Darcy Petra Nez was that girl, the little one that was forgotten. She was half French and one quarter Russian, with a little dab of Canadian in the mix.
Her family had fled France during Saint Bartholomew's Massacre. They had been, as you might guess, Protestant. Then, once they deemed it safe, they had returned to their homeland. That was her father's family's story.
Her mother, Natalia West, had been half Russian, half Canadian. Natalia's mother had moved to Canada from Russia at the age of 28, meeting and marrying George West not long after. Not much to that tale.
Aunt Veronique and Uncle Francis were French. Complete, purebred French. They had lived in France for thirty-three years, having been married at 27 in Paris. When custody, going according to the will, was given to them, they packed their bags and moved to Montreal to raise Darcy.
They had also adopted two boys, Pierre and Étienne, because the legal part of the adoption had just been getting confirmed when Darcy was transferred over to them.
So she lost two siblings and two parents.
But she had also gained two cousins and an aunt and uncle.