The city of Westdale, Colorado, situated a good 150 miles north of the foothills of the Rocky Mountains running through the center of the state, was a decently large city as far as cities go. It wasn't as busy of a city as, say, Chicago or anything, but the inhabitants still managed to keep themselves preoccupied at all hours of the day, from the nine-to-five jobs straight down to the various nightclubs strewn throughout Westdale that always buzzed with activity whenever the sun went down. To put it shortly, there was always something to do in Westdale, and no one ever seemed to get bored. Well, almost no one, at the very least.
At the corner of Eaton Avenue and Stone Boulevard, there lay the Westdale Central Orphanage. It was a fairly nice building, overseen by possibly the kindest caretaker one could ask for: Mrs. Margaret Millers. She was a sweet lady in her mid-50s, constantly looking after the children that resided in the large house. She kept them well-fed, she took them to doctors whenever circumstances required it, and she always made sure to give each of the children the love they deserved. Despite all this, though, there was still one thing she could never provide for the orphans: a home, a family. Oh, how a family would be nice! Even with all this care Mrs. Millers supplied to them, they all yearned for someone, one day, to claim them as their own. The orphanage has seen many children come and go in its time, but this story will follow just one of them. The question is, though, whom will it follow?