▲brandon kentwell▲d7▲fin▲

Luminous blue eyes, sky and sapphires, as warm as ice and winter. A pair of guards letting no trespassers go through, driving the unwanted away. Hiding the legendary treasure of her thoughts, and no one has really seen what's locked in the chest. Impossible to read, clouded with fake emotions and false feelings. A once beautiful face molded into an expressionless mask that holds nothing, no sign of loosening up. This tension has been building up. No one has seen her pretty for years. No one knows if the face was already like that if it can be changed. Her full lips never move much, never curve except for a frown. Strong eyebrows rest uselessly above her eyes and her cheeks, dotted with a galaxy of faded freckles, have only turned rosy to the cold. One day, she will be attractive again. One day she will be back to herself. But that day is far off, far beyond what anyone can see. Many have tried to cure her. All have failed.

Hair is frizzy and tangled, sloppily parted and layered, like a maniac's. It lays unkept on her shoulders and extended, the only grooming is the occasional brushing by lacy fingers. Some say her hair is a light brown, other's say a strawberry color. It is quite hard to tell, but the brown is correct. The seemingly red color originates in her highlights, projecting quite the illusion. They fall in messy waves, with strands sticking out from static, down to her delicate shoulders. The frizz makes her look even skinnier than she already is. Starvation is written all over her thin frame, with no muscle in any part of her body. It's amazing that she can climb trees, because of how seemingly weak she is. It's amazing she can do anything that requires strength or stamina. It's amazing how quick and agile she is, with light feet and quick instincts. It's amazing. She's amazing.

But, not many people take notice. Ever.

▲ p e r s o n a l i t y ▲

Brandon is scared of a lot of things. The dark, spiders, and, even though she is quite the tree climber, even afraid of heights. Yet she isn't scared of anything. She's found that you can be brave and frightened, you can have courage and cowardice. Overcoming everything is what she wishes to do, and it starts with her phobias. It's not the journey over them, but finally getting to the summit that makes her stronger and drives. There's nothing better, she's told herself, than defeating the monsters bed under her bed. She's too old to believe in such rumors, but she is old enough to believe that fear can break you down and tear you apart to nothingness. And pulling yourself apart is much easier than putting yourself back together again. Falling is much easier than climbing upwards. But defeating obstacles is the best feeling in the world.

Brandi isn't much of a talker. A quiet girl she is. Only speaks when spoken to, and never really engages in the conversation. Not that she is shy, no, just doesn't like to let words come out, as she isn't the smoothest of all speakers. She's scared of embarrassment, one of the many fears she's been trying to get over all her life. But it's always there. Words tend to come out mixed up, unsteady and unsure. They roll off rigidly on her tongue. No, she's not shy. She's just too scared and nervous to talk. Being judged and rejected is something she is frightened by. Acceptance is something Brandi is vying for. That may mean changing herself into something she's not, but she's willing to do it.

Brandi doesn't like it when people to know her well. She finds it much, much easier to shut out people, even people who may even possibly care for her, rather than letting them in. Every single one. She's too insecure about herself and what's really in there to let anyone get to know her, who she is. Information never passes those lips because she doesn't want to expose her weaknesses or her deepest darkest fears. Having people know her is like leaving a safe open; there's a lock on it for a reason. The key to her is lost, and no, it is definitely not a smile. Secrets are meant to be secrets, she says that a lot. No, no one has ever understood this girl, and, quite frankly, she doesn't know if she understands herself. Maybe it's better to lie to yourself every once and a while. Maybe it's safer that way.

▲ h i s t o r y ▲

Brandon was born to an eager couple in District 7 one morning. It wasn't very eventful, no, except for the widespread gossip that burned through every household. Whispers of Brandon floated around for a week until they finally died down. It didn't take long for everyone to know. Her parents were in the lower class, unfortunately for her. Supporting themselves was hard, and having child, no matter what a joy she was, was even harder. But Brandon got used to hunger and seeing the same cracked plate having only a quarter of the food it was meant to hold. The parents found it frightening for her to adapt so quickly into this, to never demand more, to never admit her stomach was growling. She was too young to be like this already.

As she grew up, Brandon got the message. She was wanted but probably couldn't be supported by her father's low paying job as a lumberjack. She saw herself as a burden to her loving Mom and Dad. They never admitted it, but it was true. It was the reason why she didn't have a baby brother or sister. The reason she slept in the small attic above the house that didn't fit her anymore. She knew she was loved to death, she knew it and she told herself. But sometimes she felt misplaced. Like no one wanted her in the first place. That's when the shutting out took place. When she told no one how she felt, when she started to lose friends, when she felt afraid of everything because no one was there to comfort. She wanted to blame someone, anyone, but the only person she could point her finger at was herself.

Her parents tried to get back in, tried to help but Brandon had gone too far. She was too embarrassed to ever look back. So, to keep her company, she started to carve wood. Teaching herself was hard, but she's watched others. She's figured out the ins and outs of it, as she is quite observant. She carved little people and animals, enjoying to feel their presence beside her. It only took a while for her to realize that they were a constant reminder how pathetic and lonely she really was. But she kept making them because it was really the only thing to keep her from going insane. She talks to them a lot, to get her feelings out. In fact, her carvings are really the way to see. When she's happy, she'll carve suns and people and flowers. When she's sad, though, she'll carve angels with their inhumanely beautiful faces frowning. Anger drives her to carve lions and weapons. If you ever want to figure her out, just take a look at her woodworks. Of course, if you can find where they're hiding, that is.

Lonely as ever, she leads a life that's waiting to have any purpose to it. Any purpose at all.