Dallas Wingate

 Dallas grew up in Northern Florida, to unremarkable parents with moderate wealth. Her youth went well, she did fine in school, made friends and spent most of those days barefoot, running freely in muggy swamps, or playing drums in a garage band behind them. After high school was when things started to go south for her, signs of mental health struggles began plaguing her, causing her to stumble into her early 20s without retaining much other than how to play drums and a long list of things not to ever do again.

Despite her best efforts, opportunity struck, Her band (The Strumpets) hit their zenith and began touring the east coast. After a couple years and developing a meager cult-following, they took a break and she bought a house out in the sticks of west Maryland. After a few months of peace, Dallas was drugged at a bar and caught just as she found her car, which her assailant used to drive her home and destroy her life as she knew it. Though she never learned the identity of her sire, she sure as hell found a million ways to hate them.

The next week she stayed inside, wrapped in a blanket, slowly devolving into lifelessness. It wasn't until she came to, from the sickening thud of her ragged cat's skull bouncing off the wooden floor and the bitter flavor of his blood on her lips sent her into a monthlong depression, from which her escape was the blood of a jogger over town she'd sworn she'd tasted in a dream the day prior.

There was a knock at her door the following night, and her sickly guest let himself in, introducing himself as R. Totale. The two strangely hit it off, as he began an unprompted verbal exploration of her new condition, which much to her delight, was done in a manner that made her feel divine. Totale warned her about the dangers of moving into the city, and the importance of preserving her humanity. Totale gave her the moral options for feeding and answered all the questions she found the courage to ask. The two of them went on like this for a year or so, meeting weekly and talking the nightlong about their shared condition, teaching her how to harness her abilities, until one night, and like any good student, Dallas decided her eccentric mentor was walking too slowly and insisted she could go much faster, packing her things and heading into Baltimore to his chagrin. The last night they spoke, she vividly remembers him tapping her on the forehead and declaring "I'm the great God Pan, you will walk in my image or die under the sun." A month later, she was on her way to Baltimore.

Dallas never learned his real name, and to this day calls the strange man Pan, though as of late, their interactions have been few and far between, and never close to home.