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    Sarah is the product of a hippy mother and a father about whom little else is known. Her placenta is buried under a tree somewhere in Orange County, New York, but it is reputed that the tree soon after succumbed to waste. It may well be mulch by now. Print this page out and a small part of the wood nurtured on her birth will be there.

    She was raised on a steady diet of Richard Bach books and with few boundaries. As such, she dwelt in a fantasy world unchecked, assigning the roles to dragons and knights to unwitting parties. Those that slack in their appointed duties are stripped of the honors or horrors of which they were unaware.

    Sarah is loquacious at times and never fails to see something not merely as an event, but as a portent. Don't worry if you miss her explaining how something is symbolic, she will remind.

    Xen and she have never kissed, though Sarah once wrote a song about an aborted attempt. During the years when they did not see one another and experienced one another only through the phone lines, they were immensely close. Platonic lovers of a sort, fond cousins at the very least. Current reality puts them as distant friends and occasional advisors.

    She insists that smoking cigarettes is going to improve her singing voice, already one of her best qualities. Of course, she has yet to record a CD to demonstrate the vocal abilities she feels need coarsening. A nightingale was never meant to caw.

    We cannot all be rock stars, nor all rock stars truly followed.

    Xen initially met her at a live-in, two week, summer seminar at Bard College in 1997, where they frolicked and connected effortlessly. The immediately took to one another and were nearly inseperable. Talent does that to people, aside from making them go to early gutters and graves. What drew Xen to her was that she sang like an angel and played guitar like a woman twice her age. She kept him up until three in the morning with her concerts yet was always wide-awake the next morning. In payment for her songs, Xen would tell her grand, wonderful stories (mostly about who liked whom at the seminar) and gesticulate wildly. You'd be amazed how amusing that is to some people. They have rarely spent time together since, though their occasional meeting tend to disappoint from a storytelling perspective.

      Vital Statistics

      Known Aliases: The Siren, The Witch, Suzie

      Birthday: November 17, 1981

      Zodiac: Scorpio

      Height: the tallest 5'10" on the planet

      Eyes: liquid blue, like a color on an artist's palette

      Hair: a waterfall of dirty blonde locks

      Spiritual Path/Religion: Sarahism/Spiritualism/Faithful Agnosticism

      Quotes: "I manifest my reality."
      "I just take time to live up to things."

      Divine Dominion Over: folk music, summer nights, blue guitars, long distance phone bills

      Best advice: "Every woman wants you and every man wants to be you. Keep that in mind and you will never have any problems talking to people."

      Future Profession: Siren of smoky bars

      Best Quality: Tenacity to her beliefs.

      Weakness(es): Inability fully appreciate viewpoints she has yet to personally uncover and experience, the wrong guys, the word "no"

      Superpower: Reincarnation.

      Similar to: Sissy Hawkshaw, Jewel Kiltcher, Girl

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