"Even the most perfect of angels have flaws in their wings."
Osiris Lightwood

[justify] ((A P P E A R A N C E))

To other people, you look totally normal. They would call you fine and unbroken, even. You have these bright blue eyes that can light up another person's day, even through the slight edge of pain that always lingers within them. You have outlaw eyes, that can see others' lies and intentions. And you may be in a million pieces, but in a different sense of the word, you are together. The pale skin that is tightly, painfully stretched over your body keeps you together. Think of your skin like a drum; the drum head is stretched tightly over your frame.

As you walk up the stairs of the orphanage that you would soon leave, your long, thin legs navigate each stair. You nervously run an equally skinny hand through your black hair. The same black hair that used to be a shade of a strawberry blonde. Sadly, you had to have it changed after some of the orphanage teenagers got hold of some blue hair-dye and thought it would be hilarious to color you hair in your sleep. Black was the only color that would cover your oceanic colored locks.

Going into the bathroom nobody ever uses except for you and a couple of other people, you lock the door and lift up your black and white plaid shirt, looking at your stomach.You can see your scarred and scratched ribs slightly, and your stomach is partially sunken in . You think it's good progress so far, and you smile, your straight teeth flashing. Pulling down your shirt again, rubbing a distracted hand on the right side of your neck, feeling four small raised lines. The lines that you caused when you took your fingernails and scratched yourself as punishment for eating, as you had done, leaving little scars on the side of your neck. There are also scars and new scratches on your upper ribs from when you would grip your sides in your sleep, trying to protect yourself from your nightmares. There are also a few scratches on your shoulders And do you remember when you took your nails and dug them into your face, leaving those four little pink lines on right cheek? Everybody can see them, and they know that your wings are flawed.

(( P E R S O N A L I T Y))

Laidback. That is what you are. You don't care about what people have to say about how you live your life. You just ignore them. You don't get angered too easily by them; it takes too much effort to put forward your entire being to hate and anger. You don't really care how you look too much. You just dress to be comfortable. You take your time with things, and you like it that way. You just go with the flow and live your life te way you want to.

Alert. Constantly aware of everything going on around you. You always have blue eyes that dart around nervously, trying to find signs of danger. You fine tune your ears to hear the smallest noises, trying to hear the attacker before he comes. You always feel ready to flee, the sense of flight or fight always coursing in your slowly drying out veins. You just wait to finally put that into action.

Sneaky. You constantly try to hide your secrets from the watching eyes of others. You sneak food onto another person's plate and hope they didn't see. You tuck your shirt in loosely so that people can't see the bones that pop out from your stomach. You quietly tiptoe out of bed to sneak into the bathroom to rid yourself of your dinner. You turn on the fan in the bathroom so people can't hear when you throw up. You get up to 'get more food' and then quickly throw away your plate, running to your room.

Nervous and Afraid. When you are alone, your hands shake like a machine that has roared to life. You are always afraid someone will find out who you are on the inside. You are afraid that someone will spot that your wings have feathers out of place, and you want to be perfect. You don't want to accept the fact that you are flawed; very flawed, and you are afraid that you will discover who you really are. You are always nervous that you will upset people, because you don't like to cause the pain.

Clumsy. You have the oddest ability to trip over flat surfaces. You have the ability to drop an item even if you are just standing still. You can walk into things because you aren't paying attention. There has been many-a-time when yoou have tripped down stairs (but you have yet to actually go down more than five). There was also once when you were cooking something, and it caught on fire, but that hasn't happened in quite awhile. You are clumsy sometimes, it just depends on how unfocused you are at that particular moment.

Loving. You don't like being in pain, so you try to heal others. You feel bad for yourself and know what it feels like to be upset all the time, so you don't like to make others feel that way. You hug people, ask them how they are, because you can't bear to see them be in as much pain as you. What a hypocrite! You make other people feel better, even once saving a deaf girl from herself, but you refuse to help yourself? If you are so loving, then why don't you show yourself some?

((H I S T O R Y))

They found you on their doorstep of the orphanage at about three years old. You had a first name, but they never figured out your last name. Although, they gave you one. They called you Osiris Bell, which you instantly took to. They took you in and raised you, trying to get you adopted by someone, but they would always turn you down. It would break your heart on the inside, making you wonder why you couldn't find a family that loved you and would take you in. But eventually, you got used to the rejection. It was almost like one of your primary feelings. You fought on, trying to keep yourself together.

At the orphanage, when you were thirteen, you met one of the most gorgeous girls you could ever lay eyes upon. She had long, flowing blonde hair and captivating green eyes. Her name was as bright and cheery as she was: Flora. The thing was, though, was that she couldn't hear. Nobody would go near her, as nobody bothered to learn who language to have a relationship with her. At this time, you were a broken thing, slowly developing your sick little eating disorder, and you couldn't bear to thing that she would be as lonely as you. And besides, you were lonely, she was lonely, and you two were perfect for each other. You learned her language, and she taught you about love and trying to be who you are. The only reason you were nice to anybody in the first place is because she made you, but the behavior stuck.

When you were fourteen, a year later, you began to become different. Rejection after rejection came your way, and you couldn't take it anymore. You stopped eating, trying to make yourself look better so that people would like you and take you home to love you. You weren't overweight; you were still as thin as a rail, it's just that people didn't see the beautiful person that was Osiris Bell, both inside and out. But you wouldn't believe it. You refused to. So you would find every little excuse not to go to dinner, claiming you didn't feel good, or that you weren't hungry.

Over a short period of time after you began to starve yourself (slightly on purpose and slightly not on purpose), you began to get more unstable. Every morning, you would feel a stabbing pain in your shoulders, and discover small traces of blood on the shoulder parts of your shirt. Taking off your shirt, turning around and looking behind you in the mirror, you would always wonder what the source of the long, shallow scratches were, and you got your answer when you found some of your skin underneath your fingernails.

Finally, all that you had been wishing for came true for you. A family found you, and the mother liked you. The adoption agency man seemed to really want the mother to adopt you, and so she did. Your last name changed from the last name that the orphanage gave you, - 'Bell' - to the family last name 'Lightwood'.