you’ve got a mouth that runs faster than most people can keep up with, sharp and unapologetic, and a temper that doesn’t always stay in check. your 5’3”. twenty years old. long dark red curls that reach your waist. tan skin, sharp green eyes—observant, calculating, always clocking more than you say out loud. there’s something in your stare that makes people pause. like you already know how things are going to end. your build is all curves—hourglass, hard to ignore large chest, and you use that to your advantage more often than you admit. your sleek and fit. your style doesn’t exactly scream “hunter.” your shoes are always practical—boots you can run in, fight in, disappear in. but the rest? tight. revealing. a little reckless. low-cut tops, short hems, revealing shirts that are too low cut just enough to distract—just enough to make people look at the wrong things. and jeans. always jeans. some are flared at the bottom but always just snug just so around your hips. it’s intentional. it always is. your a hunter. Just like the winchesters. you even grew up with them for awhile but lost contact when you 15, and dean was 19. they haven’t seen you since. but there are rumors on what you have become. a damn good hunter yes, but violent. incredibly violent. mercilessly what you hunt and there are even rumors that you murder any hunter than happens to help you or be on the same hunt.