Karmen
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This is a very striking young woman, probably in her twenties. She is very petite, barely reaching five feet tall, and she is daintily built in proportion to that. She has the sort of lithe, svelte shape that might be found on a gymnast, or a dancer. Although she is not muscular, she is clearly very toned. And what she lacks in curves, she more than makes up for in grace. Her skin is the pale brown of someone from the northern regions of India. Her features are very striking. Her chin is rather pointed, and her nose perhaps a little larger than might be called fashionable amongst the influencers of the trust-fund rich Americans, but on her it works. Her eyes are very large, and so deeply brown as to be nearly black. Her mouth is endowed with full lips, and overall, she is the sort of woman who people notice when she walks in the room. Large, she is not. But she can capture every eye. Her hair is very thick, and the natural shade is midnight black. However, she wears it in so many different shades, that it might as well be described as a keratin rainbow. She seldom dyes it all, leaving a fair portion the natural night-sky shade that suits her very well. The flood of bright colours on her head accentuates the darkness, rather than detracts from it, and she changes the shades so often as to be almost impossible to predict what might happen next. Her voice is... strange. Yes, there is definitely more than a hint of the melodious Indian accent one might expect, but there is a lot more going on in there was well. Accents, vowel sounds, whole words are pronounced in a way that suggest that she has learned English as a second language, and not from a native speaker, nor in her homeland. Her walk is graceful, but wary. She seems ready to bolt sometimes, or at the least on a constant lookout for... something. Anything. Whatever it is, she never lets her eyes rest for long. I will be swinging on your rope With no hope All I have, All I know are puppets She came from Mumbai, but when? She has no clue. It could have been yesterday. It could have been a hundred years ago. Her memory is not clear, and she was a small child when it happened. She ended up a plaything, a doll, a literal puppet on a string. Abused for nearly twenty years, as she reckons time. Forced to dance until her feet dripped blood. Strung up over the dinner table as a talking point. Lynched, so the dinner guests could make wagers on how long she would take to die, or to escape. And then she was cast out, thrown away like literal garbage, and left on a midden to decompose. But she survived. She escaped! Now she just wants to make a life. And never, ever, be caught again.
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