From the get go, Lula had it rough. Born in a litter of six, he was not only the youngest of his canine family, but also the runt. Many didn’t expect him to live long enough to shift out of his coyote form, but somehow he made it. That in itself was a curse upon him. He perhaps would have been better off meeting everyone’s expectations. 

He became the chore boy of the home, the scapegoat, the one responsible for everything. Cleaning, cooking, fixing, errands, it was all on him. He was to blame for any incident, even if he had nothing to do with it. He wasn’t allowed to go to school, make friends, socialize – in simple terms he was a modern day Cinderella without any prince to save him. His siblings were harsh and mocking, constantly reminding Lula just how small he truly was. And his parents were no better, seeing Lula as a stain upon their family. His only comfort in life was his eldest brother, born of the litter before him. His name was Jacob. He’d been part of a litter of two, but the other had been a stillborn. Being the parent’s pride and joy, it was nothing short of a miracle that he  escaped the assumed fate of becoming stuck up and cruel. He cared for Lula more than anyone else in the family combined and multiplied by a power of ten, helping Lula work when their family wasn’t there to shoo him away, soothing his wounds when their father came home drunk, and even schooling Lula behind their family’s back using his own textbooks. He gifted Lula an old coat once he’d grown out of it, and though it was too big for the little coyote he still cherished it. Lula loved his eldest brother. Unfortunately, nothing went this kid’s way for long. Jacob grew extremely ill, the disease eventually taking him away when Lula was ten. From that day on, Lula refused to remove the jacket for more than the couple of hours it took to wash it. He guarded it with his life, as if it were sacred. 

While mourning, both of Lula’s parents grew worse. His mother was almost never not high, his dad never not drunk. And Lula began drinking at his  young age as well, finding the silence in his head afterwards relieving. One evening his father came home even drunker than usual, angry as all hell. Somehow he’d found a way to blame Lula for Jacob’s death. That day he almost put a hole in Lula’s head, but in a single moment of clarity his mother sprang to her, yanking the gun up so that the bullet instead shot through his ear and shattered a window behind him. This was not mercy for Lula’s sake however, as his wretched mother only knew that killing the boy could lead to police sniffing around and finding what had no business being found. The damage was done however, Lula knew he could not survive much longer in this miserable prison. When he was sixteen, Lula could no longer take it. Life in this house without Jacob was nothing better than seventh level hell. He snapped. It wasn’t until every last one of them had holes in their heads and a blazing fire swallowed the house that he came back to reality and realized what he’d done. He also realized – somewhat to his horror but mostly to his relief – that he had no remorse. He didn’t regret what he’d done, not so much as a little bit. The ringing in his ears was as delightful to him as the warmth he felt flickering off the flames of his now ashen home.

Lula took what he could stowed away on a ship, ending up somewhere far, far away from his homeland. He wandered around, lost and alone and honestly exhausted, and eventually collapsed in an alley from hunger and fatigue. He was discovered by a man named Victor who took the boy in, helping him gain his strength back and inducting him into an organization formally known as The Evening Rose. To most, The Evening Rose was a simple club. But those behind the scenes knew it as so much more. It was a hot point for crime. Victor was the lead of an operation who had its talons deep in the flesh of  the world, his name spread vast across the criminal hotline. Lula was skeptical at first, but he owed his life to the man with red hair. So he joined. 

That was curse number two. For the next four years he was trapped within another, newer hell. A brand was etched into his back and he became nothing more than owned property. It started out tolerable, but he soon was manipulated almost to the point of not knowing what rights even were. Finally, he realized he needed to escape. His body had been torn apart by these monsters, and he was exhausted. He tried to run, and for a while it seemed almost like he escaped. But unfortunately, luck was never on his side. Three years after he managed to get away and build a new life for himself, he was found. Rather than kill him for his betrayal however, they intend to slowly drive him mad. Connections are killed, homes destroyed, careers ruined, all to spite him and his entire existence. He is still on the run to this day, hoping for a way free from this torment.