A small, partial backstory which will make sense to those of you who have read my book.

Light, scorching into the house from the police helicopter floodlight, burned the retina and made the girl blink and screw up her eyes, attempting to block out the unpleasant coloured blotches now floating in the middle distance of her vision. She was 17, thin and bony, with long black hair that would be beautiful with more care given it.
She squinted at the figure in the doorway. A man. She wriggled backwards, hoping he hadn’t noticed her.
‘Ellie?’
Her head snapped up to look at him. How did he know her name? He came toward her slowly.
‘Ellie. I know what happened here. You don’t have to worry. I’m here to make sure you’re ok.’
‘I..’ she tried to speak, but the barest of sounds escaped.
He crouched down in front of her, his face shadowed by the brightness of the light behind him. She could see he was dark-haired, with chiselled features.
‘You don’t have to say anything. Just relax. I’ll take care of you.’
His voice was quiet and low, and she felt herself slowly beginning to calm.
He reached to the back of her head, soothing and stroking gently. And then he applied pressure to the two nerve clusters either side of the nape of her neck. She collapsed with a tiny sigh. He picked her up, like a ragdoll lying in his arms, her hair falling across her face. He strode back to the helicopter. It wasn’t the police as she had thought.
A woman came to meet him, a strange woman with an ice-white streak of hair that shone up in the floodlight. ‘Well?’
‘She took out two fully-grown men,’ said the man with a peculiar smile. ‘She’ll do.’
And that is how Daria Smith was born.

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