My name is Silver Nicole Mallery and I was once like you. Mortal, living, breathing, alive. Though my heart no longer beats, I am still as active as I was when I was amongst the living. I was born on June 17, 1957 to my mother, Elizabeth Michelle Mallery, and to my father, Michael James Mallery in Verdun, France. My father was a musician with the local theater and my mother was a stay-at-home mother, though she was not much of a mother.

When I was five, my mother and father got a divorce and my mother gained custody of me. She sensed that I had a singing talent when I would sing around the house and, soon, she became the quintessential stage mother, parading me around from audition to performance relentlessly. I had no friends, only contacts; no playtime, only rehearsals; no schoolmates, only a terse old tutor who drilled me in my lessons with a harsh tongue and relentless standards.
All throughout my childhood, I was performing. Whether it was performing in musicals, staring in television commercials or singing with the opera troupe. It was all that I knew.

My mother would keep the money that I made, saying that she was saving it for my college education, though she would always come home from shopping with bags in each arm and new jewelry hanging from her body.

I was overjoyed when, late into my teens, the offers began to taper off. I longed for friends, school, and a normal life like any other teenager. Yet, my mother still insisted on dressing me as a child, and forbade me to date or give any hint that I was growing up. When I began to put on weight, she put me on diet pills to which I became addicted to. The pills led to stronger, unprescribed substances. I joined a band, “Darkness Falls”. We performed around the city for a few months before we were signed. We released two albums before we split up. The drugs were too much to deal with alongside the band.

At nineteen, I was living on the street, a burned-out young addict. I had spent two years living on the streets, when I heard the most beautiful music that I have ever known. It drew me like a moth to the flame to a small park, where the singer, Valentine Petite, caught my eye and, more importantly, I caught hers. She had taken me to her home where I would sing for and along with her. She gave me a place to stay and food to eat.

After several months, she finally told me about herself and what she really was. She gave me the offer that not many others have heard before. I accepted her offer and she became my sire. My mother. I was now a daughter of cacophony. Valentine had taught me all that she could about what I was and how to survive on my own. Only last week, she felt I was ready to move on my own and she let me go on my own. I traveled the country, seeing the sights with new eyes. I still keep in touch with Valentine and just arrived in L.A.