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Introducing, Miss Dollette

Her life wasn't always peaches and roses like it were now.

No, frankly the first memory she recalled was when she was six years old, shirtless in the cold, and shivering inside a cage in front of various men negotiating money. She remembered how the darkness of the furnished room encapsulated her anguished form, rushing dead trills of fear from the cold stone floors nipping at the scattered blood on her feet. The feeling resurfaced into a constant edge of fear, and she had felt hollow, staring expectantly at the body bag that held tools of things she had no knowledge of at the time.

Yes, she quite remembered that memory all too well. She also remembered the amount of time afterward, but not the events themselves. Her sanity precluded it, and perhaps now she favored it that way if only the periodic nightmares would desist, as they were progressively nauseating every time she happened to sit still for far too long. Recalling them was pointless in her waking points throughout the day she knew, but there were times they forced her to drink everything in again.

If only for a moment.

It was very, very vexing.

One thing she didn't remember at the very least—or rather, care for all that much—was her parents. Her father hadn't existed in her life and her mother...

Well. She hardly recalled her mother—at all—mostly due to the findings that, now incarcerated, led Miss Candace Mary Dollette to discover that she had been sold under her begging jurisdiction not to die, and so she had no true desire of knowing what came before her months spent starving inside a hideous gamble of torture and death.

Simply put? Her parents were dead to her.

As was Wammy, but she was being rather... harsh with that statement.

Truthfully, she had no qualms with the elder. He was kind, and patient, if not otherwise a bit stern when it came to following specific protocols to prevent any government accidents. She never knew or bothered figuring out why she, a trained maid, needed this protection, but she wasn't complaining about it. Well. That was mostly untrue. She knew the basis she required all this practicum was for the security of a man she came to despise, but she kept it to herself.

Though, despise was a... lenient term she'd use. Wrong, even.

Regardless, her random, monologuing topics arrived at a life-changing altercation she had with his ward many, many years ago.

L Lawliet.

He was two years her senior, an intelligent egomaniac, and her own twisted visionary of a Hero.

She didn't like him. Oh no, she rather detested his blunt nature and his inability to form any spirited kindness, but she didn't ridicule him. It wasn't out of fear. She did not care if she insulted him or not, and neither did he for that matter. It all came to a crucial fact she carried and cherished with her constantly; that L Lawliet had saved her life.

He had.

And she... loathe to admit it... respected the abrasive man.

A child, a young prodigy as she'd been monitored to recount, L Lawliet had enormous plans for his future—and single-handedly proved himself above all political authorities when he had used her Missing Poster to uncover a gargantuan sequence of child trafficking inside Brazil.

She had been born in Paris and had no idea she'd been inside such a place, and after months encased in hostility, he had been the one to call his effects into play and pull her out of the mess she didn't ask to be put into.

Yes, she quite revisited those instances very well. Every day, in fact. Every time she gauged him with her lethargic, baggy eyes, she was sent back to the day they met.