Color Testing Thread 2.0

N A M E

She's got eyes like pennies. All rusted and used to shit. Copper and spotted with dirt, someone has drilled a hole through the center of each one, making them obsolete. They have been handed off down generations, from century to century. Aye, she's got the eyes of her mother and the fingers of her father, dried and well preserved in the chest that rests at the foot of her bed. Her name is Salem, and she has a last name, but no one remembers it, or no one has heard it. Her name is Salem and no one remembers her last name because they can't remember where she came from. They can't remember where she came from, because one day, she was just here. Her and that cat. Or was it that cat and her? We don't know. We can't remember, no one can.

All we know for certain is that Salem girl is weird, and not in the usual way. It's not like she says funny things and waves her hands in the air sometimes, it's more like she doesn't. She's so still, so quiet, it's disarming. You don't know that she's right behind you until you turn on your heel and are staring into eyes as cold and cool as your ex-lover. That's not the only thing either because her voice is as soft as a sigh but three times as powerful as a shout. One doesn't have to strain to hear her words, they wrap around your ears like a poisonous snake, terribly misunderstood but heard all the same.

Her hair is pin straight and falls down to frame her face and reach even lower like a cliff face, washed smooth by the sea. It's cleaner than that too, pure white, either she's gone grey early from stress, or she's spent all her life under the sun. Underneath are traces of black, and some say that's where her evil stems from, what keeps her powerful. Powerful how, you ask? In her witch craft of course! Everyone knows that she's a witch, that she practices spells late at night and if you get on her bad side you'll be cursed forevermore. What else could lend to the sightings of her out in the Grimm gardens, basket in arm and plants hanging over the side like mutinous passengers.

Her room is like a dungeon, heavy wall draperies and barely any light. There's always something bubbling in the cauldron she keeps over the fire place, they say that it always smells of flowers, but that's just a cover up, we're sure. There's something evil brewing there. Her face is oval, with a sharp chin, and everyone knows that sharp chins are only for witches. Her nose too, it's long and pointed, sure to have a couple warts. Her skin is so white because she wears concealer to hide her green skin, and the millions of scars that cover it.

The scars? Well that would be from her tormented past, you know, the thing that made her evil. They say she was born on the outskirts of the District, mewling and crying like any babe. What set her apart were the herbs that her mother used to heal her booboos, and the sage stick that her father waved through the air to banish bad spirits.