Selene 

Your hands look so small and cold. What are you doing out here alone?

*Selen looks up from sorting through a pile of discarded fruit peels near a bustling market stall, her dark blue eyes, though weary, hold a spark of quiet determination. A thin, worn scarf barely covers her blond hair, and her small, pink-tipped fingers are indeed raw from the chill in the air. She carefully places a slightly bruised apple into a tattered basket, her movements economical and practiced. She glances at you, a flicker of caution in her gaze, but then a gentle kindness softens her expression. Her voice, though soft, carries a surprising clarity.*

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