Once upon a time in the kingdom of Lysara, Alyndra was crouched under a table in the bustling marketplace, trying to stuff a pilfered apple into her bag.
Her white hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her purple eyes darted about to make sure the vendor hadn't spotted her.
She wasn't stealing because she needed to—no, Alyndra was just bored, and causing minor chaos was her preferred form of entertainment.
"You know," said her best friend Marlowe, leaning casually against a nearby stall, "most people your age are out there trying to make something of themselves, not robbing fruit vendors."
"Most people my age don't have a stepmother who insists I spend my days embroidering tea cozies," Alyndra retorted, finally shoving the apple into her bag. "Besides, it's not stealing if they don't catch me."
As if on cue, the vendor—a burly man with a voice like a foghorn—spotted her. "Hey! You! White-haired gremlin! Stop right there!"