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Esme Stormcrow
Profile: A young girl, of nineteen. She is willowy in form, but not graceful as her long limbs would suggest. In fact, she tends to be almost disabling in her clumsiness. Her dark hair tickles the fancy of black without ever quite making it, and falls in tight little ringlets to her delicate jawline. She has large, child-like emerald eyes, so round they seem to make her perpetually surprised. She has a small nose, and a generous pink lipped mouth. Her skin is smooth and lily-white, but her callused hands speak not of nobility. Despite her length, and litheness she does not appear imposing in the bit, perhaps even a bit meek. Where it not for the flash of a stormy temper in her eyes. She has a stubborn set to her chin, scars from childhood that each tell a tale scatter on her arms and legs. Nothing grosteque, just little imperfections she looks on fondly now. Remembering the conquests they represent. Her smile lights up her face, a wide and kind thing, it shows off a dimple in her right cheek. Biography: I haven't had much of a life to recount. Boredom has ripped at me since I was born, my mother called me a wanderer. I suppose it was true. She had this suspicion, that the first gift a child gets marks what she'll be. My first gift was a pair of boots. I was continously running away from home. Although my brother always managed to bring me back, well, that is until now. I've left home, and oddly enough with my mother's permission. My father thinks I'm dead. You see, this is where my own adventure beginds. One I never thought I'd have and now I wish I hadn't gotten it. My father was a good man, walked in the Light, as did we all. If he was a bit fervent, it was alright because he was a good man, and it was all in the name of good. He was---is-- a White Cloak. Who loved his family, and hated Aes Sedai. My first channel was yanked out of me by my own panic and my brother's need. We where playing outside, and he ran away from me across a knoll and disapeared from my line of view. I wasn't worried, I hiked up my skirts and chased after him. It was only when I heard him screaming did I begin to think something was wrong. It wasn't the playful, joyous screams from before. Pain wrenched these one's from his throat. I crossed the hill and ran down it at a dead run. There he was, sprawled at the bottom, his leg coated in blood. I fell to my knees beside him, running my hands gingerly over the wound. I could see the gore-covered bone protruding from his sking and I had to quell my suddenly queasy stomach. I watched blood spew from him as easily as water. I saw the tears in his eyes, I saw his mouth working, but I could no longer hear his screams. Suddenly I felt almost painfully alive. Every scream of his rang true, the tears running down my face, I felt each tract perfectly. I sensed everything and everyone and it was almost unbearably wonderful. Bliss. I was lost in it for a moment, before I looked down at the agony contorting my sibling's face. I clamped my hands down on his wound, thinking desperately. I needed to share this life with him, I had so much and his was slipping away. I cried out as the extra life was taken from me, and my brother arched his back until only the top of his head and the bottom of his heels touched the ground. His eyes opened wide and rolled back into his skull, his mouth gaping. When it was finished, he slumped back onto the ground, sound asleep. I took my hands away from his leg. It was fixed. Suprisingly calm, I wiped away the blood with fistfuls of dewy grass and checked over. Perfectly healed. But how? I remained there, knees tucked under my chin, watching my brother sleep until the sun went down. He woke slowly, and when he did, he looked at me. He was older, I was sixteen then and he was nineteen. I watched his face cautiously. We where both knowledgeable enough to have by now realized what had happened. But somehow, we both remained calm. Returning to the house to find mother alone was a blessing in disguise. We explained in dead-pan tones what had happened. She was crying by the end, but silently. I looked on coldly. I was ready for the declaration of hatred, of her getting up to kill me herself. When she left the room, I collapsed onto the floor and began to cry. My brother stood by my side, a hand on my shoulder. When my mother returned, I collected myself best I could. Both me and my brother where shocked to see a pack in her hand. "Leave." She said, much more tenderly then I would've hoped. "You where always a wanderer. Leave and don't come back." I gulped. "Mother...." "You're dead to me now. Don't you see that's how it has to be? You're father can't know. You're dead to me now. To us. To this family." I opened my mouth to speak again, tears in my eyes. But my mother shook her head firmly, shoved the pack in my hands, and pulled me in for a tight hug. "Dead." She echoed. And I turned to my brother, he was steely faced, but he also pulled me into a hug. He whispered something crptic to me. "I'll follow you in death." I shook my head and said nothing, left without looking back. I took my horse, let Peaches be dead to them too and I left. I shall never look back. I can't. I've arrived, I'm a novice and I'm scared. Although I won't let anyone know it. My father thinks I'm dead, and if he knew, I would be.
I can never go back. I'm to be an Aes Sedai, and by then, I won't even be me.
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