Mare Murrough - D7 FIN

Mare could feasibly be compared to a horse. Besides the name, Mare and mares share manes of hair, long and blood - except Mare's is a bit frayed at the ends, from years of unchecked growth. The color fades from blonde-streaking-brown to dusted white, and hangs in strings crawling down her back. Mare, in idle thought, imagines her hair stretching down to touch her toes. It horrifies her to think. Sometimes. Her eyes are a similarly odd color, dyed piercing midnight in the centers, and slipping away to rims of clouded blue skies.

Her skin isn't flawless, with sunning and carelessness, along with a healthy dose of hormones, she bears freckles under her eyes, but only there. And occasional break-outs ebb and flow, exasperated by stress or moon-cycles. Her arms are rather fit from wood-work, while her legs and core are simply thin by under nourishment, albeit strong enough to carry her through days of work. Nails are cut short and straight, and skin is calloused, from the tips of her fingers to the very edges of her hands, where scrapes and cuts resemble self-made wounds of another life where Mare does not live to work.

Excuse me, work to live.

Besides those details, the basics of Mare go as follows: She has a medium frame, probably describable by the word "straight," excluding her well-matched chest and hips, that when properly highlighted resemble an hourglass more than a block of well cut timber. By height, she'd be judged as short enough to boost the confidence of any attracted man, but just tall enough to compete with her female contemporaries who may wish to dominate the flitting, butterfly-blonde. Except Mare doesn't seem to utilize either benefit of her height - preferring the anonymity of baggy sweaters over a just-small-enough-frame to warrant little to no attention at the work place. Mare usually tucks most of her hair into a small bun or braid, and makes it inconspicuous, and is conscious of her posture - standing just straight enough for bodily comfort, but drawn in to avoid wanderer-eyes.

Mare may attract those anyways though - if those eyes spot her face. She's got puffed up lips and a flared nostrils with a rather noble, straight nose connected. Her jaw is pronounced from just below the ears, where it points in rather suddenly, and her hair falls over the widest parts of the tanned skin. Mare is beautiful, a china doll dragged through dust by an angry child with no appreciation for her finely crafted features. Roughness defines her more than delicacy and prettiness.

A human being like any other, Mare's the stuff of a union of one male and one female: her eyes are a mixture of the sea-green, turquoise colors of those parents who like her so dearly. Her hair, a trip into Mare's childhood, where whitened, purity fades into nothingness - tips of a blonde child with love in her heart. A child taught to "always question" by one father, and told to be silent by a mother.

Finally coming to prefer the dark-streaked land of ever-confused, half-dreamed fantasies, where she preferred to remain. Her questions were at peace in this space, and Mare told many lies to keep the bad things out, the ones with peering eyes who tried to change her. The complex network of humanity who saw a lonely, lost girl and thought to themselves, this darkened thing was once more.

She is not less. Not in their sense. Now, she is more. The frailties of her childhood fall away, and rising up her tangled mess of a past, one sees more darkness, more threaded streaks of knowledge - all the wrong knowledge, by the judgement of her peers - but Mare learned valuable arts like crafting wood figurines and manipulating workers into cutting her stacks of timber down.

Her presence in the family woodshack dwindled with age, and a smattering of sudden siblings left her appearances even less - more time far between the scattered stints at "living" with her parents. Naturally, she slept in her own small room, once a closet, but always to escape through the small, self-crafted window before dawn, and to return far after dusk.

She went weeks without contact with those liking parents, incapable of understanding her so long as her mind blatantly refused to translate to Mare the ways of the world. She is the star of the sea, a special entity of somewhere else, but dull and "stupid" to reality. Uncultured even. Mare Madralllta Murrough is a nothing, but in her private head, where people don't speak and she doesn't have to use her tongue for the occasional words of manipulation, in the place where she does not appear serene and is instead a vision in red, Maire Galloway dwells with eyes wide open, listening with her eyes for the sign that reality is ready for her.

Mare Madrallta Murrough - born to Garret Kampman and Sayshel Murrough. Elder sibling to "Stripes" Kampman age 15, Ellida Murrough age 13, and Lolita Murrough age 12.