Everyone always wants to know her birth name.
They don’t put it quite like that, of course, except some of them do use that word even if they don’t know what they’re really asking for. All the time. They want to know a name, they want to know who Sophie Devereaux was, they want to know her past.
Sophie Devereaux has been many people over the years, most of whom she’s still willing to trot out at the drop of a hat. They’re not her, they’re masks and hats she tried on along the way, but at least they were all in good fun, at least they fit well enough that she could don the mask and take it off again, unlike the worst role she ever played.
Killing Sophie Devereaux in the hardest thing she ever does. She’s killed so many names, so many faces in the past, but finding out even Sophie Devereaux doesn’t fit anymore is a blow.
Still, she comes back, and she takes the name up once more. Sophie Devereaux. Because it’s her name, dammit. And it’s not the name that’s wrong. It’s not the person, either, far, far from it. It’s the situation, and there’s nothing Sophie Devereaux does better than making situations improve.
And the situation…certainly changes, she’ll give it that. Damien Moreau and then there’s her and Nate.
“I never told them my name.”
“The others. I never told them, as you call it, my real name. And I won’t tell you, either.”
“Nate…” She says, sighing. “Don’t ask me about my name again.”
Nate doesn’t ask. If she scared him, she doesn’t regret it. Not in the least.
It takes a few weeks before she comes out to Nate, because if this is going to be a thing, he’s going to know.
She finishes her explanation with a defiant, “never ask me for my name again.”
Nate’s eyes are wide. “No, never.”
“I’m Sophie Devereaux. I’m occasionally other people, but I decide that. And I am never what that name implies.”
“Of course,” Nate says.
Nate’s a con artist, known for not exactly keeping his word, but somehow, Sophie believes him, and she’s glad for it.