Rave Graves
As far as she was concerned, Rave had earned her name. Given to her by what she considered her only ‘true’ family, she wore it with pride. Made in jest by the [REDACTED], it stuck. Her manner of talking wildly about anything and everything she could, she spun stories and tall tales as much as her voice would let her. [REDACTED] humored her thankfully, leading to her now habit of speaking during any situation, even if words were better off unsaid. She discovered it’s far less painful to expect people won’t be anything less than what they can be at their worst. She doesn’t regret the things that she did, the people she swindled and the few she killed. What ate away at her most was the fact she was foolish enough to believe no one could deceive her the way she wiled others, let alone those closest to her.
She had always known the difference between right and wrong. She had done her best not to hurt innocents on her path through life—there wasn’t many left to harm—but there was a lot of death, and she knew that even if she weren’t the one to do it, someone else would have. So why not make sure some evil bastard died instead?