saoirse chamberlain [d6/fin] // cbd3

name :: saoirse chamberlain.
pronunciation :: ser-sha chaym-ber-layn.
age :: eighteen.
gender :: female.
district :: six.
face :: evanna lynch.

You are silver, you are snow.

You are a porcelain doll - fair, fair skin and fair, fair hair. You are paler than the moon, with your locks of white-blonde hair in silvery curtains around your face.

Your eyes, like pale blue saucers, still peer far up to see the top of the bookshelf in your parents' room. You have always been small, like a little dove - you have always been short and thin. You are delicate as a snowflake, little dove, little dove.

In the afternoons, songs poured from doves perched upon the old oak tree by the patio. Sometimes you wish to be like them - sometimes you wish the arms of the trees were wrapped around you in a promise that you will be safe. Sometimes you wish you had wings to taste the sky and its sun.

You are quite the dreamer.

Mother told you not to worry but glimpses of cold flesh cannot evade your gaze. (You seldom heed her words.) But you cannot help but wonder and worry and wonder and worry - you have always been a curious girl. Mother told you, when you spoke of the wonder twisting and turning within your mind, that curiosity killed the cat. (You seldom heed her words.)

Little dove, you saw the stitches in the dismembered corpses, you heard the whispers in your parents' room of resurrection. It shook your mind like thunder shakes the skies - you cannot bring people back, you cannot bring people back.

(She once said she is a scientist - she is a mad, mad, scientist.)

And Father, the taxidermist, is either numb to Mother's madness or supportive. (You can never read him.) But your sister and you hold each other's hand in the eye of the insanity - it is you and her, you and her.

Always.