When others tell you that you take too many dangerous risks, you simply tell them that stepping out of your house - er, you mean [i]hive[/i] - is a dangerous risk in itself. Which, for you, it could be. You're not on the higher end of the hemospectrum. You're not even in the middle of the hemospectrum. No, you are cursed with disgusting yellow blood. A more saffron color, to be exact. You're a terrible, awful, inferior lowblood. At least, that's what you're told by every higher color. It doesn't make sense to you. You revel in the legends that there was a brief moment when all trolls and humans co-existed harmoniously. You like to think those times could re-ignite. Maybe. Probably not.

The most frequent apparently dangerous risk you take is wandering to the edge of the neighborhood. The neighborhood you live in is adjacent to the easternmost wall of the nearest human container, referred to as The Muck. There aren't very many trolls near the wall, save for a few older ones who are kind in comparison to the average troll. They've never ratted you out before, and you don't suspect they will any time soon.

Although, it isn't just wandering around the edge of the neighborhood. What you do is much more frowned upon, and it could get you fined or punished physically, if not culled altogether. But you don't care, for several reasons. One, you love the rush. Two...

You just love visiting the humans.

There's a small tunnel dug out underneath the wall that allows your small, wiry frame to squeeze to the other side. Even for you, it's a tight squeeze. You don't know if it was an attempt by a human to escape or if a curious animal just formed the hole, but it was enough for you. There's a family that lives not far from the wall. You don't know their surnames, but you know the woman and the girl well. The girl doesn't seem to be much younger than you in human years, maybe by two or three. They both have yellow hair, which is strange to you, but then you remember that your hair is white as opposed to the 99.9% black that other trolls sport. (You're the 0.1% by the way. It's you.)

You've been squeezing under this tunnel to visit this family ever since you were young. Ever since you can remember. They're like your own family, to you. Both of them are very friendly and optimistic despite their circumstances and living situation. You like to share the history you learn with them. For the better half of your life, it was the woman who listened intently to your lore and stories. Lately, it's been the girl.

That's where you're going now. You have a small, colorfully wrapped box with "Lucy" scribbled over the top in chicken-scratch human English writing. It's in your pocket, moving around slightly as you walk down the road that turned to dirt rather than concrete not too long ago.