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e522d9f3e8c056b is a wizard. He is a member of the unsorted masses of Hogwarts students just off the train eagerly crowding around the Sorting Hat.

About Me
Sing to me of the man, Muse, the one of twists and turns, driven time and time again off course. . . [This is my story, listen carefully for I shall tell it once, and only once.]

Odysseus [Muse] Walker Barrett- Lightwood

I do not remember anything about my past. Important events, little details, names and places; they have long since dissipated from the recesses of my subconscious mind, leaving nothing behind ,but a disquieting void, where eleven years' worth of memories ought to be.

The day I stop asking questions is the day I die.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

August 13rd
[Partly cloudy; overcast skies]

Who am I?
Am I even eleven? The Hogwarts' letter tells me it is so. But how can I be eleven , if I cannot recall a single birthday that occurred? The letter states that I am a wizard, though this doesn’t come as much of a surprise to me. From the few handfuls of memories that I have, the Lightwoods are a pure-blooded family; ancient in name, well-respected and dignified. What else do I remember? The names of my parents--Avon Mione Barrett-Lightwood & Joseph Lightwood. Their names are imprinted within my memory, for they have filled the void within my mind, with love. I know they loved me, as I love them.

August 15th
[Star light, star bright.]

Mama used to call me Muse. I remember that very distinctly--the soothing, mellow sound of her voice ringing through the vast expanse of our mansion. "Muse!" she'd call out, in her sing-song tone. "Mummy!" I'd cry out in reply, gleeful peals of laughter escaping from my lips, as my lanky five-year old self tottered down the grand staircase. I still remember the smell of her; traces of vanilla tinged with extracts of lavender, and apples. I loved that scent. It's a scent that I now associate with warmth, caring and love; a scent that I associate with home.