Her eyes scan the dark limousine. Currently 12 years old. Daphne’s heart pounds in her chest. Uncertain, distant, angry, scared, broken and vulnerable. Usually the fierce and brave little girl who had always wanted to be a soldier, a girl who’d rather wear baggy jeans and dirty converses was forced to wear a black dress, a black ribbon stitched around her waist and there held a black flower for her parents’ funeral. Now living with her toxic aunt who was currently the queen of England.