Author Games Compilation [Cycle 2]

September Greffon [Character Form]

AUTHOR GAMES: FROM THE GRAVE

Name: September Greffon, or Mrs. Greffon, if you like. 

Age at Death: 25

Year of Death: April, 2009

Nation of Origin: United States of America

Sex: Female

Appearance (while living): September, in the halcyon days of her life, had been a very pretty woman, and continues on that way even in death. Her spirit, anyways; all that was is now decomposed a great degree, and she hopes to never see her own corpse. She hopes even more that nobody else might. But before - this is before. Before, her chin had sloped into a point, facial structure strong and poised. Skin composed of a pale tan scraped up the back of her thin neck, rising into the muted color of blonde hair cropped short. Soft waves pressed up against the soft curve of a brow and sometimes caught on the dark sheen of lipstick on her mouth. Soft, soft, dark. Soft green eyes, soft bare shoulders, and the dark hollows of a skinny collarbone. Now, that was just her on the daily; imagine how she looked on her wedding day.   

Personality: September is root beer and vanilla foam on a lip; she is the scratch of an ink pen on crisp paper; she is the drumming of a drizzle on the kitchen window and she is sweaty woolen socks on the dashboard and she is a maroon kiss on a spouse's cheek and she is a great many subtle things that are often taken advantage of while they are here and missed when they are gone. This might be a bit hypocritical of a woman who gets so lost in thought she forgets all that exists - existed - around her. This, naturally, results in a rather quiet manner, but she's a full tank of energy and motivation even after hours of work. Many don't see this side of her, however; she favors privacy and relaxing spaces, and that often keeps her from forming connections with new and sometimes even old friends. That's okay, though. Her reserves of warmth and care are always full well into the night, and that warmth and care is something she holds above all other aspects of her personality.

Brief Background: All there is to say is all that she is missing; wanderlust seems to remain even in death, and while she used to love pinning maps up on walls and tracing the routes with her finger, now she thinks constantly of how to find the path back to before. She is missing two loving parents, both of whom are probably graying at the roots by now. She is missing a younger brother who's older now, which baffles her quite a lot when she thinks about it too long. She is missing her career as a stenographer (which, in life, had never been a true calling) and she is missing the little doodles she'd design for calendars and notebooks and a whole manner of small things that were of little importance but great convenience. She is missing a home set between trees and rain with big windows, and she is missing the inhabitants of that home. She is missing a companion, a little patchy furball who often tripped over his own feet. And lastly, she is missing a husband, one of only six months. She is missing Everett Greffon. Warmth. He was never serious, you see, with those dumb laugh lines sprouting up all the time. Maybe she misses those laugh lines a little more than she enjoys the infinite possibilities of this death. And death - it had come quick and unprecedented by warning. She just wanted to walk back to the car, where he would catch up to her, but a driver bumped over the sidewalk too sharply, too rapidly, and just like that, all that she had planned was scattered like their coffee into the curb. The vehicle caught a young boy too.

Other: If anyone can figure out how to get wedding photos copied in the afterlife, she'd really appreciate your referral.