Chapter Text
As a child, I always wondered what death would feel like. I would spend hours thinking of what happened after you exhaled your last breath, whether you reincarnated into a newborn for your new life, went to a land of which all your desires came to fruition, or just an endless sleep.
I asked such questions to those around me, even though they were deemed peculiar for a child of my time. With no answers and disapproving glances, I had to go with the answer I was taught since my birth. When one dies, depending on the way they lived their life, they go to either Heaven or Hell.
My parents, like most of everyone back then, were church folk. They always believed in the power of our almighty God, no matter what casualties they faced. Even when the eldest of their children, my brother Henry, was drafted to serve in the Great War, they still believed he would return with no harm.
For the most part, he did. He returned with all of his limbs intact, including his extraordinarily large funny bone. He was still the pest I had grown to admire, until, he wasn't. I was nearly five when he returned from the battlefield and his spirit was not yet shattered, so I didn't take notice to the changes he hid when around me, however, over the course of three years, it was clear that he was not the man, nor the brother, I once knew.
He was depressed, traumatized as the generations after my era diagnosed the state of mind, until his suicide in 1925. I was 12 at the time.
The following years our family tried to recover and move forward without my brother, but without the example for the other children to aspire to be, the paths we took were disgraceful. Our hardships only worsened after the Depression, leaving us with no way to provide for our large family. For a short period of time, one of our middle sons, Edward, a year older than me, alongside the eldest daughter, Rebecca, were forced to live in a Hooverville. They returned with horrifying stories, as well as disease spread by unhygienic conditions. Our youngest, Thomas, fell ill and passed.
To provide a second income for our family, I was sent with Arthur and Edward to Harlem, in New York City. There, I began my first job as a prostitute. At this point in time, I was barely over my 21st birthday and being sold to a dangerous business. New York was full of as much evil as there was joy. Mafias tied cities under their rule and if I were caught, I would be a mistress in the sinful game. So, my brothers and I were very careful.
Under my persona of the "Siren", I took that territory of employment by storm. My shows, eventually, were sold out. Lots of men and women, alike, paid for my performances any way they could. Food, clothing, jewelry, even a few, money. I was paid well for my sex.
Soon, the Depression vastly improved, and my family were, once more, well-off with help from the New Deal program, issued by Franklin Roosevelt, the best president our country ever had. In honor of Henry, Arthur joined the 2nd World War, while Edward, and eventually Rebecca, stayed with me in New York. However, prostitution wasn't my only interest anymore.
It was the economy.
As hard as the Depression hit the world, it only intrigued me to prevent another generation to suffer as my family did. It was clear not many people knew how to run the National Bank as well as its founder, Hamilton, and that a woman, like myself, during that time were barely allowed into factories, let alone assist to run businesses, but I made it easily.
Seduction was a power I gained throughout the years, and if it could allow people to give up belongings that would be deemed foreign during such a time of suffering, perhaps it could be used to allow me to make a change to our fragile economy. All I had to do was find the right person.
Mr Cartier was 1 of my favorite clients. Unlike many of the horny scums that craved my services, he treated me particularly well. He was never too rough, nor did he try those pet names on me, like I was his canine and not his mistress. After his wife passed from tuberculosis, he took even more of a dependency on me. I began to live with him and his twins.
During that time, I was seen as another caretaker for his children, who were very fond of me, while he provided a wealthy income. He spent long days and even longer nights working. He lacked sleep for many days. When he would finally rest, I took it upon myself to finish his work. His designs for machinery and weapons, new battle-gear, submarines, and airfare were effective but needed evolution from the Great War to beat Axis Powers' impressive way of battle. I added these touches, using his penmanship so it would seem he wrote while sleeping.
Many of my ideas were used in American warfare, as well as the British and French. Many credited Cartier for his supernatural intellect to the point of him moving on to work in the Stock Market, under the impression of his designs being genius. I was hurt by my lack of credit but who would believe that I would've created them? For I was a mere woman and besides, it made us both successful.
The months following the second war's end and our new business of Wall Street, I noticed many changes in my provider. We had moved along from companions to partners in a consensual relationship, and at first, it seemed as if we were to get married until he invited me to take part in his job, as women working was still deemed odd, but a new standard. That is when I saw how corrupted he became.
He was cruel, greedy, unsatisfied with anything below his degree. It was hard to see him abuse his workers in such vile ways. He promised me it was just an act, but I knew every curse he laid upon them was straight from his heart.
Soon, I too was corrupted by the power. A job I once wished would bring good into the world, turned me into the opposite. The things I distasted throughout my younger years were the same things I requested assistance from.
I brought upon the same suffering I wished to stop.
For the next 5 years, our addiction towards dominating those "lesser" than us gave us many shady allies, as well as enemies wanting us dead. Their wish came to fruition when a group of men broke into our home to kill us in our sleep.
That fateful day was April 23rd, 1951.
I was 37.
That was the day I was doomed to my fate in my current home, the Pride Ring, located in the center of Hell. This has been my home for nearly 75 years, which means I have not seen Cartier in 74 and my family in over 80. I miss them every day.
However, my life in this wretched prison is much more fortunate than the average sinner, for I am an overlord. A siren overlord. I own many souls, yet I no longer harm them. In my time here, I've reviewed my crimes as a mortal, and I thrive to redeem myself by living the best that I can.
And avoid another premature death.
Signed, one who takes ownership in her story,
~Y/N~