1She pulled her chestnut hair back and peered at herself in the mirror. She had thick beautiful hair that crept past her shoulders. Pulled back away from her face, it made her look twelve years old and that was not the look she was going for. Her hand released her hair and as it fell forward she tossed it with a few shakes of her head. The smoky eye makeup and the deep red lipstick finished the look that she was going for tonight: wild.
The corset she was wearing tonight was black vinyl and laced up the front. It was a size smaller than her frame so the gaps between the lacing would be more prominent; she loved to show a little more skin than necessary when she was on stage. In addition to the corset she sported skin tight black vinyl pants and black vinyl boots with three-inch heels. Looking at herself in the mirror she was quite pleased with what she saw reflecting back. A book nerd by day transformed into a rock goddess by night.
There was something wrong, an element missing from the whole. She bent down beneath the counter and picked up her bag. As her hands searched through the bag she mused to herself that she may as well have her grandmother's lofty handbag for all the things she carried herself. At last she found the shiny object she was searching for. Out of her bag and onto her right arm she slid a silver arm bracelet. Up to her bicep it went and where the points met they turned into an elaborate working of a triquetra. Wearing this, a symbol of her family heritage, was the closest she'd ever come to embracing it.
"Kit, we're ready," a young man said as he poked into her dressing room.
"Ok, I'll be right out," Kit replied.
Kit left her dressing room and sped down the narrow hallway towards the stage. She peered through the side stage curtains to size up the crowd. The club was packed. One of the things she loved about living in London was the virtual guarantee of a packed club for her band to perform in. Her band, Erotica, played a mixture of electronica and rock. They had played together for three years but only within the past few months had they sparked any real interest. The music was dark, brooding and sensual. Kit's onstage persona was that of a dominatrix; she teased the crowd during her performances. The band took to the stage and Kit headed for the mic upstage. She cradled the mic in her hand and straddled the mic stand between her legs. Kit fed off the energy of the newer, larger crowd and they off her.
"Are you ready?" Kit whispered into the mic.
"Yes!" the crowd roared back.
"I said 'Are you ready?'!" Kit shouted into the mic.
"Yesss!" the crowd cheered back.
"I'm Miss Kitty and allow me to take you back. To rock you back. To and fro. Here I go. Are you ready?" Kit sang.
Erotica performed a good two hour set. Their shows were always high energy with some theatrics involved. 'Miss Kitty' engaged the crowd like few performers could. Kit knew what the audience wanted from her and she always delivered. She coyly teased the crowd, using the mic and its stand as characters when the show turned more theater than concert. Kit's voice spoke more than sang to the music but it was the entertaining and not the singing that she aimed for. She danced provocatively, engaging a pole at stage left when she deemed to thrill the crowd. Despite her troubles with her family and her past, and her inability to reconcile them and integrate them into the woman she wanted to be, she reluctantly used what had been passed down to her to read the crowds she performed to.
Kit and the band departed the stage for some celebratory time with fans. After awhile Kit excused and secluded herself to her dressing room. She freshened herself up with a quick shower to cool down and wash away the sweat that soaked her clothes. Though the vinyl clothing looked amazing, it did little in breath ability. Robed in white terry cloth with a white towel on her head, Kit reapplied her makeup so that she could return to the festivities in the club.
Kit reentered the club dressed in black satin pants that hugged her legs, black heels and a long sleeved black lace top with a floral pattern that fit snugly to her waist then dropped to floor with two slits on the sides that came up to her waist. Confident in herself and her body, she simply wore a black bra underneath her revealing top. Every male eye turned towards her and she wouldn't have had it any other way. Maneuvering through the crowd and the eyes that undressed her she finally made it to the bar. She ordered a lemon drop, a martini glass filled with lemon flavored vodka with a squeeze of lemon and a sugar rim around the glass. Sipping her drink she surveyed the room. Her band mates clung to their groupies like wolves preparing for slaughter; she knew she wouldn't see much of them that night. For a brief moment the thoughts of those around her permeated her own but she fought hard to keep them out, as she always had done.
Sipping her drink, Kit's mind wandered to her past of where she'd been and how far she'd come. She was happy as a young child, born and raised in San Francisco on the West Coast of the United States. Kit's father was an orphan but her mother had a large family. Kit was the first of a new generation in that family and as such she was treated like royalty. She was always told she was special and gifted but as a young girl Kit never really understood what they meant. Kit was soon joined in the 'new generation' by cousins and slowly by siblings. As the family grew, Kit could sense the expectations the family had for this 'new generation' and their sense of worry. She could tell something wasn't right but none of that mattered to Kit as she was still treated well.
When Kit turned seven everything changed. She began having incredible sensations, feelings she never felt before. Slowly the sensations grew in scope and intensity: she was attaining her powers. The older she grew the more powerful she became and soon her Grand sat her down for a talk. Kit's grandmother told her she was an empath, capable of hearing others thoughts and feeling others feelings. Grand explained that it was a wonderful gift but she would need to learn to control it. Kit couldn't understand and failed at any attempt to learn her power. For a young child to feel such intense emotions, such as love and hatred, isolated her and caused her to want to have nothing to do with the outside world. As her power grew so did its range until whatever solace she could find in isolation vanished. Kit went into hysterics when she couldn't prevent it from consuming her. She threw tantrums and fits of rage that caused her parents to lock her in her room. She bit and scratched those that came near her and clawed at the ground and walls. When the intensity of her empathy became too much she would pull at her hair, yanking chunks out at a time. Fearful for Kit's life, her parents had her committed to a psychiatric institution.
It was while she was institutionalized that Kit learned to control her power. Feeding off of the incongruous thoughts and emotions of the other patients took its mental toll on Kit. On the verge of a complete breakdown herself, Kit suddenly managed to totally control her power. It wasn't a matter of filtering in or out voices, thoughts or emotions. Kit had, essentially, created an on/off switch. In her despair she had cut all of the thoughts and feelings from permeating her mind. She was alone with her thoughts for the first time in months and liberation she felt was overwhelming.
When the doctors notified her family of the positive development, her parents came and took Kit home. Kit was at first resentful of her parents for committing her but she grew past it to develop a loathsomeness for her entire family. She had always known her family was different from most but they encouraged her to accept the oddity as a gift. Kit's power, her empathy, came from her mother's side of the family. Every family member on her mother's side of the family had some sort of power. They were all taught witchcraft consisting of mastering their powers, writing spells and creating potions. Kit rejected it all, choosing to suppress her power and avoid her Wiccan teachings.
The family was aghast. Kit was the first of a new generation of Halliwell witches. Despite wanting to see how powerful the new generation would be, it was also hoped that Kit would be an example to the children that came after her. Kit became the only Halliwell witch to deny the craft.
At school Kit became an excellent student and excelled at all she attempted scholastically but she was adamant about maintaining a normal life. Never would she allow her friends to come to her home nor would she take time out to spend with her extended family. At school she would avoid and ignore her cousins and barely acknowledged her siblings. After high school she applied for and received a scholarship to attend Cambridge University in England. Eager to distance herself from her family and from her history as quickly as she could, Kit moved to England. When she left San Francisco, it would be the last time she saw or heard from her family; She didn't contact them and they didn't contact her.
"Hey sugar lips," a man's voice called.
Snapped from her thoughts, Kit smacked her lips together to find them covered in sugar from the rim of her drink. She turned around to find piercing blue eyes peering into hers and her heart skipped a beat. She didn't like being enthralled by a man as much as she was with this one but the sheer masculinity he possessed made her weak in the knees.
"I wasn't sure I'd see you tonight," Kit said.
He bent in for a kiss but instead licked the sugar remaining on her lips. She pulled back from him and adored the sight of him for a moment. He was ruggedly built, with broad shoulders and strong arms. Despite this he was also well taken care of, with manicured hands and shapely brows. The vanity of it, which she usually found undesirable, was intoxicating.
"Well I couldn't miss another spectacular performance, now could I?" he said.
His voice was low but tender. Their romance was but a few weeks old but she found herself completely enraptured with him. He was still an enigma to her, knowing only that he was from the States as well and that he dabbled in politics. When pressed for more details he would divert the conversation elsewhere. She would never ordinarily let a man get away with as much but this man was different.
"Turner, come on. I didn't see you out in the audience and believe me, I looked," she said, "Which is fine. Just don't work me."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Turner said, "Sorry I'm late. I had a few unexpected loose ends to take care of. My work is on track so I thought I might come down and bask in the glow of another successful performance."
"Well, I appreciate it. It means something to me that you would take some time out from your obviously very busy, busy schedule to tend to me tonight."
"What good is work without a little play?" Turner teased.
Kit grabbed Turner's hand and led him to an alcove in the club with seating for two and a bar table. She shamelessly flirted with him as he droned on about his affiliation with a political group that hoped to make it big soon. What uttered from his lips mattered little in her mind; never had she lusted after someone as she had now. In a bid to cease the meaningless chatter she kissed him mid-sentence. He returned her kiss and they passionately sat alone with each other, a world apart from those around them.
They were snapped back to reality by the sound of Kit's vibrating cell phone on the table. They tried to ignore it but the phone kept buzzing and the vibrations were causing the phone to inch closer to the edge of the table. Finally annoyed at the interruption, Kit moved to screen the call just in time to catch her phone from hitting the floor. The face of her phone had a small screen equipped with Caller ID. One glance at the screen and she quickly answered the call. The call was from "Manor".