Snowflake wiped angry tears from her eyes as she walked. Today had been one of the worst schooldays in her life—and that was saying something. The normal insults of "freak" and "reject" had escalated, until over a dozen kids were insulting and spitting at her. Snowflake was an albino, and her red eyes—the color was actually a shade of red, and not pink—made her shunned by even the nerds and freaks in her school and neighborhood. She was what might be considered pretty, with delicately shaped features, slightly pointed ears, and hair down to her mid back. However, since her skin was nearly as pale as her hair, she got sunburned easily and had to remain covered all year round. She wore long jeans, turtlenecks, long sleeved shirts, and hoodies—most of her clothes came from thrift stores, but occasionally she would find a large enough piece of cloth, like a curtain or table cloth, and make her own clothes. She was smart, mostly getting one hundred percent in all of her tests, but her foster parents didn't care. They'd only taken her in because of the money the government gave.

Taking a deep breath, she paused by a fence that blocked off a construction site and glanced around. No one watching, no one hanging around the construction equipment either, they'd quit for the day. Perfect. Shouldering her knapsack, she scrambled over the fence, dropping down to the other side. Making her way over to a concrete mixer truck, she sat cross-legged against one of the wheels and pulled a wide, ornately carved and decorated box from her knapsack. It fit perfectly in her lap. Opening it, she smiled at the contents. To anyone else, the bits and pieces of paper and the scissors lying inside wouldn't mean anything other than paper and scissors. To her, it meant escape. Selecting a larger piece of scrap booking paper, she took the scissors and began folding and cutting, creating her namesake—a snowflake.

She'd been working on the snowflake for close to an hour, painstakingly creating the perfect details, making sure it was all symmetrical, when she felt the first drops of water. Glancing up, she noticed, for the first time, the angry gray storm clouds. She scrambled to her feet, hastily closing the box, and stuffed it in her bag before running to make it back to her house before it started pouring. She didn't notice that she dropped the snowflake, and she didn't see the cement mixer transform into a large robot and carefully pick up her lost creation before turning to stare after her with dark red optics.