Stormey Clyde


The Perfect Family…


Brooklyn, New York. 3:00 am 10/6/94. Born to Damien and Seraphine Clyde, well-known through-out. An actor, and a model.




Her mother used to say, 


“Born exactly at the devil’s hour, no wonder you are such a pain, child.”


The words were always cold, spat at her in hissed tones but Stormey only thought it to be funny more so than she did hurtful.


Her parents tried to tame her, calm her wild, and trap her into obedience. But, she couldn’t be contained.


They wanted her to be the perfect child, continuing down their path of fame. No, but, she wanted to be known for something other than just her looks and wealth. She didn’t want to be spending her life on red carpets and in front of cameras, she didn’t want to go down the path of her mother. The thought of being a model sent her eyes flaring with dancing disgust and nails curling into her palms. 

She wanted to be an artist, a painter. And she was determined for such to come true.



She was in trouble. Stormey knew so. The long strides of her mother had the girl stumbling, the grip on the child’s wrist tight. The door was pushed open and Stormey shoved in, a hand moving sharply to strike her across the cheek. 


The smack had the girl lifting fingers to graze over the reddened skin, glaring at her mother. 


“That was on LIVE tv, Stormey. Live. Everyone saw that, are you stupid?” 


There was a smirk being suppressed, daint shoulders lifting into a shrug at the question. 


“The teachers at school always taught us not to lie. You told the interviewer that you and Papa would let me be whatever I wanted. I want to be a painter, not a model.” 


The woman stood tall, glimmering, and confident in all her beauty. Her mother may have been pretty but on the inside? There were gnarled and dark thorns that reached for you and clawed, venom shot at you.


The model’s lips curled into a smirk, amusement sparkling within those golden-flecked eyes of honey. 


“A painter, hm? And then what? Please. Even if we let you become such, you’d be a nobody, your art is pathetic. Stupid, pointless. Crawling right back to us and finding we were right all along. You’re nothing without us. You wouldn’t survive in the real world if we weren’t at your side. Don’t flatter yourself, darling. You’re not all that great. Besides, we’re just looking out for you…. Isn’t that right?”


The words stung, pulling a flinch from the girl. Doubt clouded her mind, insecurities rushing right back and drowning out the confidence Stormey carried. Angry tears welling up and glossing over her caramel eyes. 


No. That wasn’t true. It wouldn’t be true. She’d prove them wrong, and then they’d be the fool. She didn’t care about money, she didn’t care about reputation. She just wanted to do something she actually enjoyed. 




Now, Stormey is what she always wished. Not famous, not rich. Not rich at all. She left New York behind, after her dad died. Sure, he hadn’t been quite the father figure. But he had his moments, and she was definitely closer with him then she was her mom.


She held a slight anger towards the man, for never being there. He never spoke or stopped her when her mother went into her harsh words and pushed Stormey into a life she never wanted. He didn’t do anything, and most of the time, he wasn’t ever even around.


But, when he was.. He never told her she couldn’t do what she wanted. He never said she had to follow her mother’s footsteps. When she spoke of art, he nodded and spoke with her in agreement and commented. 


He didn’t exactly encourage her, but he never showed being against it. But, when he was gone, her mother got worse. She couldn’t. She had to leave. So, here she is now. A human, a painter, a nobody upon Hellifyno. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Who Am I...

An artist.

Romantic Interests


Relationship Status