[The child who wanders in is in a slightly tattered jean jacket, backpack hooked firmly around her small shoulders. She's no more than eleven, twelve, but the way her eyes scan the area is trained — she did receive the letter. She did, and she wasn't sure it was a trap, but... if she hadn't come to see what it was truly about, she knew she'd regret it. Her father had been a source of pain for her, a source of mourning, so any chance of hanging onto a shred of what remained of him was worth the risk.
The others said they'd hang back close, and if they heard anything, they'd come charging in after her. It's a relief to know that she has her friends at her side, if anything.
Seeing the figure in the very back, she zeroes in on it being the table they'd told her to go to.
And so she does, slightly damp from the faint rainfall outside.]
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The others said they'd hang back close, and if they heard anything, they'd come charging in after her. It's a relief to know that she has her friends at her side, if anything.
Seeing the figure in the very back, she zeroes in on it being the table they'd told her to go to.
And so she does, slightly damp from the faint rainfall outside.]