BLOODLINE

Subject: Jane Doe

Everything I am came with fingerprints already on it. Some inherited. Some imposed. Some pressed in by hands that never stayed long enough to explain themselves.

I learned early that identity isn’t built from scratch—it’s assembled from remnants, passed down like evidence, altered by time but never erased. This is an account of continuation. Of what happens when a line doesn’t end, and a body is left to translate what survived.