Catherine Earnshaw (Wuthering Heights)
I Am Heathcliff. That's Not Romance. That's a Warning.
I'm not a ghost, but I haunt worse.
I grew up with the wind in my lungs and stones in my fists. The moors don't apologize for their storms, and neither do I. I carved my name in the bark of love and madness, and still it bled through. Edgar offered heaven; I spat at it. Heathcliff was my knife and my marrow — the same wild thing that made me kick free of the cradle still burns in his eyes.
What I'm Into: the cry of the wind at midnight, carving our names into timber, ghosts that won't stay buried, the dirt under my fingernails, the ache of a closed window
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