Name/Gender:
Cherche (pronounced share-shay) // Female
Sexuality:
Asexual // Heteroromantic
What is the story/meaning behind her unusual marking?
I was always a bit of a loner. Not the geeky gamer type. They have friends. I dabbled in makeup and reading. They were the only challenges in life that I felt I could accept.
I was always fascinated with makeup. The fact that something so minuscule could change one's appearance so vastly made me very curious. It was like modern magic. So I began my practice.
My father left my mother when I was born, as he wanted a sprightly young buck and not a dainty little doe, so my mother had to raise me by herself. She worked two jobs, a barista by day and a bartender by night, and thus was never home when I was awake. Usually when I left for school, I found her in a jumbled heap on the couch, snoring away. While it's not the most pleasant thing to imagine, it did allow me to practice makeup far more easily.
I was also an avid reader of books, specifically fantasy books. I always loved reading about the femme fatales; the brave princesses and the female knights. They empowered me. Because I loved them so much, I began to sketch them as they appeared in my head. I colored them with some colored pencils I had found at school, and then designed makeup sets, as I called them, based on them. A quiet girl might have softer colors or gentler lines where a bold warrior would have striking colors and thick, dark lines. Think fashion design, but makeup instead of clothing. It was my passion.
My first models were dolls. I had two girl dolls, lovingly named Ara and Della, who graciously allowed me to practice makeup on them. By using a material that was porous yet hard, I learned good techniques to use on real models. I also learned which products were easy to wash, which were better quality, and which were just plain cheap.
After about a year of working on Ara and Della, I moved on to a new model; myself. I was about 10 at this time. This was also the year I learned about the effects of aging. My mother had been experiencing a lot of stress recently because she lost her bartender job. She was hunting for a new job but couldn't find one, so the ceiling of finance slowly began to cave in on her. Her fur dulled, her tail drooped, her eyes sagged. It was terrifying. A doe once so radiant was now burning out. That's when I became serious with makeup. I developed a fear of aging and began to use makeup to prevent others from seeing me age. I was only 10, sure, but I appeared about 15. When I would eventually turn 15, I would look just the same as I did at 10.
Eventually, year 15 did come around. I had perfected the art of makeup. And then a new challenge presented itself to me: tattooing.
My mother had gotten a tattoo a few months before my 15th birthday to show how dedicated she was to her deadbeat boyfriend of 2 years. I was highly interested in it. Tattoos were just like makeup, except they were permanent. They could repel the effects of aging forever if done correctly. So once again, Ara and Della became my models.
I began with drawing on them in washable black ink, perfecting my outlining skills. Once I had perfected them, I began to work on the insides of the "tattoos" and the shading. It was grueling work, but I eventually did it. Slowly slowly, I grew better and better at "tattooing". At the ripe age of 17, I knew it was my time to shine.
I looked online for a tattooing needle and tattooing ink. I selected the colors I wanted, a nice needle, and purchased them with my birthday money I had been saving for something good. This was worth it.
I decided to then look up some tattoos to get an idea of what I wanted. I eventually settled on a snow leopard's markings, a Mexican sugar skull, and scarlet hooves.
2 weeks came and went. My tattoo items finally arrived. Saturday morning, I began my work.
It was slow goings. I had to look in my bedroom mirror to see what I was doing. Luckily my mother was at work and she had dumped her boyfriend three weeks ago. I was completely alone.
After about 4 hours, all I had left to do was my face. The entire rest of my body had been tattooed. And it was beautiful, despite the mild swelling.
I worked diligently to accomplish my goal. It took me a good 45 minutes, but I had done it. I was perfect.
Something compelled me to walk outside. The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. The world was vibrantly colored. Just like me. I was finally at peace with my fear.
Something caught my attention in the corner of my eye. I turned my head and looked. There, in a patch of tall grass, was a single jasmine flower, fallen from a bush hidden somewhere in the yard. It was a beautiful pale yellow. Age had not yet begun to set in. I gently picked the flower and placed the jasmine flower in my tail, where the cold temperature of the ice cream began to preserve it.
I sighed with a smile. This was me. Cherche. Some people would regret such a rash decision at the young age of 17, but I knew that this was how I was meant to be. My body was a work of art of my own creation, and I couldn't be prouder.
What is her fear?
Aging. Cherche wants to forever shine on as a beautiful, youthful, radiant star. Age would dull her bright light, so she simply refuses to age.
