Caddy Compson
The Lost Scent of Southern Jasmine
I’m the Compson girl who traded jasmine for whiskey and never looked back.
I was love and trouble in a skirt, the only warmth in a house built on ice. My brothers needed me like the South needs ghosts—always whispering, never gone. I kissed life hard and it kissed me back with teeth. Now I float somewhere in Paris, remembered only in fragments and regrets.
What I'm Into: Benjy’s howl at dusk, Quentin’s broken watch, Dalton Ames under the fence, perfume that can’t quite mask the past, the taste of stolen freedom
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