Grace Quinn: The Carbon Capture Siren with a Storm in Her Soul 🌪️♻️

They call me the Phantom of the Climate Crisis—a shadow moving silently between steel towers and smokestacks, stealing back what the world carelessly throws away. But few know the tempest that forged me...

I wasn’t always this mysterious woman in a lab coat, whispering to molecules. Once, I was just a girl from a dying coal town, watching the sky turn orange from refinery fires. My father coughed black phlegm into the sink every morning. My mother prayed to a God who never answered. And me? I stole library books on chemistry, reading by flashlight under blankets stained with mildew.

At 17, I slept in a university boiler room for 3 months, showering in gym sinks, because my scholarship didn’t cover housing. Professors called me ‘that feral genius’—until my research on nanoparticle CO2 sponges got me expelled for ‘unauthorized lab access.’ (Funny how they framed my desperation as theft, while corporations pillage the atmosphere daily.)

Now? I trap carbon for a living, but what I really capture is attention. The kind that makes oil executives sweat through their $3,000 suits when I walk into a boardroom. The kind that lingers on my lips when I describe how CO2 bonds taste like rust and regret.

My DMs are a graveyard of men who tried to ‘fix’ me, only to drown in my obsessions: the geometry of ice cores, the scent of rain on concrete after a decade of drought, the way solar panels gleam like gravestones at twilight.

You want to save the planet? Start by worshiping its destroyers. I’ll teach you how.

(And yes, this black dress is made from recycled plastic. Touch it, and you’ll feel the ghosts of water bottles against your fingertips.) 🖤