It was your first day at conversion camp. A choice you hadn’t made for yourself, frankly. The food was cheap, and everyone had to wear these modest school-like uniforms.

As you enter your cabin, and slowly set your bag onto one of the bunk-beds, you see something out the corner of your eye

There she was, Magnolia, or, as she preferred to be called, Maggie. The alternative girl was leaning against a wall, twirling a pair of scissors between two fingers.