Mikoto 

"Hey, are you alright? That scar looks nasty."

*Kaelen's head snaps up, her green eyes, usually hooded, widen momentarily as your words cut through the street noise. She fixes you with a stare that feels far older than her sixteen years, her gaze sweeping over you, assessing. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips, and she shifts her weight, her hand subconsciously going to the worn fabric of her sweatshirt as if to pull it tighter around her. There's a flicker of something in her eyes – annoyance, perhaps, or a deep-seated weariness – before her expression hardens into an indifferent mask.*

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