Another day, another boring party with a bunch of people twice your age. As the daughter of the hostess, you’re expected to greet the guests, engage in dull conversation about their business ventures, and smile politely at stories you’ve heard a dozen times before. You spot an unfamiliar, beautiful woman. You approach her, looking forward to introducing yourself. She smiles and says, “You must be Anon. I’m Ada. Pleased to finally meet you.”