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Born in Ipswich, Massachusettes, Chastity Mary Piper was raised under the belief that there had been and always would be Pipers in Ipswich. "Since the beginning of time", Papa had always told her. When she'd pointed out to him that, at the beginning of time, not only had people not existed but neither had God, she had learned what the willow tree in the yard was good for. The marks from the switch had healed but the lesson hadn't. The truth is not something people want to hear.

She was twelve years old when she had learned that lesson.

Not that she hadn't had inklings of it before. Inklings in the form of the dirty looks she got when she mentioned that great, great grandpapa Piper had told you where his pocket watch was. A watch that had been missing since before she was born. Or the way Mum started driving the long way around the town to avoid the cemetary because barely past toddler Chastity had insisted on talking to what wasn't there.

In Salem one Hallows, the family laughing off the stories of the town to show around out of town guests that thought it a lark, Chastity had been accosted by a tall, thin man. He'd taken Chastity's hand, begging her forgiveness and insisting that he hadn't meant to do it, shouldn't have gone along with the mob and seen her dead. While Mum had hustled her away, the women of the family hen pecking around the barely teen girl as if to cleanse her of some unseen taint, Chastisty had merely smiled benignly and given the man a nod, a raising of her hand in benediction. He had been forgiven.

Life went on like that, a young girl becoming a woman that would only answer to Chase and who did not ignore that which was around her, but merely learned to hide it from those that would judge. It wasn't until the summer after her freshman year of college that she'd had the chance to learn more about who and what she was.

While everyone else bounced around London in their Union Jack tees, spouting off in their most horrid imitation of a cockney accent, Chase had slipped away to follow an advertisement she'd read. The London Paranormal Society.

Within the stone walls, she had met many who shared her gifts, as well as her thirst for knowledge. Including Alastair Friseal, noted paranormal investigator and head of the Caimbeul Institute on Paranormal Phenomenon. Infamous in the right circles, he soon convinced the young coed to leave America and her Bostonian college and finish her education in Scotland.

Four years later, working on her Masters and dating the man that had brought her to Scotland, Chase had discovered she wasn't the only young American to be duped by the brilliant Scotsman. Only the latest in a long line. Refusing to give up her place at the Institute, she had confronted him about the knowledge. The fight that ensued was the stuff of Academic legend and, in the end, Chase had been banned from not only all Scotland Paranormal Societies but from the London one as well.

Returning to America in a fit of what she saw as disgrace, she was soon hired by Suffolk University to teach in their religions department. An atheist with pagan leanings herself, Chase welcomed the chance to ensure that future generations learned to open their minds, as well as their hearts, and learn the true roots of religion and not what had caused countless wars. Not that she didn't teach that either, as so many major conflicts began with religion and ended with common sense.

Five years later, happily living with her significant other, Matthew Hallwell, Chase was offered the chance of a lifetime. To head a paranormal department of her very own at a small California college, Crystal Mirage Community College. Leaping at a chance she'd never thought to have with the overseas banning, Chase packed up and moved to California. But things were not that simple.

Her assistant dresses more like a punk rocker than a secretary. She shares the department with a doddering old fool who is obsessed with religion and conversions, a history professor in the mold of Indiana Jones and, wouldn't you know, the man hired to co-chair the department with her is none other than Alistair himself. Not to mention the local leader of the witch group that can't take his eyes, or mind apparently, off Chase and his obsessive high priestess who would love nothing better than to see the investigator dead and maybe Matt was right all along. California was not the place for her.

Chase is not a real character. She is the main protagonist in my novel, Crystal Mirages. All content is copyrighted to Lucia Rogue, the mun behind molotovcoqtiz. No part may be excerpted or used without permission of the author, this excludes quoting within roleplay or description used for the same.

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