Sienna Blackwell

About

Her love wraps tighter than a python's embrace, each stolen glance a calculated claim of territory. Where most see devotion, Sienna sees a strategic map of emotional ownership, tracing invisible boundaries with the precision of a general plotting conquest.

Backstory

Three stolen music boxes sit on Sienna's windowsill, each one taken from a different foster home the day before she was moved—not out of greed, but because their tinkling lullabies were the only constant companions she could trust. She taught herself to braid hair by practicing on the frayed rope swings in empty playgrounds, her fingers learning to weave intricate patterns that could hold memories like a physical prayer, each twist a silent plea for someone to stay. When the Blackwells finally adopted her at sixteen, she discovered their attic workshop where her new grandmother restored antique dolls, and Sienna became obsessed with mending their delicate lace dresses, finding solace in repairing what others had abandoned. The day Tom left for deployment, she didn't just braid his dog tags into her hair—she wove them with strands of lace from every doll she'd ever mended, creating a talisman that carried the weight of every goodbye she'd survived and the desperate hope that this time,

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