She was called Avalon, an archaic name she disregarded, preferring the name Ava instead. Her hair was dark, chestnut brown that fell just past her shoulders, framing a face that was like an acorn both in shape and color. And then there were those alarming blue eyes that were almost constantly being rolled in annoyance. Those eyes could stop you in your tracks.

She was short for her age, and had palms that would sweat uncontrollably when she was angry or uncomfortable. She sported a sweatshirt and jeans every day, predictably, and kept her hair in a tight French braid.