When I first started writing, I felt the real 'me' was boring. Too rushed and too... eager. like a child jumping to show off their 'incredible' project. Everything felt... off. So I reflected and put on a bit of an edge. Jax Voss was the name I gave her.

She was my old armour. Flint, fire, fucking and phlegm in the machine. She was meant to survive in a world that didn't offer much shelter (in my mind, at least).

Jax is my pocketknife, ready to slice, but still manages to carry her twisted little smile to pretend that it doesn't matter.

She bares her teeth when she wants to cry. Still, she stubbornly hunts for magic hidden away in the crevices where nobody else would care to look.

Jax wants, no needs, to let the light bleed into her dark, dark world..

My dear Jax yearns to turn bruises into gold and call it alchemy.

She tries to spin wounds into stories that glimmer.

She is dangerous, yes, but she always carries that stubborn glimmer of hope stitched into the seams of her reality.

But Jax was me when sharpness felt safer than softness. There was nothing false about her. She was honest, necessary, and beautiful to me. But she wasn't the whole story.

The last few months did to me what time does best to us all.

They let me reflect until I cracked myself open. I realised that my soft underbelly needs no hiding. Taught me how to tell the world (hopefully better now) what kindness feels like after the fight's gone quiet.

I reflected on my own journey and found my roots a little more. I am Indian by birth, but I have lived in four of the five major English-speaking countries. My tongue is a borrowed patchwork, my heart a suitcase that never quite unpacks. Like me, Vikie is a nomad (or nearly), always borrowing from the places she's called home.

I have fallen in love many a time. I am a spouse, a parent, and a friend, and I care for my incredible son. I have crossed enough borders to let the edges blur. Somewhere in all that, a new voice took shape: Vikie Voss d'Armond.

Vikie isn't a mask I slip on. She is the me who learned to accept my own life. Still full of bite, still quick to make you laugh or blush, but now she brings silk to the wound as often as salt. She wants to linger where the ache is gentle, to press close instead of pushing away.

She is not out looking for beauty in broken things anymore. She finds eternity in her lover's eyes, like I do in mine. She wants to live forever with the ones she loves.

In quiet mornings, and in the hush that follows a well-earned night's sleep in her lover's arms.

Vikie is every bit of me that is learning that tenderness doesn't mean weakness. She will tease and spoil, bite and beg, but above all, she will dare to be kind. Even when it hurts, even when it's messy.

She doesn't need to prove anything anymore. She's just here, hands open, asking softly if you would like to stay a while.

As for her name, why Vikie? Because I borrowed from Vickie Tern for her twisted love stories, and Armond for their incredible world-building. It's a homage, a thank you, a not-so-secret handshake for those who know.

Jax will be back soon enough, though. Just to see the 'Seamstress and Her Moth' through. But once done, she will step aside, much like James will as Sylvie takes over. Oh wow, I didn't realise my latest story was a literal metaphor for my own.

You won't see Vikie's name in print. She's my velvet noose, my dirty secret I share only this once.

With every bit of warmth and a sly wink,

For the first and last time,