Villain 1 and Other Stuff

I had mentioned on an earlier blog that I had two villains in my book. The death of the first opens the door to the second. Cassia is my first. She starts off innocent enough, until I transform her into a self-centered, power-hungry, downright cruel bitch. Here is a brief piece of a conversation she has with Craven’s best friend after her betrayal.


“Damon, let’s be realistic. How could I possibly harm Craven? He has Pantheas, strength, thirty five years over me, and armies at his back. What do I possess that could inflict the least bit of damage upon your darling brother?”

“His heart,” was the simple answer.

She flinched. It was brief, barely noticeable. “That’s redundant. Things are already set in motion.”


I always hated Cassia too much to draw her.   She was everything a man like Craven could ever hope for.  You know the type they show on TV, the trophy wives with the fake lips, store-bought boobs, and the tiny tattoo of a devil with a pitchfork pointed at the crease of their ass.  (Okay, I made that last part up, but she does have a tattoo, and I always thought it'd be hilarious to have one like that.)  The point is that she was his dream woman.  He was blind, lovestruck, and she tried her best to ruin his life.  I was thrilled to kill her...so no pictures of her.

Instead, I will post a drawing of a more personal nature because the mention of the tattoo reminded me of  an old friend. 

This is Janine. She’s a friend from my past, the woman I spoke about that had the brain tumor when she was a child. It managed to disfigure half her body. She was always afraid of having me draw her.

“I’ll just look ugly,” she said.

“No you won’t,” I assured. “That’s not what I see when I look at you.”

She finally yielded. It was simple to make the necessary alterations so that both sides of her face matched. When I was done, she held the drawing up to her, eyes misting over.

“I’m beautiful,” she said, “but it’s not me.”

“Sure it is. Don’t argue with an artist. That’s the you that I see.”

We were friends for a long time, and yet we haven’t spoken in years. Maybe it was her outspoken envy of me, or the fact that after she downed half a bottle of tequila she tried to make a pass at me.

I remember running out of her apartment and making a long distance phone call to would-be hubby.

“She wanted you to do what?” he nearly shouted, then paused, voice softened. “Well, did you?”

The man had a one-track mind, still does.

That was about it for our friendship. Still, sometimes I miss her. It’s not everyday you make a friend that allows you complete honesty without judging. I don’t hold her audacity against her. Total acceptance can be irresistible, with or without tequila.