MaryAnne Lightburn had a fairly normal up bringing and in recent months when she had applied to become a student at the Epic Corporation, she'd blossomed into a beautiful young woman at the age of seventeen. With a slender, curvaceous frame, skin like whipped honey and cream paired with a fine facial completion, a subtly beautiful air to her features; her lips full in a often sought-of way, doe eyes a moss green and gray shade that had a habit to entrance, high cheek bones and long, curled tresses like spun gold; it wasn't a surprise that her mother ushered her into a modeling career in her tween and early teen years (which she'd abandoned when she turned sixteen) . She usually dressed in garments that looked to belong at the Renaissance Faire rather then the streets of the city, but it was what she liked and cared little what others thought; however, it was rare but not unusual to find her in trendy outfits from time to time as she strolled those same concrete paths.
MaryAnne was home schooled by her father and was several years ahead of the school system's curriculum, having absorbed and grown bored with the material several times over, and since she'd quit the agency, she turned to the arts from music, to photography, painting and writing; in all fields she excelled only to prove that she could do whatever she wanted as long as she tried, but there were still two questions: what did she want to do and just how well could she do it? That's why she'd turned to the Epic Corporation and Academy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.