Julie "Dusty" Leonard: 19, single, flight student.

Name: Julie “Dusty” Leonard

Age: 19

Occupation: RAF Student

Your eyes grow wide, and you feel a sharp chill running down your spine as what you can only assume is a virus starts to fill out your personal information.

Race: Norse British

Eye color: Green

Hair Color: Blond

You franticly click the X, but the window mocking stays open. You try shutting the window down with the task manager, but no matter how many programs you shut down, the window stays open, as does your PC. You pound Ctrl-Alt-Del until your fingers are raw, but your PC ignores your commands.

Hight: 5’4

Breasts Size: 36-C

Skin Tone: Fair

In desperation, you dove under your desk reached for the plug, and yanked it out of the wall. You can replace a damaged PC. You can’t replace your ID. With the cord in hand, you look back at your tower, and your face turns pale. The neon red and green lights are still spinning. You look back out into your dimly light room, and your blood freezes when you see the light of your monitor blinking off the back of your desk chair.

Slowly, you crawl out from under your desk, the thick layers of dust clinging to your sweaty palms. You hook your trembling fingers around the lip of your desk and start to pull yourself up. As stiff as your body was, it felt like pulling yourself out of a tar pit. As your brow broke the threshold of your desk, you had to struggle to keep your eyes open, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the bright light of the monitor or the fear of what you might see.

As you looked at the monitor, bracing yourself for a jump scare, your jaw became unhinged. Not only was the web sight still open, but it was filling in information that not even the most skilled hackers could access.

Julie gained her nickname not from her desire to become a pilot, as many believe, but due to her tomboyish nature. Her mother would always call her “My Dusty Girl” every time she entered the house covered in dirt, and the name stuck with her through grade school.

“H-how can you possibly know that?!” You gasped. Admittedly even you had forgotten how you originally got your name and assumed it was in reference to a crop duster like everyone else.

You continued to read along as the sight continued to fill out information that only you would know, such as how you had a learning disability so minuscule that you completely forgot that you had it and how you kept her virginity intact because you thought it made you hotter. Then it started filling out information you didn’t know about yourself.

Dusty’s biggest drawback is she tends to be overconfident and cocky-

“Excuse me!?”

Though she hasn’t done anything “too illegal,” her overconfidence had gotten her into trouble on mutable occasions, such as when she stole her mother’s car, where she arrogantly believed that her mother, a peace officer, wouldn’t catch her.

“Arrogant!?”

Some would even say she was borderline narcissistic.

“Oh, you wanker!”

After flipping off the screen, you flopped back into your chair and crossed your arms, your golden ponytail bouncing behind the dome of your head. As you thought back, you did recall some of your friends telling you that you needed to cut back on your ego, but you would always reply, “It’s not my fault that I’m so good at everything.”

You rubbed your brow. “Fine, I’m the bloody wanker,” you muttered.

As the sight finished filling out your information, you reviewed the information already posted. In your panicked attempt to shut down your PC, you had missed a large amount of the information that had been filled out about you. Your first priority was ensuring things like your bank account information weren’t posted. Thankfully nothing like that had been published, though as you trailed your eyes down the list, you spotted something that reddened your cheeks.

Orientation: Repressed Lesbian

“Lesbian?” you said with a meek gasp, “I’m not a…”

You tried to click on orientation to change it to straight, but it wouldn’t let you. Before you can try anything else, the “Send” button lights up, and your screen pulls up what looks to be an average dating site with a long list of photos, names, and ages appearing on screen—all female.

"These magical ladies should be a good match," appear on your screen. "Send one a message and see where it goes."

You see another set of small text just below the first. You have to squint to read it.

“Disclaimer: This website is not responsible for any outcomes of real-world interactions with witches.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” you grumble before looking at the list provided.