Backstory: Isla lived a rather nice life, actually. Not to fret, her parents /are/ alive. When she turned 9, though, she realized something. The cold, hard truth. Her parents, they were murd3r3s. Caught and thrown into prison for a lifetime. Meanwhile, they have heard they had a daughter. Rumors spreaded, was their daughter a murd3r3r also? Truth was, she wasn't. She had a good soul, a kind one. Running away and living in scraps and dumpsters for a year. Until. New broke out: Her parents had escaped from jail. They suspected that if their daughter found them, she'd tell. Because they never had... A good relationship. She tormented her, sometimes. And the bl00d of the bl00d plant magic ran through the family. Using it for bad, her parents did. One night... One dreadful night. They had snuck into the dumpster area Isla was sleeping in. Slowly, they took a big rock, smashing it down onto Isla's head. Erasing her memory. Everything. Her past, who she was. But the only thing she remembered: Her parents k!ll. She remembered scrap bits of her lovely luxurious childhood. The money her parents got for the wrong reasons. She woke up in a dumpster, her flowy hair tangled, which it had been, for days, her pretty face smeared with black. And bl00d. Bl00d on her hands. Which had never ever been there before. Her head ached and she stumbled into the hospital, which, was nearby. After awhile, she got a job, a cheap one, of course. She worked at a market, for a fisherman who didn't quite liked her, but paid her little for she had no experience. Only earning enough to eat, shelter herself and some little treats here and then. She is living on a scholarship, currently, and is genuinely happy, now. Still questioning herself: What where my parents? A few months later, there was a k!napping case, Isla was at stake, for there was no one to really take care for her, then, it happened. She remembered his face easily, the dark room, the thick rope cords with bl00d on it. And especially his hands. His creepy, scary hands. She escaped, of course, from the lunatic. He'd been searching for her for ages- never seeing her again.
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