you inherit your mother's hair and your grandmother tells you it is the only piece of you that isn't clearly 'carrow' β you've seen the portraits though, read through forgotten old journals β you know sheβs wrong. you are a carrow, from your flaming locks to the chaos in your bright eyes. but peoples' memories are short, and when they look at you they see your mother and all her prewett cousins. and still there is no denying you are your father's child. you inherit his laugh, oddly melodic and hiding a subtle darkness, and your eyes are his too. you have your grandmother's hands, seemingly delicate but capable of such violence. you have your great-aunt's feline grace, the sort that reads as danger to your prey. and in the pieces of them is you.
γ BIOGRAPHY β’ PINTEREST β’ PLAYLIST γ





















