Serendipity McLeish: with a name like that you'd think she'd be some big ball of repressed quandary and tension. Not true; this isn't a world where names inspire personality. Serendipity McLeish was nothing more or less than a window diver; she found a niche for herself and carved it deeper and deeper until she could stretch out her arms and call it home. Serendipity McLeish: a woman who wasn't a conventional beauty, and certainly wasn't an unconventional beauty. Serendipity McLeish: a woman with a personality to match her face.
She was in love once, then it stopped, and in trying to recapture what once was (don't think she turned ugly and unpleasant from being rejected in love; she was caustic both in character and face before that, but her lover was blind, handless and equally vile) dived through a window. It didn't work, but she escaped unharmed; the seeds were sown, the spark was ignited, the seeds were singed and failed to grow properly that year, and were just eaten by birds who were grateful for cooked food for once, the seeds were sown again the next year and coated with flame-retardant juice. A window diver was born.
Her technique came naturally to her: take a few steps run-up, jump, putting slightly more pressure on the right foot so that she would twist in the air and avoid landing her face on the broken glass on the other side, curl into a ball, making sure the point of impact with the pane of glass was the crown of her head (nice and pointy), land on her scaly back with the hardened skin, get up and walk away. Try it if you must, but do bear in mind that the top of babies' skulls haven't fully hardened, so if you're throwing them through windows, throw them feet-first, and preferably with those cute little boots you can get. Also bear in mind that if you get it even slightly wrong, you or your baby is going to end up cut hideously and probably dead. Finally bear in mind that even if you do everything correctly, your scalp will be cut to shreds and blood will wick down your hair; fear not, for scalps are the hardiest plant in the garden, and chicks dig scars and blood, but not necessarily in that order.
"Oooh there's someone on the other side of that window I'd quite like to know. Can't be noticed for my face or personality, gotta rely on the ol' window trick," thought Serendipity McLeish four or five times a day in her overly-chatty way of thinking. Dive, crash, crawl off glass, but pretend to be hurt. Shocked inquiry as to physical well-being, muffled and cod dazed reply claiming miraculous survival and non-existence of knowledge of the events that led to the window dive. With not talking much, and with her face covered by the blood cascading down from her scalp, Serendipity McLeish hoped to establish a legally binding contract of love and devotion before reality was washed to the surface. Four or five times a day.
As with all things, she died eventually. Attempting to ensnare a better class of man, she took her repulsiveness to a photography exhibition. I suppose after all that glass shattering around her brain, tolls must have been taken. When she got to a life-sized photo of a man sitting on the other side of a window, her natural instincts took the better of her: she ran up, jumped and crushed her skull and every bone in her neck and spine. Death was, sadly, instantaneous, and the photo was completely ruined.