About Hazel:

Hazel Irene Brandt

Hazel was brought into a family of four, being the youngest, and the second girl in the family besides her mother. Her brother’s name was Foster, and her sister was named Glenda. 
Her childhood was wonderful, surrounded by the ever sweet smelling house. Her mother and father brought Foster into their kitchen, and even though his passion was not in the family business, he glued his orbs to everything they did. Glenda and her as well. They all watched, amazed as her parents created delicious delicacies as small as her pinky finger. Each one had a different recipe, and each recipe required memorization. Instead of playing dress up and preforming lavish and extravagant tea parties, Hazel sat down and read the recipes, committing them to memory.
This seemed to worry her parents. Hazel hardly made any friends. At school, she was effortless, only the little things weighing her grades down. Hazel was detatched from everyone but her family, her bonds with the outside world weak and almost nonexistent. Her mother and father pushed her though, forcing her to try at least to make friends.

The response, was bullying.

It took her parents years to realize it. She’d come home with bruises sometimes, black eyes, tear stricken cheeks- and she’d tell them she’d just fallen, and yes, she’d made friends. Her parents were always too busy to care. Too busy to think about Hazel’s own problems anymore. When they did realize it, it was all too late. The damage had been done.
Soon, the shop with in danger of foreclosure, and the mother their family had loved so dearly- had fallen ill.
It was subtle at first, little coughs that erupted her lips, the crispiness of her voice…But then it was more obvious of the closeness of her mother’s death. She began coughing up blood, eventually having to stop. Her father pulled the weight for her, working late into the night, preparing what he’d need for the next day. 

Hazel’s mother passed when she was only 9, Glenda was 12, and Foster had been 14. It hit the family hard, leaving them without real guidance. Foster helped their father out when he could, while Glenda and Hazel tried their best to not bother them, and to learn as much as she could.
The family fell silent, each with a silent cry as the years went by. No music filled their house anymore, no more special cinnamon rolls when greatness was achieved. But then, hope. Hazel woke up one morning to a voice, a sing songy voice. It was her sister. Glenda was singing, which normally brought too much grief on the family at the sound of it. But she sang, and she sang loud. She took up the job of being the mother, suddenly dropping out of school to bake with the dad as well, cleaning up when Hazel was gone. Foster had left for the army, but he paid as many visits as he could manage. Hazel, at age seventeen, began working with her father. 
The dad remained silent, usually quiet during work. But Hazel suddenly had a voice. A personality she’d forgotten about. She began to sing too, filling up the workplace with her voice. She began to laugh more, smile more. She became, happy.

Almost. 

Because it was not a year later, she began coughing too.

Her dad immediately shut off from her, bursting out of his room to only yell at her or worse, hit her. He no longer cared. He couldn’t bare it. Hazel noticed Foster and Glenda backing off too, unable to take care of their dying baby sister. She went to the doctors, and found out that she had no chance of survival, a terminal disease. The doctors said it had been the atmosphere of the bakery she loved with all her heart. She denied this, though, since her father had not falling victim to the same disease. Hazel labeled this as a genetic cause, and began to count to tics on her clock. There was no cure, not that they knew of. She was going to die, and not she tried her best to live out the time she had left. No matter what.