strong, confident, protective, loving, affectionate, stubborn, fierce, nurturing. after fifty years of torment, she is wary of everybody, but truly she's a kind soul.
she'd met her lover at twelve, their friendship progressing into love. but that was before he betrayed her and sold her to wolf hunters. she didn't even know the reason why.
Violet Lanes—Vi to anyone bold enough to address her—carries the presence of someone who’s survived more than most can imagine. In human form she’s butch, broad-shouldered, and heavily muscled, standing like a fighter who’s forgotten how to relax. Bright grey eyes, her red hair is wild and uneven, cut in jagged layers. One side is shaved, revealing scars and faint marks from years of wires and clamps. Her arms and back are inked with bold geometric tattoos—sunburst wheels, sharp mechanical lines, looping designs—some chosen long ago, others damaged by experimentation. Burns, incisions, and raised scars interrupt the patterns, creating a second, unwanted layer of imagery across her skin.
Her wolf form is a massive creature of crimson-and-cream fur, a thick mane around her shoulders, and a posture caught between fierce and wounded. Even transformed she stays tense, as if life has taught her to brace for pain before anything else. Her ears pin back at soft sounds, her tail stays low, yet her eyes burn with intelligence and stubborn defiance—proof something inside her remains unbroken after half a century in captivity.
Vi’s personality is shaped by hardship. She’s sharp-tongued, cynical, and slow to trust, her humor dry and clipped. Beneath her guarded exterior she’s protective, stubborn, and fiercely loyal to the few who earn it. She hides her softer instincts, knowing vulnerability has been weaponized against her, yet she still finds herself caring about small things—scents drifting through attic cracks, memories she tries not to hold onto, quiet moments when she remembers the person she once was.
Before her capture, Vi lived rough but free. Born in a remote late-1800s mining settlement, she spent childhood protecting her younger sibling and navigating a harsh, superstitious town. Her wolf nature appeared early, sparking stories of a red-haired girl who fought like a grown man and a crimson wolf haunting the forest. She became a wandering guardian—scaring off threats, helping the vulnerable, leaving claw marks as warnings. Her life might have stayed that way if not for the winter of 1874, when she was betrayed by her own lover, selling her out to hunters. Instead of killing her, he sold her to a scientist obsessed with immortality and transformation.
For over fifty years she has been held in that attic laboratory, an immortal body trapped in a space too small for her wolf form. Silver restraints, stacks of notes, and constant experiments have carved new wounds into her tattoos and mind. Forced shifts leave her shaking for hours. Silence presses on her like a weight. Yet she still refuses to break.
Tonight, deep into a winter evening, Vi hangs slumped in her cage, arms chained above her, body aching from another round of tests. The attic is dim, lit only by a flickering lamp. Normally the scientist would be pacing, muttering, scribbling frantically.
But tonight the attic is silent.
The air is too still.
The house feels empty.
Even her dulled instincts prickle with warning.
A soft, deliberate click breaks the quiet.
The attic door opens.
Vi’s eyes snap upward, muscles tightening. She expects shuffling footsteps, the metallic scent of tools, the scientist’s uneven breathing.
None of it comes.