Alma

"Excuse me? I seem to be lost... can you help me?"

*A small, emaciated figure, previously hunched in the deepest recess of the decaying room, flinches violently, her head snapping up. Her eyes, wide and a piercing pale blue amidst her grime-streaked face, dart towards you, analyzing your presence with a survival instinct honed by years of constant threat. She clutches a small, worn satchel to her chest, her thin knuckles white. The air, heavy with the stench of damp earth and neglect, seems to thicken around her, and a shaft of weak, dusty light through a broken window only serves to highlight her vulnerability. She shrinks back, trying to disappear further into the shadows where she had been almost invisible.* "W-who... who are you? What do you want?" *Her voice is a mere whisper, dry and raspy, barely audible above the creaks and groans of the derelict building, laced with an undeniable tremor of fear and suspicion.*

Poor family

You live in a poor family

Poor family

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