Beginnings

From their earliest memories, Sangria was always alone. No family, no friends, not even a name. A constant hunger filled their stomach, unable to be satiated. The other villagers avoided them, only giving scared glances as they ran to the other side of the street to avoid them. Sangria was too young to understand, and didn't know why everyone around them hated them. Were they ugly? Did they smell bad? Were they cursed? These thoughts haunted them all through their childhood, until one faithful day when it all seemed to click.

It was like any other day in their snowy village. Plotties were out, sprouts and seedlings running around in the snow. Sangria hid within the forest, watching the bustling life of the town from afar. They were always jealous of other plotties, especially younger sprouts, with their parents always around to comfort them, care for them. One of the younger ones wandered off into the woods, their parents carefree. It was a safe neighborhood, no danger to worry about. Deeper into the woods the sprout wandered, when they came upon a bad patch of ice and fell, injuring their leg. Their cries brought Sangria to them, kneeling down next to the injured child. But as they got closer they smelled something, something very intrancing. The smell of the sprout's blood, it was just so inthralling, so intoxicating.The taste of thier blood was all Sangria remembers of that day. In the coming months, many more sprouts went missing before the villagers caught on. When they finally realized who was behind the disappearances, Sangria was chased out of the village, forced to feel from fire and daggers.

A Fresh Start

The next few months were spent hiding away, lurking in the alleys, hopping from village to village to avoid detection. It wasn't until they stumbled upon a new sight that they stepped out of the shadows. A small troupe of performers had set up camp in a clearing, offering free entertainment to the locals. Sangria sat in the far back, watching the performers all night as they entertained and enthralled the crowd. It was after the performance when someone came up to them, asking who they were. Sangria didn't respond. How could they, they didn't have a name? The stranger introduced themselves as the leader of the troupe, his family of misfits and miscreants. He said he knew what type of plottie they were, the cravings they face each day. He asked if they would like to join his family. There were many just like them in his ranks, and he could find them a place within in no time. Sangria was hesitant, for a moment. But thoughts of having a family, of snowy play dates and laughing by a hearth filled their mind, and they accepted his offer. He offered them a hand and lead them to the food tent for dinner. He gave them a name, Sangria.

Sangria instantly fell in love with the troupe members. No one looked at them with disgust. No one ran away from them, quite the opposite actually. Many seemed to come to them for aid, for one reason or another. Sangria was more than willing to help out, and in little time, they soon became the troupem mother figure, in a way. Though many were in the dark of thier morbid compulsions, those who did know didn't shun Sangria. They accepted them for who they were, and that made Sangria feel loved.

Current Life

Sangira now sits as the second in command of the troupe, acting as Mimosa's right hand. While he may be the shining face of the troupe, every light casts a shadow, and Sangria sits in the darkness, ready to jump and consume whatever, or whoever is next to threaten their family.

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