinge of regret; tonight she planned to kill him and he had vowed his life to her on their wedding night. Then the darkness around her decried his honor to his vows, reminding her he had made those vows and still slept with another woman on their wedding night. He had made those vows and still had a harem of other women at the best and call of the same man- no, creature- that was before her and sitting up in bed. Then, it happened- he touched her hip- slow, smooth, tantalizing in the time and era where embers of her femininity, sexuality, and arousal could be blown into the most ferocious of blazes by every brisk touch from her husband. She had truly loved him and she just relaxed as he pulled her over, and began to speak but the words held dark, mysterious, and dangerous undertones- words of a witch performing their craft, not words of a husband cooing to his wife.

The tone of his sultry voice turned husky and low, the syllables turned from harmonic to gravely growls as he pulled her closer and began to speak, “I bind thee, to me, for eternity on nigh; No peaceful morn nor tranquil night without thee shall I live.” They pierced her. The words made her shudder, past her bones and into her very soul, as he smiled darkly at her, lifting his cup to his lips, “Drink.” He voiced and they both drank, before he began again, “In an ice-capped fir of burning wood, in our world of pyre; Ignite our dreams of starry skies, of you and me; as realized are bigger themes.” She slowly felt compelled to sit and sink into the edge of the bed, and Claudius took the time to slide his free hand slowly up her side despite the shivers it brought her, then clasped it about her neck, just under her ear, and held her there as they locked eyes and she let out a shaky breath. “Take me internally; forever yours, nocturnal thee.” Then it began.

The edges of her senses tingled and picked up a sound that was slowly arising, around them, gradually growing louder as he took another drink and she systematically followed suit. The sounds began to take rhythm and harmonize, but where they were wordless only moments ago now they held dark voices speaking in a perfect symphony of bold and unknown words. Then the sound of drums grew louder and louder but when she tried to turn her head, Claudius straightened her. Perhaps this was part of it. The sounds grew louder, heavier, more devilish and demonic-tones; unnatural and forbidden delightful. The air grew cold and Claudius’s golden eyes seemed to slow as things around them grew darker, covered in shadow even though it was mid-day. “Take me internally; forever yours.” He slowly ushered and each word was heavy with unholy power, “Nocturnal thee.” Soon, as the sound of drums grew louder, the dark chorus of unholy singing resonating up to meet the heavy booms, the air beginning to crackle with sparks and pops of warmth even as the room began to grow cold enough for them to see each other’s’ breath, so did the strength behind this mantra.

“Do or die, what’s done is done, true beauty lies on a blue horizon.” They drank and he pulled her closer, their foreheads touching, “Who or why? What’s one is one, in pure disguise of vulgar sons.” They drank and then he kissed her. Her heart already drumming with the drums around her, hard and fast, skipped a beat. She was going to die. That was the curse, that was a given- but he had more poison in him to keep him down. That fact steeled her and calmed her almost as quickly as her heart skipped a beat, then she kissed him back and it became passionate. The mantra of the spell repeated between moments they came up for air but after they took a drink, never from the other’s cup. “Take me internally; forever yours, nocturnal thee.”

“Take me internally; forever yours, nocturnal thee.” Was the mantra repeated once more as he pulled her to straddle his waist; almost as if he had forgotten he was bed-ridden with illness. “Whatever burns, burns eternally; so take me in turns internally.” They drank and the room grew darker, the unblessed concoction in their cups seemed to ripple with some dark glisten, as he voiced in a deep voice,

“When I’m on fire my body will be: forever yours, nocturnal me.” The solidifying phrase, followed by several instances of the mantra in between passionate spans of intimacy, drinks, and the repetition of the mantra; then the room brightened and cooled after their spur-of-the-moment lovemaking and it was done. With his powers, they locked in the curse to be reborn immortal upon their deaths; they drank their cups and she dawdled a bit on them drinking poison and as he finished his drink first, she leaned down and with a dark smile told him, “I know all about the other women. And your other wives.” Then she blacked out and she woke up- sometime later- but she wasn't too worried or surprised when Claudius didn’t. She had loved him, she truly did, this could have been different if he loved her.

She made sure to make a show of it too when she brought in a doctor to confirm everything, and when she wailed at his funeral in front of their friends and his family, but she made sure to be believable and not too dramatic. She made sure to keep her happy laughing and smiled tucked in her heart until after they left.

And after his funeral, she made sure to go to his grave, dig it up down to his body and burn him to ash. The smell of burning hair and flesh was disgusting and vile but so was the fact that Claudius had twenty-six wives, thirteen mistresses, four girlfriends, and eighty-nine children and that wasn't including any of the dozens of pregnant women among them when he died. It wasn’t all bad for Lisa though; She made sure to mourn just the right amount and she got everything of Claudius’s. Including his little book of spells. Once more, imagine her surprise when she found out that the ‘curse of immortality’ was a curse that turned the both of them into liches- well at least one of them was walking away from the table.

Here’s where it got tricky; He had all those kids and all those wives, surely they wanted something, and when she refused to mutually settle it? They took it to the capital. She worked with the oldest of the wives, his first wife, and sat her down one night, talking to her; and convinced her to give up trying to go through the legal process. IT was smooth. So Lisa tried her luck again with the second wife, and it happened again. It took ten years but now? Lisa had the time. She would wait until each of the wives took her to the courts and before the judges, and then talk to them and convince them to give it up until at last, she got everything but by the time the wives realized what had happened or what was even going on? Well, Lisa Marie was quick to quietly sell the homes and the lands except for the ones they lived in- she just ‘forgot’ to pay the rent and taxes on those so the taxman could get them out-and she lightened her load then slipped onto a ship with a handsome captain that seemed to take a liking to her. Where was she bound for? Well, by today’s terms, we would call it ‘Russia’ but Lisa Marie Chamberlain was long, long gone- but that’s not even her birth name. No, that's her current name.

See, she has a long, traditional name but with all the loose ends from Claudius? She needed a new one. So she changed it- then she did it again- and again until she started liking changing her names a little too much. And then she began getting educated when she could, and boy did she like to learn. With each new name came a few new degrees and by the turn of the 20th century, she had let generations and generations of other females take credit for her work so that she could quietly be a shade, slipping from country to country to cause turmoil just for the hell of it, collecting husbands and the hearts of men like people collect stamps; easily, meticulously kept and utterly pointless in the long run. She found that, in the long run, she liked being a funeral director the best- a lot of money, a quiet life, and she didn’t have to do any of the dirty work. When things got heated, or someone caught on a little too fast that she didn't look a day over twenty-eight, she would vanish completely and start somewhere new for a decade then leave.

Now, it’s 2020, and the silent, plaque-like plague of an existence that is Lisa Marie Chamberlain has come into Lorette in a perfectly and meticulously maintained 1990 Rolls Royce Corniche she brought with her from overseas some forty-years ago, on a briskly foggy winter night, followed by the promise of her things training behind her via freight trains because of her expansive collection, and she has parked in a rented warehouse where her things will be stored as she makes plans to strut herself into town, in her black velvet trumpet dress, snow-white mink fur shawl, and matching black, Iriza-style, first edition Christian Louboutin, to fire a local artisan to draw up plans for the mansion she plans to buy. A vision of almost perfect, silver-screen noir reminiscence...with her poor, tragically recently deceased husband’s money.