Don't Mess with Fire, You'll Get Burned
Alyssandra was never a quiet girl. Even when she arrived at the orphanage in the town of Carentan. Screaming and wailing on the porch in a basket almost too small to contain her, her legs kicking fussily, her arms flailing madly. A bright light flooded over the baby, of only the age of eight months, causing her to cease suddenly. A frail, mousy woman picked her up before glancing around to see if she could possibly find who had left the girl. It could have possibly been a mistake for she was a pretty babe, but in the back of Marcelle's mind she knew too well.
As Alyssandra grew older, other children came and went. She was now at the age of sixteen and knew full well that the chances of her being adopted had swindled away. She was particularly special, and she had quite the fowl mouth. Other children and teens teased the fiery red whose face was littered with freckles. "Her parents came all the way to France to leave her how sad." They would say, knowing that she more than likely belonged to an Irish or Scottish set of parents. "She's a demon child you know? That's what sister Michelle says." She often heard them whisper. Still she walked through the halls of the orphanage and paid them no mind. She liked being the talk of the place, it made her feel wanted in some twisted way.
The poor girl never received the kind of love she ought to have had, but then again it wouldn't have made her the person she was today. Some kind of person that was… She wasn't gangly as she had been she was twelve, only four years before. She had grown into her limbs and was actually beautiful in a severe sense. She was now taller than the average female at a height of 5'6", her hair reaching down to the middle of her back. The intensity of her red hair contrasted greatly against her pale green eyes. She often wondered if they would have been a brighter, shiny green if she had grown up with her parents, but she doubted it.
Her freckles still appeared bright as day against her pallid complexion, and often in her bored hours alone she would play connect-the-dots on her face with paint. That is when she wasn't acting out by creating a frenzy throughout the orphanage. She would stir up a commotion to cure her boredom, and whenever there was mischief afoot the sisters already knew who it was without a doubt.
This was simply how she was before the war, and before the Germans had ever come to the town of Carentan and sent the sisters and children away. Before she had escaped quietly as they marched in, before she watched them intently. This was all before what she witnessed nestled into her heart, into her brain, and into her soul. This was before her simple, easy going life was strife with war, and her fiery personality erupted into a blazing wildfire.
She is now eighteen, running supplies back and forth for German officers. From one building to another she quickly moves. It is this, or simply die. Alyssandra was not one to just sit and follow orders, but she was also not one to act out of rash stupidity and get herself killed. No, she just idly waited and planned her escape as the Germans hustled about the town preparing for some kind of attack. Whispers of crazed Americans bounded from every corner, and had she believed it, she probably would not have had the fortunate life that was bound to come her way….