[THIS IS NOT MY REAL NAME, JUST A GENERATED NAME]

She has a slim build, with pitch-black, short (almost boyish) hair, and round glasses. She has a bronzed complexion with a small yet noticeable beauty mark on her nose. Her brown eyes were soft and expressive. She had acne scars over her cheeks. A particularly interesting trait of hers was that her hands and feet were almost chalk white compared to the rest of her complexion, something which always fascinated her.

She was a rather shy and reserved girl, yet under that meek exterior lay a heart that yearned for friendship and genuine connection. Making friends was easy for her, once she had the confidence, that is. She loved to journal her thoughts and read complex classical literature, like Kafka, Plath, Virginia Woolf, just out of pure interest, which was deemed remarkably bright of her, considering her age. Her parents never once questioned her love for books, stationary and even food (which she was particularly fond of, to the extent that it might even demote her favourite author). She was perhaps a little too empathetic and emotional, and as a result, got hurt more often by people she percieved as friends, or simply just gave up after meeting with an obbstacle while pursuing her goal.

[I would like my character to be Indian in nationality, even though she moved to England.]

When she was 2, she moved from India to England due to her dad's work. She visited her grandparents twice a year. Her mom was a housewife, and her dad was an engineer. Nothing extraordinary, just a normal muggle family with a not-so-normal daughter who genuinely believed she did not fit anywhere, as she grew up. But that did not really stop her from enjoying her life, in fact, it even gave her some motivation. To be free, happy, alive, and warm...

When she moved to England and her new school, surprisingly, she found everyone adored her. Everyone except one teacher, Ms. Harrows. She didn't know why, but she tried every way to impress her: Maintaining excellent grades, volunteering, even bringing her lunch from her own home. Yet Ms. Harrows didn't budge, and picked on her constantly. One day, the 5 year old was engulfed in a fit of quiet blind rage, and squeezed her eyes shut to prevent herself from crying when Ms Harrows insulted her yet again. Then, she heard a shriek. Opening her eyes, she found that Ms Harrows was running around, bald, being chased by her own wig.