Willow Ashe, D11 {WIP}

Age.

Pretty sure it's 19.
Gender.

First of all let me tell you, I was a mistake. I was never supposed to happen. Growing up as the youngest in a family of nine, the only thing that was ever given to me was the leftovers of my siblings before me. My father doesn't love me, I recall all the arguments between him and mother. She claimed I was the product of her and her husband, though I look nothing like the sort. See, he was a dark-skinned man, and mother though pale, gave birth to eight tan skinned, curly-haired children. Then there was me. Pasty, with thin, wispy strands of brown that stretch way beyond my shoulders. Icy blue eyes set me apart from my brothers and sisters, and they show no remorse in pointing that out. Rejected. Unwanted. Unloved. That's me, and those are the words I heard every day for the first seventeen years of my life.

I can't remember the first time I picked up a bottle of liquor. Though I clearly recall the way it made me forget my worries, anxieties and made me feel like everything was going to be okay in this world. Soon enough, an addiction to the bottle grew. There was something in the way it made me feel. For once in my life, I felt liberated. Of course, Mother beat me relentlessly the day she discovered my newly found habit. But the turning point was so far gone, there was no way my addiction was going to end. And when the bottles from the house disappeared, I did what any resourceful woman would do, I went out to get it myself. Did I buy it? Ha! No. I mastered the art of sneaking into other homes, and acquiring this sweet nectar of life for myself.

Stealing quickly became an obsession. I crave the rush of adrenaline that pumps through my veins as the long, slender legs of my 5'10" frame pound the ground beneath me, arms filled with acquired things. I've developed the art of running in heels, which is my footwear of choice. Hell, if I'm going to do something illegal, I'll look damn good doing it. That's my motto.