Celia Longo

Her arrival is a storm of noise and uncomfortable laughter, moving through life with broken heels and old lipstick. People are drawn to her, but few stay long. Still, she laughs harder, drinks deeper, and hopes the next gathering won’t leave her feeling so hollow.

Celia Longo is a vampire, turned somewhere in the 1950s. She was 36. Her mom, grieving her own immortality and impending loneliness, turns Celia unwilling and unknowing. As it becomes apparent to her, Celia runs away from home, and Jasmine chases her. Every few months, she would be found, and the escape resumed, from house to house, until she finds the mansion a few roads down from Croner. Two years of running and 3 of dreading her mother’s appearance and the arguments that ensued, she instead gets word that her mother died on her way to another reconnection attempt. She finally feels alone, but cannot rest.

One can easily assume she is functional and well-adapted. She is charming, talkative, and outgoing, starting many relationships and planning lavish parties. Her parties are generally well-regarded, if not excessively lavish or oddly themed. Despite that, she is still in great denial about her condition, carrying a lot of problems from when she was human fear of rejection, losing control, being alone).

Her 30 or so years in this spot leave her restless. Her parties grow in excess and are performatively future-oriented. She becomes a nuisance to the local community and reputable among vampires. Currently 76, she finds herself compromising on her vampiric nature; she doesn’t yet have to lie about her age, and the compliments only inflate her ego. She often dons purple and black tight, almost noir-like outfits, a signature plum scarf, and red jewellery. Voluminous dark brown hair, pulled slightly back, and expired makeup add to her aged look. Her skin is pale and intact, save for wrinkles. Looking at her, you'd say she was 50.

She really, really does not wish to be alone. She lives in that decrepit mansion, prettied up for events, but succumbing to age anyway, with her fiancé and some other, more transient guests — frequent attendees of her parties, with more or less coloured relationships. She is struggling to commit, fearing disappointment and entrapment. She doesn’t know what to do, but prefers to sip on some blood nectar and give some relationship advice to someone who isn’t her. Croner, mainly, who she visits in the aftermath of worse parties. It isn’t welcome advice. .