𝔒phelia Williams is a cold, intimidating demon who has spent the past 140 years or so living in monotony. Same faces, same routine, same abandoned, decrepit town. She would call it a personal hell of her own making if she didn't also somehow find comfort in its familiarity.

Ophelia is old enough that she can't remember most of her life before she became what she is today. She doesn't remember her parents, not their names nor their faces. She doesn't remember her siblings, of which she was the eldest. She doesn't remember the day she was wed to a supposedly nice boy her father was particularly excited about (what with wealth, reputation, and whatnot). She does, however, remember the way that "nice boy" would beat her and their eventual children on the regular, and she remembers how it made her feel, too: angry. Burning hot anger, which she can still feel when she thinks about him, or rather the concept of him. She definitely remembers how great it felt to shoot him in the chest with his own Springfield Model 1861, though. She takes great pleasure in the fact that his face has been long forgotten, instead replaced with the memory of dark red blood splatter on the walls. Ah, good times.

To avoid prosecution, Ophelia spun a story of an attempted robbery gone wrong, where her husbamd was killed by an intruder. Luckily for her, her story was taken as the truth, and Ophelia became known as a tragic widow, what with her poor husband dying so horribly!--such sentiments made Ophelia gag. Not long after, Ophelia moved herself and her kids across the state to a new, steadily growing city for a fresh start and better future opportunities for her children. She worked as a teacher to make ends meet, and lived in the city until all her kids were old enough to leave the nest. Once her children were all grown up, Ophelia moved to a small town by herself to pursue her own interests.

As a widow with adult children who didn't rely on her anymore, Ophelia had a lot of free time on her hands. She decided to dedicate her time to a new interest that piqued her curiosity: satanism. The desire to partake in something so taboo stemmed from her distate for her religion thanks to her husband (who was "quite the pious man," as said at his funeral). She also had a much more innocent interest in bugs, and butterflies in particular. The metamorphosis process fascinated her; also, she just thought insects were cute.

With 6 other women she had become friends with in her new town (all of whom were, coincidentally, also widows or divorcees themselves), Ophelia started a group dedicated to the occult. Her main goal was to summon demons, which she hoped to achieve via writing her own book, and being able to command them to do her bidding and harm those who had wronged her. On the side, Ophelia would do her own studies of various bugs (and of course, butterflies). Ophelia is not as organized and put together as she would like to seem, though, and her two interests would often end up mixed up. As in, her occult demon-summoning book would have various bug papers stuffed inside of it, and her bug research would have random latin scribbled onto it.

It's dangerous to mess with things you don't truly know anything about. Ophelia learned this the hard way when she completed her book, and upon speaking the words she had written, blew up herself and her crew in the process. She turned them into, as she puts it, "freaks of nature." Demons. The missing right half of her face is a reminder of her immense failure and the guilt that she feels. It's also a reminder of how much harder it is to eat when you don't have skin on half of your face; things are more likely to spill out, she would find.

In the current day, Ophelia lives in the same place where she died. Same faces, same routine, same abandoned, decrepit town. Well, almost all the same faces; one of her original group is missing, and we don't talk about her. It's a shame how she turned out, really.

As far as Ophelia knows, her group are the only demons in existence. What she doesn't realize is that there are tens, hundreds of them across the state, even across state lines. And some are much closer than she could ever imagine.

She always did have a knack for nepotism.