Life: Your real parents went south of the border and abandoned you to complete strangers when you were only one. They told your new parents that they didn't want any attachments, because they were going to go "live free or die." Whatever happened to them, you have no idea - though odd whispers of their having been a Hollywood couple come up now and again - and those kindly strangers became more of a family to you than those two potheads had ever been.

But your new family had some interesting ideas on child rearing... to put it mildly. They were brother and sister, living in a mutually abusive, incestuous relationship. They were also cannibals, surviving on roadkill, scrounged vegetation, the occasional lost motorist and - when times were really tight - their own children. In fact, they often told you that the only reason they didn't toss your ass right into the pot when they brought you home was because mother thought you had cute dimples.

Life in a shotgun shack, way out in the desert, was pretty tough, and not just because of the environment. Your new brothers and sisters were congenital idiots who were either trying to screw, maim or kill one another, and you, as something of an outsider, were always the preferred victim. Your parents did nothing to stop this; They went so far as to encourage it.

By the time you were approaching puberty, father was starting to take a notice in how you were developing. Your mother didn't take kindly to this development, and decided that your dimples' cuteness had run out. She held you down and poured boiling cooking oil down the front of your dress, scarring you from your neck to your thighs.

After that, dad didn't want a piece of you anymore. Everyone else sure did, though, and you were in no shape to play "Hide and Seek" just then. You died screaming, and fed the family for three nights straight.

Death: By all rights, you should have come over as a Spectre. That's what the kindly-voiced reapers who found you wandering, still in your Caul, out in the desert, said. They kept saying it over and over again, too, as though it might ward off your sudden conversion into a Doomshade. But between the shock of being eaten alive, and waking up here with a strange voice whispering in your head, you weren't in much shape to do more than be led back to civilization.

Once you reached the nearest Necropolis - Mexico City - the kindly reapers were replaced by soot-stained, unfriendly men. You were still a child to their eyes, and by Imperial edict, there was only one thing to do with child Wraiths: soulforge them before they fell to Oblivion. Unfortunately for them, they had no idea how vicious you could be when cornered, or how quick to escape. You spontaneously Moliated yourself into something sharp and nightmarish, seriously wounding several Legionnaires in your headlong flight out of the forges.

After that, you lived on the streets of the city for over a year. You'd drag unsuspecting strangers into dark alleys to "play," and then try to kill and eat them, not realizing that you didn't need to do that anymore. The Cabal found you while chewing up a Wraith three times your size, and recognized in your eyes something very useful to them. And then the nice strangers showed you a room full of wonderful toys, and promised you all the food you wanted if you'd just do a few things for them... what else could a little girl want?

Flaws: (Most likely has the 'Uneducated' Flaw)