Name: Isabella Antheia Re ~ Isa for short Noms de Plume: Marcy Cook (Fictional Murder-Mystery Writer) and J.J. Singleton (Historical Romance Writer) Origin: Greek-Italian Age: 27 Date of Birth: October 21, 1980 Place of Birth: Dallas, Texas Height: 5'2" Weight: 123 pounds Build: petite Eyes: Brown Hair: Blondish Race: Human (with an odd knack that I am in denial of) Family: Father: Nikolas (Niko) Re Mother: Antonella Della Torre Re Brother: Seth Alexandros Re Brother: Matthias Aison Re Occuptation: Journalist, Freelance Writer Celebrity Claim: Poppy Montgomery History: Born the third child and only daughter of a wealthy Greek father and a deeply religious, Italian mother, my upbringing was atypical for the average southern belle. It was my father's money that bought us our place in southern society. I never knew anything different as that place had long been determined by the time I was born. Yet, I never quite fit in. I went to Parochial schools and graduated salutatorian from Santa Caterina da Genova Literary Institute for Girls in 1997. From there I went on to Catholic University in Washington, D.C. where I graduated Summa Cum Laude with a B.S. in Journalism. I enjoyed life in D.C., Georgetown was a favorite hangout for me back then, and the break from my somewhat over-bearing parents was just that; a break. Those were my carefree days, long gone now. But still, I never fit in. At home, I would grow bored with the endless teas and luncheons; annoyed with calling on this person or that family; and oh so tired of having to put on make-up and do my hair just to go outside and get the mail! My boredom and annoyance showed. In hindsight, I wasn't the most polite child. But I wasn't rude, I was just different. Instead of playing barbies with the other girls, I would curl up under an old oak tree and write stories in my journal. My parents would excuse my behaviour by saying that I had been born with a pen in my hand. But there was more to why I didn't fit in. I couldn't fit in. You see, I would become inspired by something someone said or did and I would start writing about them. I would make up stories about that person. Fictional stories but then, those stories would.... Nevermind. I'm not going to think about that. That's not part of my history. It's just a coincidence. One coincidence after another. The last seven years of my life have been spent pouring my energy into journalism; investigating real leads, reporting live news as it happens and avoiding the urge to write fictional stories about people I know. In my free time, I write fictional stories; murder-mysteries and historical romances under two different pen names. I have been very successful. Not one of my characters has been based on a real person. I thought I was safe that way, or rather that they would be safe that way. Until six months ago. It happened again, though I didn't know the person it happened to, this time. The police questioned me. Thank God, I had an alibi. Strange coincidence, again. The last few weeks, I've been plagued by urgings, dreams, nightmares. They are even stronger than before. I could no longer resist and so I took off for New England, Maine specifically. There are lighthouses there I know. I can't resist this urge to follow this "lead", to look for a lighthouse that I see in my mind, so I can put to paper the words that are forming in my head. Yet, at the same time, I am trying my hardest to not look for it. I'm still not exactly sure where I am or where Dirges Hollow is. I don't think I am so close to the ocean here or to any lighthouses, Perhaps I can postpone the inevitable for a very long time in this sleepy little New England town.