White Rose of Dublin

[Evangeline]

Evangeline Aingeal O'Cathasaigh
-Evangeline Angela O'Casey-

Countess of Leinster, Lady of Dublin

White Rose. Virgin. Violated. Petals Pulled From the Stem.
how strange you bloom again...

In that first go round, Evangeline looked at the form of her sleeping husband. She turn then to the window that showed a land that was sick with its own grief, but still beautiful. If she continued to lay with dogs, then she was indeed England's bytch, but if she rose? 'What if' she told herself, 'What if?" The contents of her husband's desk drawer revealed the size of his contributions to the King, the number of men Dublin would give to the cause, and what plans he made to ursurp other Lords. One night, she stole away with the contents to the castle in order to give them then to a man who was but another brick in the Hadrian like wall of Irish bodies but was becoming the most powerful man in Ireland. Once a woman's consort, he would go on to become Govenor in his own right. Paul O'Casey was ignorant..at first. While he continued to make rivers run red in Dublin, Evangeline culled the English by passing pieces of paper and formed a resistance in messages. On her routes through the city, through their country estates, she would maneuver with precision. It was hard to say which end of the blood manufactured the unique intelligence, but to whatever end, the woman could hang men from Dublin all the way to Kilarney with what lay in her mouth. In her head. On her hands. Secrets. Not only were they profitable, but they were necessary.

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned

Discovery of the secret treasure trove would lead to the unspeakable, even in John Casey of Dublin. He took the one piece of sanctity in their lives, his own son, and threw him beneath the hooves of an upset horse on the fateful night of learning his own wife was making him a cuckold. This left her to struggle, to become superior.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

A married hussy would become a widowed success by murder so evident it was almost laughable to see her in the mourning black at his funeral. In that same stable where the lights in John II went out, a child's ghost was said to laugh when his mother defended her own life. He would have gutted her..if not for the pitchfork she jammed clear through his middle.


She laughs despite the tragic. Trevail keeps her not. She smiles, with more sincerity and if you should ask what fate has wrought she will only tell you survival is an act of necessity. Pretty secrets, blasphemy too, incriminating tid-bits lay behind a laugh that is neither deranged or inhibited.


Smile on fair one, smile on.

To Laugh. To Lie. To Flatter. To Face

Title: Duchess of Dublin
Clan: O'Cathasaigh (O'Casey)
Relations of England: Lancasters, Laurences of London
Relations by Name: Baroness Claramae Aisling St. Laurence, Cousin by her aunt, Liadan O'Cathsaigh and Sir Richard St. Laurence, Baron by pronouncement and marriage. One son, Paul II.


Height: 5'4-5'5, commiserate on perspective
Weight: 123 lbs
Frame: Slender by nature
Eyes:: Hazel
Hair:Blonde
Age: Nearly 29

Profession: Secret Messanger for the Irish, Informant on behalf of the Govenor and the Mo'r Triath