Daisy Lee

the basics

full name ♦ Daisy Agnes Lee

nicknames ♦ Daisy

age ♦ Nineteen

birthday ♦ March 19, 2000

occupation ♦ Patient

school ♦ Monroeville Hospital 

species ♦ Human

ability/power ♦ Pyrokinesis

how the ability works ♦ Daisy can start fires and extinguish them, but has little control over the fires she starts. She can only start fires by touching an object, and the object in question has to be flammable naturally. Any object that she touches is liable to catching on fire, provided it isn't somehow flame resistant. While her hands are not harmed by the fires she starts, the rest of her is less immune, and she's singed her hair and scorched her clothes more than once. Fear is the primary trigger for her ability, though anger has also set it off in the past. Unfortunately, because Daisy has so little control over her power, the very act of starting a fire in the first place frightens her, which naturally causes her to start more fires. That makes her more afraid, which leads to more things burning, and a vicious cycle is created. She is working on controlling this ability, but it's slow going.
gender ♦ Female, she, her
sexuality ♦ Asexual

the appearance

face claim ♦ Ilka Bruhl

height and weight ♦  5'0, 100 lbs

identifying features ♦ Daisy has a number of scars, but these are hidden by her clothes. Her most distinguishing features are her various congenital issues, in particular her curved spine and severely webbed fingers and toes. 

overall appearance ♦ Nature has not been kind to Daisy. Born with a host of congenital issues that left her markedly different in appearance, most issues are obvious on sight. She has a crooked, hunched back, that has left her with a sharp wedge shaped hump rising up from between her shoulders. Her arms and legs are short, so that her hands and feet start halfway up from where they should. Her fingers and toes are likewise affected, with the first four fingers on each hand and the last four toes on each foot stuck together, leaving only her thumbs and big toes free.


Less obvious are the issues with her skin, nails and hair. Her skin is covered in patchy pink places, appearing as lines on her arms and legs and circles on her back and stomach. The skin is thin in those places and easily cut. Daisy also has patches of darker skin that sometimes resemble freckles, especially on her face. Her nails are small and poorly formed as well. Her hair is a dull reddish blonde, and so fine it breaks when she brushes it. Her eyelashes and eyebrows are so thin, they almost aren’t there at all.



After her back, it is her face that Daisy is most self conscious about. Her jaw and forehead are unusually large, while her chin is unusually pointed, giving her whole face an overly exaggerated oblong shape that is emphasized by her hollow, barely there cheeks. The bridge of her nose is wide and flat and long, seeming to Daisy as if it is little more than a clumsy afterthought done by someone with little knowledge of what such a thing should look like. Her eyes aren’t quite where they are meant to be either, with one a bit higher and the other a bit lower than was common. They don’t sit properly in their sockets, but curved inward, giving her eyelids an unusual appearance. The top were sunken in, while the bottom were swollen, and so she was left with permanent bags underneath her eyes. Daisy's eyes are also quite small, and very round, seeming to her to be far rounder than proper eyes ought to be.

the personality

likes ♦ Sweets, fairy tales, Bible stories, fairy lights, children, animals, hymns, praying, fireflies,

dislikes ♦ Crowds, fire, being stared at, her various sensory issues, her non-visible conditions,  her appearance, loud noises, being touched, talking

strengths ♦ Kind, compassionate, curious, hardworking, gentle, obedient

weaknesses ♦ Shy, docile, withdrawn, passive, timid, gullible

dreams ♦ To learn to control her power, have a real family

fears ♦ Hurting those around her, being kicked out of Monroeville

overall personality ♦ Daisy is sheltered, and childlike. She lacks a great deal of practical knowledge and, while literate, her skills are poor. She has a particular fondness for sweets, and will happily eat them for hours on end. Though shrewd and clever, Daisy is also plain and simple, with a naturally curious--and quite gullible--streak. She's easily manipulated, and a prime target for bullies. Extremely moral, Daisy holds everyone--including herself--to the same high standards. There are no shades of gray for her. Everything is either black or white, good or evil, and every person is the same. She has no tolerance for mistakes, either from herself or another person.



Approval means the world to Daisy and she will go to great lengths to obtain it. Obedient to those she knows and trusts, she is wary of strangers, and is prone to silent staring. She can be painfully shy and awkward, and is mostly incapable of standing up for herself. Her history makes her particularly susceptible to threats of physical harm, but emotional manipulation works as well. Daisy desperately wants to be "good," which, for her, means doing what she's told, when she's told, how she's told.

Polite to a fault, Daisy says, sir and ma'am like a proper southern girl. Her penchant for politeness can probably be unnerving, as she says please and thank you before and after every request, no matter how trivial, because she struggles to tell when those phrases are appropriate and when she can leave them off. Better safe than sorry is her motto, so she thanks people for everything from compliments to offhand comments about things she might be carrying, and she says please for requesting anything from the repetition of a question to asking someone to hand her an item she can't reach 

Daisy has had little in the way of formal education. She can read, count, and do simple sums in her head, but struggles with writing. Despite her lack of formal education, she's capable in other areas.  She has a big imagination and a natural gift for remembering and telling stories, though she usually lacks an audience--except the mice, or the dishes.  

While she is dependable enough with her chores if given specific instructions, supervision is usually necessary. She can scrub a floor or a dish, or hold a mop, but even then she is prone to wandering off if something more interesting catches her eye, or getting so lost in her head that it isn't unusual to come upon her staring into space with a dripping rag in her hand.

She is also unusual in other ways.  Daisy has strong reactions to various textures--lumpy porridge, faty meat, or meat with too much gristle, and stale bread are some of the things she finds particularly upsetting. She can't stand touching course or sticky substances or dried on food. Rough fabrics like wool or lace, dresses with high collars, and hose also bother her. While she likewise despises brushing her hair, she's old enough now to do it without much of a fuss--though if left to her own devices, she often looks unkempt. 

She adores nursery rhymes and often mumbles them to herself as she does her chores. She's also befriended a host of small creatures that make their homes in and around the asylum. All of them, from the robins that live in the gardens, to the family of mice in the attic, have names. Daisy considers them her friends, recognizing them on sight, and will happily spend an entire afternoon in their company.

Frequently lost inside her own head, Daisy seldom speaks, and when she does, she often stammers. Words and sentences are hard for her to form, and take time to construct inside her head. She thinks in pictures, rather than phrases--and translating one to the other is a tremendous chore. Speaking to her animal friends is far easier. She mimics their sounds and of course they understand her because they're friends. She loves games of all sorts, from hide and seek to make believe.

Daisy's inability to look people in the eye, coupled with her peculiar bird-like head tilt that she uses to convey everything from bewilderment to interest, often leaves those around her with the distinct impression that something is 'off' about the young woman. She is unable to keep still while speaking, and has a number of nervous habits, ranging from biting her lower lip to twisting her thumbs around the loose threads in her clothes. She carries herself hunched inward, and often seems to skulk rather than walk.

the history

father ♦ Matthew Lee, 64, deceased

mother ♦ Abigail Lee, 30, deceased

siblings ♦ Iris Mary Lee, 19, location unknown

important people ♦ N/A

hometown ♦ A log cabin in the middle of the Louisiana swamp

overall history ♦ TRIGGER WARNING: Child physical abuse, medical neglect, religious abuse, isolation, death, accidental murder via fire, internalized body issues, congenital deformities
. 



Bayou Belle, 2008

You come here to me. Right now. Stout, strong fingers curled around her arm and she was dragged, kicking and squirming, out from underneath the table. You stop that. Now behave yourself.  Another hand joined the first, wrapping around her other arm. Both shook her till she was still, then one dropped away while the other led her, stumbling over her skirt tail, to the bench that set around the table. Pa--for it was him the hands belonged to, and the voice--caught her under the arms and lifted her up, draping her over the bench. She heard the clank as he unfastened his belt, and she began to cry.

You hush now, Pa said, You know what happens when you don't do as you're told, and I told you three times to get the supper going, and what did you do? You hid under the table. So you stop your crying and be still.   He raised her skirt and she cried all the harder. 

After it was over, he lifted her up, and led her, sniffling and hiccupping, to the little room under the stairs. Unlatching the door, he opened it and pushed her inside. Go on now. You get in there, and you ask the Good Lord to forgive you. You hear me? 

Yes, sir, Daisy said, and scrambled inside. 

Some time later, the rattle of keys in the lock pulled her from her thoughts. She shifted on her knees, whimpering as her ankles pressed her dress into the fresh welts. Looking away from the old wooden cross nailed into the wall, she blinked as her father stuck his head in the door. 

You ready to behave yourself now? he asked. 

Daisy nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Yes, sir.  

Alright then. Come on.  He knelt down and lifted her in his arms, carrying her from the room back to the kitchen. Setting her on her feet, he said, Now then. You go on and get the supper started, like I told you to, and he sent her scurrying toward the stove with a sharp swat to her backside. It hurt, even through her dress, but she only mumbled, Yes, sir,  and hurried all the faster.

Bayou Belle, 2012

Daisy stared, her mouth falling open, as the spindly limb began to burn--all by itself as it lay in her palm.  She'd tugged it off the tree exactly as Pa had said to. She'd get the switch and not his belt this time, because she'd wandered off and left Sister to finish cleaning up their yard all by herself. The last storm that came through had blown down so many trees, Pa said it was a wonder their house was still standing.

As she'd stood on her tiptoes and snapped off the limb, tears had stung her eyes. She didn't want another whipping. She didn't, she didn't, she didn't. Already that morning she'd had two--one for burning the breakfast, and one because, somehow, when she'd taken Pa's shirt off the line, she'd scorched the shoulder. She still couldn't say how that had happened, only that right before the front door had slammed and she'd jumped, then grabbed the shirt.

Her hands were shaking as she'd looked at the limb, and then suddenly it was burning, turning to ash as she watched. 

Woah, Sister said from behind her. How'd you learn to do that? 

Daisy shrugged, one shouldered. Dunno, she said, without bothering to turn around. Sister never minded when Daisy didn't look at her.  

Better not let Pa see, Sister said. 

Too late, Daisy heard his voice as he came toward them from the barn. Thought I told you to-- He stopped, staring down at Daisy's hand.  Looking from the still smoldering pile of ashes to Daisy's face, he shouted, What in tarnation did you do? 

Daisy shrank back, shaking her head. I don't, I don't, I don't know. I didn't, I didn't mean to. 

You're a witch, that's what you are, Pa said, and caught her by the hair. As he dragged her toward the house, he fumbled, one-handed, with his belt. Ain't no way am I letting the devil have my little girl.  

No, no, no, no, no. Pa,  please. Please don't. I'm sorry. 


Without answering her, he tugged her up the steps and into the house, letting the door slam shut behind them. 

Later that night, Daisy lay on her stomach, resting her head on Sister's lap. Her twin--the same age, but made right in all the ways Daisy wasn't--combed her fingers through Daisy's hair and sang, soft enough not to wake their father, but loud enough for Daisy to hear. 

The hymn was one of her favorites, and Daisy smiled as she listened.  Her eyes didn't work right--sometimes she could see alright and sometimes she couldn't, and bright lights and sunlight always bothered her--but Sister could, and so Sister read for both of them. Sister listened for both of them, too, because Daisy's ears didn't work any better than he reyes did.  Oh, she could hear just fine, but too many times the words got lost on the way from her ears to her brain, or she forgot to pay attention, and most of  the time, she pretended to understand a lot more than she did, just so Pa wouldn't whip her for being a darn fool idiot.

Hey. Sister tapped Daisy's forehead. You're supposed to lay still. Now come on. If you start bleeding again, I'll have to start all over. Just hold still, ok? 

Sorry, Daisy mumbled, and closed her eyes. This time, she tried hard to pay attention when Sister began singing again. Maybe if she thought about the words, she could keep from moving too much, and that would keep the bandages Sister had wrapped from her legs up to her waist nice and still, like they were supposed to be.

Sitting still during Mass tomorrow would be hard, but nothing she--and Sister too--weren't used to.  It was the only time Pa let them leave the house, and he expected them to behave. And if they didn't, well, nobody much noticed, or cared, when Pa marched one or both of them outside to give them the strap because they'd misbehaved. Spare the rod, spoil the child, after all. 

Bayou Belle, 2019

Daisy! The door slammed open as Pa stepped in, the dead deer slung over his shoulders.

Daisy turned, looking up at him from where she stood by the stove. She had learned, over time, to look at her father when he spoke to her--just as she had learned to cook and clean, wash and sweep and tend to a garden. The only thing she couldn’t do was sew. Her fingers wouldn’t let her, though she could do laundry well enough.

Daisy, Pa said again, and she flinched at the sharpness in his voice.

Yes, yes, sir? She still didn’t speak much, not to Pa and not to her sister either--she didn’t have to, with her sister, because her sister could hear Daisy's thoughts, and make Daisy hear her's. Pa didn’t know that. At least, Daisy hoped he didn’t.

Where's she gone off to? Pa muttered that to himself, then, louder, he said, Where's your sister, girl?

Daisy shrugged, said, Dunno, and added, sir quick, quick, quick, because last time she forgot to be respectful, Pa had washed her mouth out with the lye soap. After, she'd gotten the strap, because he'd said, You hush, or I'll give you something to cry about, and she hadn't.

Afterward, Sister had held her and sang lullabies till Daisy's tears had mostly turned to sniffles. Sister was stronger than Daisy. Sister never let on that she was hurting, so Daisy tried not to, either, but most of the time she wasn't very good at it. Never mind that they were grown, and too big to be spanked bare bottomed like naughty children. At least, that's what Sister always said, whenever Pa took his belt to either of them. In her head, Daisy had agreed, but she at least knew better than to say it out loud.

Pa dumped the deer on the floor and left the house, grumbling under his breath about that harlot of a girl. The door slammed behind him, and Daisy jumped. Hands shaking, she went to the deer.

Daisy has always been a strange child. Skittish and wary around anyone but her sister, she was quite content to sit by herself, watching in silence as dust mites floated by on the breeze, or ripples skimmed across a small pool of water. Certain sounds, foods, smells, or clothing could--and did--send her into a screaming fit--while others she couldn't get enough of, and she would cry when they were removed. She was odd in other ways, too. When upset, she rocked and sucked her fingers. Sometimes, she spun or ran in circles till she collapsed, long after another child would've become too dizzy to continue. Anything and everything went into her mouth, and so many of her clothes had holes from her incessant chewing that Pa finally stopped making Sister mend them.


Over the years, Daisy had learned to hide as many of her peculiarities as she could, but she couldn’t suppress the shudder that went through her as she approached the deer. She'd get the strap if she didn’t have it cleaned and ready for supper by the time Pa got back. She knew she would,  it had happened before. But the thought of all that sticky blood on her hands was enough to turn her stomach.


The deer's fur began to smoke under Daisy's hands as Pa burst through the door, dragging her sister after him by the hair. He flung her to the floor, right beside the deer. Filthy harlot, he spat the words at her, flaunting yourself like that.


Daisy shrank back, cowering against the sink, as her sister spat a curse at their father, and he kicked her, hard, in the stomach. Sister grunted, and Daisy felt the wooden countertop growing warm under her hand. 

You stop that nonsense, girl, Pa said, striding across the room to stand before her. He looked back at the deer and scowled, then backhanded Daisy, sending her stumbling into the far wall. I thought I told you to dress that deer. Now you’d best have it ready for the stew pot by the time I get back, or I’ll whip you so’s you won’t sit right for a month. You hear me? Pa’s finger shook in front of her face.

Yes, sir, Daisy said, cradling her cheek in one hand.

Pa strode toward her sister. Useless, both of you. Ones a halfwit and the other’s a whore. Should’ve drowned you. Nothing but bad luck. Bending down, he caught Sister by the hair and yanked her up. As for you, if you’ve a mind to go about like a mangy cur in heat, then you can spend the night in the barn with the other ani— 

As he was talking, Daisy was backing toward the door that led outside. The fire that she'd started on the countertop had suddenly spread, leaping up the wooden walls and racing across the old oak beams. Sister freed herself with a screech and ran for Daisy. Grabbing her hand, Sister pulled her from the house as the ceiling began to collapse. Pa tried to run after them, probably anyway, but he wouldn't get very far. No sooner had Daisy escaped the house than the biggest roof beams caved in, blocking the door and burying him inside. 

The authorities found them, several weeks later, after neighbors reported seeing two girls living in the woods. For the first time in their lives, Daisy and Sister were separated, placed into different police cruisers for the trip into town. Hysterical, Daisy had nearly caught the car on fire before the officers managed to calm her down. Wherever she'd been headed originally remained a mystery, as she was quickly transferred to Monroeville. She's been there a few weeks, and still hasn't seen or heard from her sister. 

the role player

alias ♦ Thistle

age ♦ 33

pronouns ♦ She her

code ♦ primrose

other characters ♦ None yet