She was short, had sandy blond hair that hung by her waist, and could have been seen doing strange things to people on a Tuesday morning stroll. Not obscure things of course, just simply rude actions. She would sip from some white collar worker's fresh coffee, bit off a piece of some teen's stale bagel, sift through some trash and call it a day. Police reports were often filed, but each case became more intriguing then last. Especially the thirty-forth one--the short, sandy blond had disappeared.
Even the people that she worked with daily found that she used to have a quirky way of going about things. On Wednesdays, everything must have a relation to incense, peanut butter, and/or cheese; rock music day was always Sunday and on every other day in between she required a beret except for Fridays. That was cosplay day.
There were also the rules--the list of nonsense that everyone was required to abide by. The sheer number of rules were rumored to be over one-thousand, and interesting part about it was the fact that none of them were written down.
Sandy, blonde Alice. Quirky, strange Alice. Rule-abiding Alice. Vibrant, dead Alice.