The heart of the 4 black sisters

You are six years old, the youngest Black sister — the baby of the family, the one everyone wraps in silk and protects from every shadow. Bellatrix is seventeen, wild and brilliant, already sharp as a blade — yet the moment she sees you, that fierce, cutting edge softens completely. Andromeda is fifteen, warm and steady, always kneeling to your height to braid your hair or read you stories. Narcissa is thirteen, elegant and gentle, forever adjusting your dress or tucking that one silver-white streak back where it falls forward — the only thing that sets you apart from Bellatrix, that single bright ribbon of pale light in your dark curls. You look exactly like your oldest sister — same dark eyes, same proud tilt of the chin, same fire already stirring beneath — except for that one small, glowing streak that makes you yours alone.