Background

"Nothing can dim the light which shines from within." -Maya Angelou Molly's story begins in the winter of 1989, amidst the cultural marvel that is the French Quarter in New Orleans. Looking back at "The Before", what very little she knew of her parents was secondhand at best- Their names were lost to her, nor would she be able to pick out their faces in a crowd. And despite the sweet white lies she would hear about their loss, the grief they must endure, and their courage to admit defeat and give her away, their stories never clouded her mind or demeanor. Whatever burdens they felt they couldn't bear didn't concern her, she was happily raised and educated by the same woman who had plucked her up off the doorstep she'd found her on. This woman was only known by Mama Fontenot, by both Molly and the rest of the neighborhood of Ninth Ward alike. She was affluent, and she was both a philanthropic and spiritual pillar of the community. Those who feared her called her a witch doctor, and those who respected her called her Mambo. But she took Molly in, and raised her as her own. First things first, she gave her daughter the name Aimée-Marie Hestia Fontenot, and pulled the strings necessary to fast-track her on the approval for cochlear implants. Over the course of her childhood she learned a great many things. The power of True Names, the Loa, navigating and deal-making with the other side, or The Ginen. How to use Gris-Gris, the real meaning of the 'Evil Eye'... and Molly was a very studious child and apprentice. There was a grounded side to her home-schooling as well, and Mama Fontenot was well aware she wasnt omniscient; She took great pride in teaching the girl everything she knew, and she hired tutors to teach her what she didn't- sign language and lip reading. She ended up a more educated child than any public school could dream of achieving, learning French from her mother, and rivaling a college reading level all before ten years old. Between Mama Fontenot and her tutors, Aimée-Marie didn't go a day without either Piano or French courses, on top of History- the cultural arts were skewed more favorably than the typical STEM classes, but she had little to nothing to want for, and an open schedule. The true difficulties came with trying to mix and mash certain things- it was unbelievably hard to lip-read French, for instance, no matter how good she'd gotten with the written form of the language. And piano classes relied heavily on a fresh set of batteries, or else she couldn't avoid the urge to make Beethoven jokes all session... Much to the strained patience of her instructor. Then "The After" struck. Her mother was very distrustful of the daisies- normally a sign of purity, innocence. But this was different somehow, twisted. And it was that intuition that would save her and Molly, as well as a good number of the neighborhood at large, from that initial downpour of pollinated calamity. Those that survived that first year in the Ninth Ward did so for almost six years- condensed down to a fraction of their former friends and families managing to stay hidden but safe amongst the dying city they lived in. That is until the hurricane swept their home out from underneath them. With no warning, the enclave was devastated, and only a fraction of the survivors lived to escape- Molly was one of them. Mama Fontenot was not. The survivors spent a brief stint as refugees until striking a vein of pure luck. A derelict Coast Guard cutter had been left on the Mississippi river, and became their new home after a few of the more mechanic-savvy amongst them brought it back to life. And the refugees turned into nomads, plotting up the river, finding settlements and holdouts and danger alike. At some point during the next four years, two very notable events turned Molly's story- the rumor began to circulate around the boat that Pittsburgh held a sanctuary city, and thus, they turned for the Ohio River. The other was Molly's luck had gradually took a turn for the worse. She'd been keen enough to scrounge up batteries for her implants more or less every landfall they made. But one after another harrowing near-misses on scavenging runs would eventually leave her without either of her external hearing aids. The world fell into quiet again for Molly, after most of her life with those devices. She was mostly used to it anyway, obviously- but the crew came to be very accustomed to her being a more contributing, and listening, member of the crew. It didn't take long after that for them to become resentful, sinister and downright monstrous. Sentiments amongst them that had been brewing since before the hurricane, but kept hidden away out of respect for the girls mother, and then somewhat forgiven for her usefulness. But it was only halfway up the Ohio River that the fateful whisper of Molly's new nickname amongst the crew, was uttered in soulless context before the next scav run. 'Coup le Pwa Mouri.' Molly, ever eager to prove herself, somewhere deep down knew it would happen. No matter how attentive she was, she somehow managed to lose where they'd docked the boat. And when she found it, it was gone. She'd spend almost a week on her own before lucking out and stumbling upon the caravan headed for Knox. She hoped the Cutter Crew would find their way, but her story wasn't with them anymore.