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Trigger Warning
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| “ | I had to die to survive. | „ |
Sophia Finn Beccal is one of the main characters of the story Architecture of a Mind. The story itself is still a work in progress, however Sophia appears in the latter half of it and is first viewed as an antagonist.
Sophia is perceived as an undead figure with an unknown past, falling victim to a horrid company and then to multiple other mishaps. Her unfortunate death was not enough to stop her, as she pursues the living realm whilst possessing her own dead body, managing to avoid trouble until being upfronted by the police for multiple crimes.
Backstory[]
It was just unfortunate how Sophia’s life turned out, honestly. Nobody was at fault just as much as they were guilty.
Sophia was born and raised in Zhytomyr, Ukraine by two loving, although admittedly overprotective, parents. Raising a child didn’t come with a manual, and becoming stressed and nervous over every little thing was easier than expected. Seeing how she struggled in kindergarten made them overly anxious and got a private teacher to substitute for it.
For the first four years of her kindergarten life, Sophia was taught at home and did well for the most part. The only social interactions she had was when she would be in public spaces and would make friends for an hour before they hard to depart and never see each other again. Sophia was mostly isolated when it came to having long-term friends, and it took a toll on her in ways she couldn’t put into words.
Then Luis and Lilya arrived. Twins, one a girl and one a boy, Sophia was borderline excited to have newer friends, not understanding what it meant to take care of infant children. Due to an unexpected arrival of two instead of just one, Sophia’s parents had to dilute much more attention to their kids who were incapable of taking care of themselves, believing Sophia was old enough to at least not die for a few hours.
It was around this time that keeping up a family of three was becoming a bit more financially difficult and incredibly awkward to have six people– taking into account Sophia’s teacher– in one house. When Sophia ended her second year at kindergarten, her parents immediately sent her off to the nearest elementary school, cutting off an entire year of preschool.
Due to being raised differently from other kids in elementary school, Sophia didn’t know how to exactly fit in and was picked on, developing a slight fear of talking to people. After some time, she found a friend who would defend her against bullies, and it was the only person Sophia could rely on during school hours. But with time, that friend also drifted away, and Sophia was no longer picked on and yet still alone.
Sophia got desperate for a friend, or for someone to rely on. With time, during recess when the children were allowed outside, Sophia would sit at a fence that separated her school from a neighboring middle school. At some point, while trying to make play with some sticks and rocks, someone tapped her shoulder through the fence and Sophia came face to face with a boy. He came from the neighboring middle school and wanted to make some friends, a chance which Sophia jumped on as soon as she could.
The two would meet during school hours, with him climbing over the fence that separated the two, playing with the girl and even trying to convince her to climb over the fence, too, something she hesitantly would say no to. She had absolutely no issue with the seven-year age gap, having very little knowledge on what could go wrong in such a situation. And oh, did everything go wrong.
It was a full year until he finally moved away. Sophia wasn’t different per-say, no, but she wasn’t like herself. It was so frustrating and so terrifying to her– a new experience that only led to new emotions she couldn’t understand.
She didn’t stop wearing skirts and tank tops because she wanted to be not like other girls.
She didn’t start avoiding pink because it was a girly colour.
Her avoidance of showers and bodies of water wasn’t random.
She wasn’t afraid of men because they were strangers.
None of her behaviour was sudden.
But, apparently, that concept was hard to understand for her parents. It wasn’t exactly their fault, either. They didn’t know. She didn’t say. She didn’t know she could.
England– despite being rainy and admittedly moody– was a lovely place and a great tourist destination, especially for Sophia’s family.
Everything was supposed to go well– explore the capital, get to see all the hot tourist destinations, and even take a ride on the Eye of London. Sophia’s father looked a bit green in the face at the thought but he was simply outnumbered in the matter.
And yet?
And yet it’s hard to pin down who’s in the wrong.
Maybe it was Sophia. She shouldn’t have gone off by herself, a stupid twelve-year-old, defenseless. Too compulsive for her own good, the girl bit, punched and kicked to the best of her abilities when someone tried to take her little purse. So, it was the robbers fault for causing a commotion.
No, it couldn’t be. The poor man was just doing his job, he was going to be paid well and finally take care of his family. The company who needed the girl didn’t specify what they were going to do, and the robber didn’t care– he had his own kids to feed. So then it was her parents fault, allowing their daughter to roam so freely in a foreign country.
But how could it be their fault? They’re already as overworked as they are, and they have two other children to take care of. London is a busy place, and the girl should know better to take care of herself. Lilya and Luis were harder to take care of, they were only seven. So it must be their fault.
But, no, that’s just ridiculous, isn’t it? They’re little kids, second graders who don’t know better. They could barely understand the importance of the big red clock that they were facing– to them,it was just a clock with a funny name. “Big Ben”. Does that mean that there was a little Ben? That’s all that they cared about.
So who was to blame?
Who should they point fingers at?
The grieving parents, stricken with the loss of their oldest daughter?
The little kids who had to get their eyes and ears closed so as to not hear about the potential death of their only other sibling?
The robber, who successfully did his job in getting her, only to be faced with the smirk of a man and the face of a gun in his final moments?
Or the little girl who no one would see again?
It didn’t matter to them. They had their human guinea pig, and it would finally have a vessel. An amalgamation of eyes, nerves tangled like wires, pulsing, beating, breathing, yearning. Too many people have hit the ground after contact, just for the parasite to spread to someone else, taking its sweet, sweet time to suck out every driving force of life in them until jumping again.
So what better way to get rid of it than to give it a dead end?
It jumped on Sophia faster than she could wake up. She was kept contained for a while, yes, and the parasite knew that that’s what they did to it and its temporary host for a while. And it knew that they always let it out once the body started to rot.
The girl wasn’t even dead before she was thrown out into the middle of the woods.
There was nowhere for either of them to go, no one to meet and call out for help for. No one to save her and no one to leech on for it.
And yet?
She never woke up.
Quite the opposite. It was almost like her soul was lost, floating off somewhere, in search of her own body. The parasite was completely in control, although it wasn't built for a human body. It didn’t know how to move, how to breathe or even speak without the help of an actual human host.
And so, they both rot.
Until she found her body.
By the time that Sophia found her body it was more of a corpse than anything. Sophia had never seen a dead body before, let alone her own, let alone after nearly two months. Rotting, shedding, motionless and empty.
It felt like putting on an old, disgusting glove. It was yours, yes, it fit you perfectly. Every crook and cranny was familiar. And yet it was disgusting, awkward to move it, to steer. It was a corpse worn, not a body filled.
The worst part was getting used to the parasites.
They didn’t have anyone else to latch on to, they were still alive. All of it. Wriggling, breathing, latching onto Sophia's soul as if her body wasn’t enough. It was almost a consciousness, and if it was conscious, it meant it could think, and boy oh boy did they not get along with Sophia and vice versa.
And this predicament was just intriguing enough for a certain, faceless man to notice.
The first two years Sophia spent in denial, tears, anger. Every waking breath, or lack thereof, she spent fighting with the parasites occupying her body, watching as it rots away in a mirror. She would weep at the loss of herself and everything she had to look forward to in the future, being subjected to every whim of the tall one. She tried to defy him, to run off, break off at least some form of freedom. She was taught her place very shortly after.
Then, she was tired. Too tired to fight, too tired to keep up with anything. Stuck in a limbo between anger and sadness– a perfect concoction for numbness. These weren’t her most productive years, no, she had to get used to everything that she pushed away with all her might for two years.
But now? She’s furious.
At the world, at herself. At the people who had to protect her, yet abandoned her. At those who were meant to be trustworthy and yet were liars. Those who control her and those who have a say in her life. Yes, yes. She’ll find a way out of this manor, out of his grasp, out of its control. She doesn’t care if she’ll have to find a new body or what, but she’ll find a way out. Even if it means killing more than she already has– she’ll stop at nothing.
Appearance[]
Sophia is 5”2 feet/158 cm tall, with a deadly pale complexion lacking blood and an ectomorph body. Physically, she appears to be 12 years old, although that’s only if you take a good gander at her features as they’re mostly covered by rotten flesh. The only way to really describe Sophia’s appearance would be “zombie”-- a rotting amalgamation of blood, torn skin, and visible bone. Her face and body is littered with a variety of scars and open wounds that’ll either never heal or were clumsily stitched up, body parts looking as though the only thing that’s keeping them together is pure will and a single Oreo.
Sophia wears a wig that words as a substitute for her real hair– shoulder-length darker brown hair in a tangled mess that she’ll never brush out. In her defense, she doesn’t exactly have access to a lot of wigs, and brushing it out with her dexterity will make her look like she’s balding. And Sophia would rather be completely bald than balding. Oddly enough, her eyes hold more life than anything else, consistently stricken with fury or an unidentifiable emotion. Her eyelids are held open using sewing pins, and her lips sewn together with a thread, although her jaw is still permanently open, Greek nose bloodied and bruised.
That’s not her most noticeable feature, however. No, it’s not just her eyes that hold life– it’s all of them. One, arguably the largest one, sitting in the middle-front of her throat, and seven littered over her body. One on the palm of her left hand, two for each arm, one on her hip, one in the middle of her chest and two on her legs. She wasn’t even sure if her eyes were her own. All of them see. All of them breathe. All of them feel. And all of them consume. Her body, her flesh, her vitals. They’re parasites, there’s no other way to name them– they feast off what Sophia’s body provides until there’s nothing left of her.
Personality[]
It’s hard to say that Sophia is who she used to be.
Before the surgery, she was like any child, really. Loved animals and biology, DIY trinkets and kandi bracelets. She was never taught how to stand up for herself, how to bite back, how to stop saying please and thank you. She was kind, but she was impulsive. Too weird to have ‘normal’ interests, to be friends with ‘normal’ people, but not weird enough to be called as it is. She never wanted to talk about what happened, but there was always something wrong.
And maybe, in another universe, she stopped closing up and shrinking in on herself, and finally talked about it. Maybe someone would’ve found out and helped– a family member, a friend, a trusted adult. But she didn’t.
Now, it’s as though she’s a completely different person. A stranger. A teenager. Now, she’s a much duller individual, taking everything that’s thrown at her with a rock-hard face and maybe resentment in her eyes. Resentment for what? The world, probably.
It’s not like she’s evil, no. But she’s not exactly good either. Yes, she feels compassion, pity, joy and guilt– she’s still human to an extent. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t kill and feel nothing for it. Would you call someone who strips away delicate life without a shred of remorse a good person? Sophia wouldn’t. It’s difficult to have a high opinion of yourself when every action you take goes directly against what you believe in, when you feel guilty for your lack of regret for certain things. For how much you’ve normalized. Gotten used to.
Sophia’s not emotionless by any means– if anything, she’s been called sensitive way more than not. Sophia, at least most of the time, knows what and who she wants to avoid and doesn’t waste a moment to do so. Her decisions can be very brash and sudden, often being titled as temperamental and irrationally upset.
Maybe there’s still a loving soul underneath all of that. She hasn’t had the chance to love yet, though.
Likes and Dislikes[]
| Likes | Dislikes |
|---|---|
| Theatre | Being dismissed due to age. |
| Collecting items, such as tic tac bottles, | Physical contact, intimate or not |
| Reptilian animals | Repetitive talking, chewing noises, repetitive clicking or tapping. |
Powers and Abilities[]
- As mentioned earlier, one of Sophia's most noticeable features is her third eye. The eye itself was manifested from Sasha Thorn, however is itself is like a parasite, having it's own will and ability to move. Over time, Sophia and the eyes learned how to move in harmony, for when they'd look in different directions it would feel like they're straining their muscles to the point where they're about to pop.
- The eye doesn't do much, except grant a third optic sight. Something Sophia doesn't understand is that is also gives her the ability to react to thing faster, giving her inhuman reaction speed.
- Another ability is the inability to feel pain. Since the body Sophia is possessing is dead, it's more like she is inside her body's bones and controlling the outside, not actually in her body, therefore she can't feel physical pain.
- Of course, she can be harmed, and taken to such a state where she can die a second time, however her spirit will remain alive, so as long as Sophia can find someone to live in temporarily she's technically amortal.
- Something that's important to mention is that although Sophia cannot feel pain, she is still not hard to fight against. Her body is fragile, and if she gets physically injured then there's not much her soul can do.
Facts[]
- The creator for this Creepypasta is Cecility Kay.
- Sophia was born on 6th of July, 2008, and died on 15th of October, 2020.
- Her mother is Ukrainian and father is Irish, therefore Sophia is part East Slavic and part Gaelic.
- Sophia's phobias are scopophobia-- fear of being stared at/watched, and ttelophobia-- the fear of the past repeating.
- One of the reasons why Sophia tends to be quiet a large majority of the time, doing and answering things non-verbally rather than the opposite, is due to her lack of knowledge, Sophia may have gotten good grades while in school, however she only reached sixth grade before profoundly dying. She doesn't know a lot of things people her age would know.
- Sophia's intelligence type is spatial intelligence, and she knows a lot of European myths and legends from her father, can easily see and recreate vyshivankas and knows what every pattern means.
Theme Songs[]
I Had to Die to Survive, PERFECT NOTHING, Those Who Carried On (Ghost and Pals)
End-World Normopathy [Piano Version] (Ghost and Pals, cover by Yanny the Laurel)
The Medical Anomaly, Fruiting Bodies, It Should've Been Me (R.I.P. (RIProducer (Really Introverted Producer)))