Cherice Tamsyn

Name: Cherice Tamsyn
Seeming: Fairest
Kith: Dancer
Court: Spring
Freehold: Dallas (formerly Houston)
Fetch: Alessa
Virtue: Hope
Vice: Pride 
Pronouns: She/her/herself 
==Physical Description==
Apparent Age: 24 
Height: 5'11" 
Skin: White 
Hair/Eye Color: Blond/Blue 
Clothing: Expensive 
Detailed Appearance: 
Mantle: Tiny flowers sprout in Cherice's hair, so subtle that observers might think they were deliberate hair ornaments. 
Noteworthy Merits: Fame (2) 
Pinterest: 
==Commonly Known==
Cherice was a beautiful up-and-coming model before she was taken to Arcadia. Her fetch continued her career in her absence, until Cherice escaped and reclaimed her life--and took Alessa's leg in the process, to prevent her from ever being Cherice Tamsyn again. 
Cherice is currently dating Alois Skala, the Summer King of Houston. He is apparently very fond and protective of her.
==Uncommonly Known==
Cherice dated Demetri Michel, Winter King of Houston briefly when she first came out of Arcadia. It seems to have ended abruptly and badly. 
== Omen ==
They'd warned her not to get involved with a Winter, not so soon after Arcadia. 
Not that they'd all warned her for the same reasons. Some of the Springs thought she couldn't handle it, as if moody boys weren't industry bread-and-butter. Some of them warned her about Queen Signe, like they were exclusive when they obviously weren't, like Cherice was planning to steal him when she clearly wasn't. He was beautiful and refined and he smelled like wassail and spice, and she wasn't some starry-eyed novice about to get her heart broken. She liked that it was fun and easy and no-strings attached. It was what she needed. 
She hadn't expected him to be chaste while she'd been away checking on her parents. But he knew she was coming back today, knew she'd be feeling vulnerable. She was having a hard time adjusting to the reality that her parents and boyfriend had replaced her with that ribbon-made creature that smiled so prettily for the camera, wearing Cherice's face even though she moved all wrong, carried herself so differently. Was the rest of the world blind, that only Cherice could see what an inferior copy she was? 
She'd found him at home, in his bedroom. Lounging on the bed like a baron, a blond woman on her knees in front of him, her face buried in his lap. Cherice hadn't been happy--she wanted cuddles and time alone with him, dammit--but she'd tried to see the positive side of it. Maybe she needed this, to lose herself in a sexy afternoon of giggles and happiness, to forget the life she'd lost by wrapping herself in the benefits of this new one. 
He'd grinned at her then, tapping the girl on her head so that she looked up at Cherice--almost a signal, had he been waiting for her to visit?--and the world shatters around her as Cherice looks at the face of the woman between his legs and sees... herself. The room spins around her, and she clutches for a wall, a door frame, anything to steady herself. Was this what losing clarity felt? She looks up at him, angry and confused, demanding an explanation, any kind of reason for why she sees herself there when she is clearly over here. 
His beautiful Winter eyes dance at her then, his delicate fingers stroking the cheek and chin of the kneeling impostor. Cherice feels herself instantly hating the simulacrum, her stupid little grateful expression, her cheap little porn-doll face, like being used by that piece of shit was all she could ever want in life. "You were gone so long," Demetri says, his voice languid and amused at the expression on her horrified face. "I sent for one of the Mirrorskins." His fingers stroke the woman's face fondly. "We have so many of them," he adds, using that little polite laugh of his, "I can't even remember which one this is." He grins down at the little tart. "But you're my Cherice today, hmm?" he asks sweetly, and she nods eagerly, turning to bury her face again. He gasps softly with pleasure and grins up at Cherice. "It's a compliment, don't you think?" he purrs at her.
She can't breathe. "It isn't me," the Spring woman hisses, leaning against the wall for support as the world still spins. "It's nothing like me," she insists. "It doesn't matter what you call her, I'm the only Cherice Tamsyn, you fuck." 
He only smiles at her. "Is that right?" he says carelessly, disinterest dripping from his voice. "If you say so, dear. How was your trip?" he asks, leaning back into the pillows, his eyes half-lidded under the assault of the woman-who-isn't-Cherice. "Your family doing alright? Your boyfriend happy to see you?" 
She runs from his house in tears, for once not caring who sees her. The bastard. A part of her wants to kill him, but she knows that won't solve her problems. In a way, she should be grateful to him for making everything so clear. Her problem isn't Demetri Michel, not really. Her problem is the impostor wearing her face. It's time to quit fucking around--literally--and fix that problem for good. 
Category:NPC
Category:Houston
Category:Spring