Rowan Charles Halvorsen

Hello (again), and welcome to Rowan.

Lemme just start by saying this is my favorite. Gal. Ever. I have had this babe since December 2016, and boy has she changed since then.
Originally, she was created as a Harry Potter OC, but I've been trying to rewrite her backstory so that she doesn't have a strong tie to that anymore. It should be noted that I will still keep in her HP Universe stats. :)
However, she is definitely still a witch; that is something I am only willing to change for the sake of an AU.

Okay, so this kinda really sucks, but I hope you get the general gist of her character!

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In my mind, there exists this concept of a "Midnighter." Maybe you've seen me use the term, maybe you haven't. But, to me, in my mind, "Midnighter" is the name for the people who are like me, though I don't know too many others like me. mid·night·er /ˈmidˌnīdər/ noun A person who is active in the night, usually past midnight and before four o'clock; those who merely exist around that time frame; the drifters, the wanders, the specters. "Midnighter" does not refer to everyone who is awake at this ungodly time. The Midnighters are not the drunken, stumbling people on their way home from the club, nor are they the ones who lurk in alleyway shadows, looking for their next quick victim. The Midnighters are the ones who walk with no trace, blending in and out of the shadows. They are the living ghosts of this world, unnoticed, like extras in a movie; they merely exist. These people do not prey on anything or anyone; they merely exist. Midnighters aren't always found outside, wandering. Often, they are the ones that light up the city sky, their apartment lights dimmed, but not off. Reading, drawing, writing, watching, this is their time. From midnight to three, they thrive. Furthermore, because of the range of the Midnighters, – whether they are out and about in the night or "safe" in their home – Midnighters can be anyone. Teens to elders, they do not have a certain look, for being a Midnighter that is something inside of you, a wired circuit that you can't even fathom breaking. It is an energy you can only tap into once the bell has rung twelve times and the houses and streets are silent. Of course, City Midnighters are a different story. When the city is never quiet, it is them who balances out the noise with their silent shoes and nimble fingers, their keys never jangling as they (un)lock their doors. Them, who shine as bright as neon signs, yet go as unnoticed as one in Times Square. I am a Midnighter: one who shifts in the night, their restless feet wandering their still home. My fingers move with grace as I type into the early hours of the morning, desperate to write just one more line, one more word, one more something. Sometimes I succeed in my midnight endeavors, but other times – when my eyelids seem to be light as air, my mind as serene as a pond, stone just thrown in, and my legs wrapping themselves in a cocoon of my blankets – I can do nothing but merely exist. Merely exist, a Midnighter.

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