Deathwish
im a DIY pioneer, they tryna get involved
She had never once been able to forget her parents. Indeed, even when she’d made off on her own to tend to her small forest, she had always felt the distinct calling back to her mother. That beautiful porcelain doll who had clung to her mother and grandmere (for Potion refused to be called a grandmother, much less acknowledge that she was old enough for such nonsense), had been born as an inkstain upon the world, wretched and wrinkled. But as she had grown, had faded to a beautiful lavender grey, and she held as much grace and magic as the both of them. Her father hated her, and yet from time to time she felt his presence peering down upon her, or into her thoughts. Such was the nature of powerful parents. They don’t truly give two shits about you unless they had some use for you. And Deathwish was very useful to her family. Her grey hair fell in front of her equally grey eyes, and she made her way out of the trees and into the shadowed meadow. The grey weather from this portion of the year suited her just fine. The child of the dark found that she hated the sun and its warmth, and much preferred to stick to the chill of the world.
Approaching her mother and grandmere, Deathwish tilts her head and sizes them both up with an impatient huff. She had felt the tug from them, as if they had called her out of nothingness. They stood before her as identical twins, their faces set in stone. DW was not a mind reader, and though she resembled them closely, she was not as they were. Far more prone to temper…
Far more prone to rebellion. And yet, family was family.
“Hello, Mother. Grandmere. You wished to see me?”
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