#wrote this on hour 20 of being awake so hopefully it makes sense 💕

[8blud-a]

 ⸻  ᚠᚱᛟᛗ  ⸻  kristine froseth. non-binary. she/any.   ⸻   i saw  SOFIA RUSSELL  around  THE TOWN,  you know? the  TWENTY-SIX  year old that was driving from  SEATTLE, WASHINGTON  when they saw the tree on the road.  SOF  has been here for  FOUR MONTHS  and i think they were  A JUNIOR DOCTOR  before they got stuck in the town. with the way things are now, they are now struggling to maintain a sense of normalcy and  seek a way out without losing themselves or dying.  lets hope you at least survive the night.  ⸻

GENERAL   INFORMATION.  ⸻

full  name.     sofia  russell.

nickname(s).    sof,   fi, give her some.

age.     twenty-six.

gender  identity.     non-binary.

orientation.    bisexual.

place  of  birth.     seattle,   washington.

date  of  birth.     31  december  1996.

former  occupation.    junior  doctor.

3  positive traits.    dogged,   pragmatic,   observant.

3  negative traits.    aloof,   selfish,   manipulative.

moral alignment.    lawful / neutral  evil. ( to be decided. )

faceclaim.    kristine  froseth.

TOWN   INFORMATION.  ⸻

current  residency.    the  town.

current  occupation.    doctor.

BIOGRAPHY   YOUR   CHARACTER’S   BACKGROUND.  ⸻

mother died before she was a year old: the bare bones of a human. she didn’t grow up with photos of her nor did she ever think to ask for them –– what use is a dead woman’s picture anyway? not like i knew her.

inherited by her godmother. an earlier memory, that’s not quite a memory: her aunt’s buttery fingers digging into her doughy neck; her aunt’s soft coos as she cried. marking your neck as a scruff of a newborn animal.

her aunt was an exhausted woman. sofia was a ( newly ) middle child, an awkward pup in a litter of kittens. dressed in the same good clothes for church on sundays: they wore purple when she wore brown; they paired together so she could hear them sitting in the middle of or on the outskirts of their posse.

her aunt bestowed the bulk of her attention on sofia. it created a vicious cycle of resentful exclusion, embittered isolation. she couldn’t foster a healthy view of friendliness, of playing nice. she just had her mother. her aunt-mother. her aunt who was a mother without bearing the moniker of mother.

( all of her children had to refer to her by her first name or renditions of it. if they failed, her soft smile would remain. her chin would lower. her tongue would click. and with the least amount of breath she could muster, she would say, “ i wish you wouldn’t call me that. ” a fraught home that couldn’t articulate its unease until it was too late. until a house could not feel like a home without dread flowing through its doors like air. )

she wasn’t an aggressive child, especially not in school: she didn’t pick nor engage in fights. didn’t see the point: it’s easier to be quiet than bruised. besides, she’s already taught herself to not care about her peers. in her studies, she excels. it’s easy and normal, like a language she couldn’t speak but knew from the grooves of her tongue. natural. it leads her to a medical degree, to a field where the human worth is based on what’s inside. literally, not metaphorically. people are much easier when they’re quiet.

one family gathering: a precursor to easter, to see her god-fearing aunt. it starts and ends as it always does. ( with a fight –– between who? about what? who threw the first punch? who slammed the first door? every gathering melts together in her mind’s eye. stuck in this new town for months, not even remembering why. ) and at some point in the night, she leaves with her breathless car. she would’ve been back within forty minutes to remind her aunt to take her tablets. to clean up after dinner. to tuck herself into bed with an unshakeable migraine, and an equally unshakeable, scruffy, old cat curled into her side. it should’ve been easy.