A girl, probably a couple of years older than us, gets out of the car. She’s fairly beautiful, but nothing like Mila. She’s got pink hair, styled just above her shoulders. She’s got fair skin, and she’s not skinny like the others. She actually really looks like a warrior.
She’s wearing sunglasses, black leather pants, a white crop top, and black and white sneakers. She smells like jasmine and vanilla. She’s also really fast. Her gift is probably enhanced speed, because she takes half a second to reach the porch.
“Hi, I’m Diana. Is Mila around?” she asks, looking at the house behind us.
“And you are?” I ask her.
I know all of Mila’s relatives, which are not that many, so I know she’s not family. Is she a guardian too?
“I’m Diana. I was told I would meet her here”, she answers.
She wa
