Ghostheart

It began even as newborn for Jane; the ability to see and communicate with ghosts. Her parents simply brushed it off as a newborn's wide-eyed wonder when Jane would stare at seemingly nothing. When the habit progressed into toddler years, and the jibber-jabber babbling of first speech began, it was then brushed off on the over-active imagination of a child.

When a young Jane began to tell her mother of the ghosts, their appearance, their life stories, and how they came to visit her. Her mother grew alarmed that Jane's imaginative play was now hallucinations, and with her parents in tow, Jane was sent to see psychologists. The therapy lasted for several years, as they tried to stamp down Jane's "overactive imagination", telling her ghosts were not real and it was all in her head. Jane was forced with medication to help her deal with her 'hallucinations'.

Over the years, she spoke less and less of her hauntings, and gradually blocked out what she knew was a special ability, all to keep her parents content. Jane led a normal life, eventually coming off the medication and going through the normal adolescent years of Highschool, although she was a bit 'offbeat' than the other girls. A black cloud seemed to swath the girl, giving her a dangerous air, and she was easily avoided, despite her sociability, and dark beauty.

During her senior year, Jane had never felt more alone, and the blackness seemed ever more thicker in presence, yet unseen. She could feel something building, and it did not feel good. She began to lash out at others, growing rebellious in nature, and fighting with the few friends she did have, including her parents and younger sister. Jane isolated herself, feeling choked by this ominous foreboding.

Her power had been banging upon the locked door that Jane had shut upon it, building into a over surplus and waiting for an explosive re-debut. After a particularly heated emotional fight with her parents, Jane was swamped with unchecked emotions from the spirits that had been waiting to connect with her. One particular spirit, seemed stronger than most. It's anger, hatred, was tapped into Jane's empathic nature towards her ghosts. She had unknowingly fueling it's strength with her years of agony.

This was no simple haunting. This was a nonhuman spirit, a demonic entity that fed upon negative emotions, and intent upon havoc and destruction, causing despair. It had branded Jane with a permanent mind tap, a homing beacon of sorts as she was so connected with the spiritual realm.

Jane awoke one night in a cold sweat, and a deep seated fear that something was not right. The house was too cold, too quiet. As she neared her parent's room, emotions began to suffocate her, and she grew shaky. Whatever she was to find behind their door was not to be good. Bravely, 18 year old Jane pushed her parents' bedroom door open and was greeted by the sight of their lifeless bodies, gruesomely twisted. Overwhelmed by the sight, and the evil that thickened the air, she retched, and fled the room to her younger sister's, only to find much the same scene.

Murdered by the demon spirit, and she left alive. The police wouldn't believe her, she knew. With her [small] criminal record, and her medical history, she was a top suspect. Did she snap? Could she have done this? Not knowing what else to do, she quickly packed a number of small things into a suitcase, and scribbled a quick, hastily written note of "I'm sorry", and disappeared from the scene. Her home, her family. Forever gone.

After the murder of her parents and sister, Jane stowed away to Paragon City, due to it's high count of other metahumans, and the spikes in paranormal activity. She avoided registering for a Hero's license, for the fact that she's now a murder suspect on the run.

While not out of place in Paragon City, Jane still felt alone, and tormented by the thought of her family's death and that she had somehow allowed it to happen.

Jane's ability is tied in direct contact with the netherworld and spiritual realm. Some of the apparitions that surround Jane are her own creations that can interact with live or inanimate solid objects, also becoming tangible/intangible at will, by unifying surrounding spiritual energy. These psychic manifestations by convening necroplasmic residue left in the wake of a death, and empower them into ghost entities.

Another side to the medium, is that Jane can see and speak, even interact with already manifested ghosts. When these are lost souls, she will help them ascend to the afterlife. Jane shares an empathic connection with the spirits, and can also incorporate others into the link she shares with her ghosts to ease pain, or experience the same sensory input of Jane's entities.

For the corporeal beings already manifested, in exchange for Jane's help; she'll often be given and/or directed to the last viable things that the spirits hold dear. In this manner, Jane as been able to acquire a deed to a flat in Dark Astoria, after being given a key to a lockbox. Ironically, Dark Astoria is the best place for Jane as it has made her powers stronger. Although settling in had been rough with the influx of spirits, she has managed to keep a somewhat stable hold upon her emotions.

Not much to look on the outside, Jane is constantly in the state of renovationg it herself, giving it a french antique feel. One major renovation so far has been a small open ballet studio equipped with hardwood floors, and mirrors lining the walls. Other than spending time ghost hunting, she mainly keeps to herself aside from visiting the 'D, where she is often seen scanning the city's newspaper for obituaries, as they can often lead to good haunts.

During Jane's 'social' time, it appears she is a magnet for the unusual.

One evening, after a particular haunting was calling to her in the quiet of after midnight, Jane found herself pulled in the direction of Boomtown, to an old, rickety building. Without a second thought as to who/what could be inhabiting the building, she climbed the weak staircases - searching for the spirit that was causing the sharp pains in her heart.

Unknown to Jane, she had been followed by a ragtag gang of Trolls and Outcasts. As she continued her ascend into the building, she became aware of footsteps and raucous laughter a few steps beneath her. Panicking, Jane's nimbleness carried her to the rooftop, which seemed to deteriorate beneath her feet. Whirling about to face the small group consisting of now Trolls, Outcasts, and even a few homeless men; her hand struck out - pulling necroplasmatic energy from the wailing spirit into an tangible entity. Her hand swept out towards the gang right as they rushed her, and the corporeal creature leaped to her defense as she ducked behind it.

A scream was torn from her throat as the phantom disintegrated beneath the brutality of the men, and Jane collapsed; her empathic link with the ghost causing her significant pain. Scrambling to her feet, the gang began to back Jane to the edge of the roof, the building's weak stature finally caved, crumbling to pieces beneath Jane's shaky footing.

As she began to fall, her eyes tightly shut and no sound coming from the tight clamp of her mouth; there was a touch of a hand. Devilblaze's hand encircled her's, and the touch electrified her. He had been watching her afar, she learned, as she had disturbed his quiet. Jane found her head reeling - and not due to her near death experience, either.

It was love at first sight for John Smith and Jane Lane; and Jane found herself 'addicted' for the man. His odd quirks and habits were something she found endearing, and his kiss? Like chocolate. The two wed, and even purchased a dog, 'Monster'.

Months after they were married, they experienced a loss, and during the fragile time; John needed to let his secret be known. In Jane's fragility, she refused to accept this 'alien' side of him. She filed divorced, and without John's dispute, it was finalized. The two have since gone their separate ways, although they still 'share' their Bulldog, and can frequently be found in each others company.

Jane blames John for quite a few of her insecurities, due to numerous reasons, one specifically being John claimed her to be a 'test'. There's speculation there are other reasons behind the split, but neither will speak upon it.

Blue on black, a shock the color of oil; equally dark fans a thick frame to liquid honey, a window shop to the luster of bronze. A mouth bowed and puckered, the bitter to her sweet wasn't so much like arsenic in the sugar bowl at Sunday supper, it was more of a crowbar to the face. Egyptian ancestry alive and wrought with soul in the expression, boasting of heritage. Gauged ears, and a thin spiral of silver; a split in the mouth.

Long-limbed, prima ballerina notes dabbled the air when she moved. An ethereal grace to the woman who was equally comfortable with dirt upon her hands. Her repertoire included a mindless tumble of head over heels, a boast on sun in her eyes, and a clandestine kiss. But some things would never change, and when Jane bowed, it would be to no green, lamb-eyed martyr she went to her knees for.

When you hear the click of a pen in the hush during the lull as the dancer strikes, it was for her - the silence in the in-drawn breaths, faces uplifted and raptured, flowers starving for sunlight that lived in her eyes. It was sublime, and sacred. It was her's.

Aching and superfluous, the air in which she breathes her very own haunt. A take in the lungs, a bleed into the blood, a deep seated regret stained her upper arm ; a black heart, stitched and repaired, doesn't she wish. A catch of white, thin as lace and you saw stars dipping, kissing the jut of hips; adorning and adoring the wave of a spine spun of even more delicate chain. Connect the notches, but keep your hollow theories to yourself.

One, her personal brand of cocaine making unblemished palms itch, a burning addiction. Restless as a caged animal, forever pacing, swaying, dancing - just to lose herself and waiting to be found again. Words just an accessory as she rambles, a mess of secrets not her own, horror stories for the children or harmless lies to avoid pain, to avoid the venom she was sure that poisoned her. A haggard dusting over a lost volume, lock and key thrown away and swallowed in fire and brimstone. Gunless redemption, but her barrel was smoking.

Keep your incense, holy water and thick-skinned congregations. Call your own leather bound bibles, and skewed jaws numb with prayers - she'd take her ghosts in the form of teeth-chattering nights, and white noise.

Some call her crazy. She'd call herself unique.

Text.

Text.