Florence was the second orphan taken in, when she was fourteen. She was now fifteen.

She had short blonde hair, pulled tight in two small pigtails at the back of her head, and it was all streaked with different colors.

Blue, green, purple, black, orange, red. Skinny little lines of color snaking down her head, all standing out against the platinum blonde hair.

A tiny dot reflected light when she moved, right on the left side of her nose. Her nose was peirced. Her ears were peirced, too, all up and down them. There must have been at least six in each year, maybe even more, none matching, all loud studs and rings.

Her eyes were wideset, round, and a deep clear blue. Sometimes, when she first woke up in the morning, they would appear troubled. She’d had nightmares since she was thirteen, when it all happened.

But her lips curled up in a smile even when she wasn’t smiling, because she was generally just a wild, fun, wacky girl.