When Diana took her first breath, they thought it was a miracle.
Her mother, Anya, had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer mere weeks after she was conceived. Her father, Bruno, was honestly surprised that his actual wife had born his child and not one of his mistresses. Regardless, it was a miracle, at least to them.
Against all odds, Diana grew to be a healthy child, at least physically. Not the most athletic or strongest, by any means, but no major health problems. However, her parents' constant squabbling, which eventually grew into full-on abuse by her father, had her constantly retreating into her shell. When Bruno was finally put in prison for domestic abuse when Diana was seven, the damage was already done.
Anya tried. Bless her, she tried. She dragged Diana, kicking and screaming, to parties and play-dates and sleepovers and school plays and fundraisers. But it all failed. Diana either just locked down, looking at her shoes and refusing to talk to other kids, or she just... broke, running away into the smallest, safest space she could find, and only a half-hour of coaxing from Anya could get Diana out of there.
When she was twelve, Diana had barely made any progress. She could attend school without completely breaking down, but, despite her immense intelligence that developed in place of her social skills, she froze up whenever a teacher called on her, or whenever somebody talked to her. Because she wouldn't fight back, the kids began bullying her. First, it was relatively normal for children. Called names, rumors, whispers. Then being shoved into her locker. Then into her locker. It all came to a head when her classmates brutally began kicking her in the courtyard, nearly killing her and hospitalizing her for a month.
And then she made a friend. His name was Owen.
Owen introduced Diana to fantastical worlds beyond her wildest dreams. Monsters and angels and spells on the backs of cards. Fantastic adventures contained within the pages of books. Wonderful friends and sweeping stories behind the TV. And slowly, ever so slowly, Diana emerged out of her shell. She talked. She waved. She smiled.
In the space of two years, Owen had done what an entire life of therapy couldn't accomplish. Diana was whole. By no means was she an extrovert. She was still a shrinking violet. But she had friends. She could make terrible, terrible puns. She went to HEMA, in a desire to learn more about cool techniques her characters could do than anything else. And she could play games.
Oh, yes, so many games. Card games, roleplaying games, videogames, board games. She loved them with all of her heart. When something bad happened, all she had to do was grab a few friends and dice, or go to the local shop and duel, or hammer on the controller. She even created her own.
And then Owen left.
Diana was devastated. He was her best friend. The person who made her whole. And he was just gone one day. No note, no letter, nothing.
She sunk into a deep depression.
She nearly killed herself.
Then something happened. A friend, she doesn't remember who. Crying. A hug.
Diana was alright again.
She got a full ride into HIT, for a degree in game design. And now she's living the life. Learning how to make games. Having friends, a roommate she can bond with.
