Being bounced from foster home to foster home her entire life, there were some things that Althea had just never been taught. Like how to tie her shoelaces. Or how to swim.

As she fell deeper and deeper into a river somewhere in Denmark, she wished that someone had taught her to do all of that things. And that she hadn't stolen that vodka.

Still, at least she'd die as she lived. Alone. Being alone was good. Althea learned at a very young age that you have to hurt others before they hurt you. She'd been hurt enough times. She wouldn't let any other person hurt her.

Althea found it almost poetic that the only thing that could kill her was the ocean. She always loved the ocean.

She wondered how long it would take for them to find her. She guessed it would take even longer for them to identify her.

She wasn't all that distinctive. Mousy brown hair, pale skin, blue eyes. Features like these meant nothing. Maybe to a few people. Two, to be exact. Valeria Garcia and Kaia Larsen.

Valeria would wonder why Althea didn't call back. She wouldn't know where to find her. Brunette girls go missing in Europe all of the time. She'd just join a statistic until some unfortunate soul found her washed up on shore.

Kaia was studying somewhere in Norway. Althea never asked which school or what her major was. They'd planned to meet up one day. No solid plans, no date, just a general idea that they would do it one day.

Althea Holt would become a Jane Doe. Some anonymous drowned girl. She wondered what her gravestone would look like. No "Althea Hope Holt". No date of birth, no ID, no bullshit engraved sayings about how she'd be missed.

At the bottom of a river, she couldn't remember the name of, Althea Hope Holt stopped being Althea Hope Holt. Instead, she was a grey-blue corpse. A Jane Doe. Eternally unknown.