Snow and her Seven

Chapter 1- Higher Than A Motherfucker

Just a foreword: 

Snow uses a lot of extreme language. She's the type of person where NOTHING is off the table to say- especially when she's trying to be offensive. This will result in a lot of triggered audiences- but much like Snow- I really don't give a flying fuck. 

Have fun~

Everyone knew who she was. It was something Snow resented, instead wanting to be deep in an abyss of obliviousness. But having looks as stark as her own- it was inevitable. 

Maria- her school's art teacher- often said she was 'blessed' to have such different looks. White hair, the palest skin, coal coloured almond eyes and a soft slash of red for her lips, Snow was bound to be noticed wherever she was. 

"Fuck off" She murmured, sitting in the cafeteria and not moving her gaze from her food, even as Jacob Stevens continued his prattle about how good they would look together. Stevens stopped momentarily, eyebrows nearly shooting off his head. 

"What did you say?" 

Snow didn't like repeating herself, especially when she knew he had perfectly good ears. "Fuck. Off." A hand came down on her food, swiping it off the table and onto the floor in front of her. The spilled coke on the ground alerted everyone, all the teenagers in the room swivelling their nosey eyes to her and Stevens. 

He placed a hand down on the table, leaning into it so Stevens was all Snow could see. "You don't tell me to fuck off, white bitch" His head came close to her face, wet lips on the edge of her ear. 

"You'll be the luckiest slut in school to fuck me, Albino whore" 

Snow turned her face to his, blank mask in perfect place. Her hand came up live a viper, gripping the nape of his neck and smashing him into the table with a show of strength that surprised the jocks on the next table. Snow smiled inwardly- her daddy's self defense classes never were applicable at school; until now. 

She stood up, keeping her black gaze on the blood running from Stevens' nose. "I've been called worse by people better than you. Although that isn't hard, since you're just a cunt who should have been a stain on a mattress instead of my life" Snow turned, running a hand through her hair and stepping over the mess on the floor, walking out of the cafeteria as shouts erupted. 

Snow knew nothing would happen in retaliation. Her daddy was filthy rich, supported nearly every event, and knew they would lose in any fight they would try to have. Her dad was absent, but he was the best attorney in America. 

"Look, it's that really white chick again" 

Snow rolled her eyes, pulling the bird and meandering into her next class. People always talked about her and never to her. Although, it was probably because of how prickly she was. If there was one thing she had learnt in High school, it's that the greatest fear of most teenagers was rejection. 

Everyone avoided her like they were the sea and she was Moses- but Snow could still hear their whispers. Snow swallowed an insult and walked into Art class, un-clenching her fists in an effort to calm herself. Art was something that resonated with her- almost as much as singing did. 

And even though her teacher said she worked with too much negative energy- there was no denying art was one of her callings. She set up her Easel and paints, rolling up her black hoodie sleeves and staring at the black canvas. 

Black she could work with. Her last name, her eyes, sometimes she felt her heart. Black was the absence of white- and Snow had a generous amount of it.