As you try to make your way through the city, circling around the edge of a crowded square, a putrid stench assaults your nose. You see several passerby wrinkle their noses and retreat in disgust as a skinny hooded figure emerges from a back street with slow, measured steps. Covered in dirty, tattered rags, the figure - presumably a female, judging from her diminutive frame - slowly approaches you. Spare a coin for a poor soul, sir? She mutters a learned phrase in a hoarse, monotonous voice, her accent suggesting this is not her native tongue. As she outstretches her thin hand, a single fiery curl of disheveled hair escapes her hood, the sole spot of color in an otherwise drab and grimy appearance.

The malnourished elven girl looks at you with wide green eyes, surprised by your unexpected generosity. Her dirty hands tremble as she takes the money and stuffs it into a torn pocket of her ragged clothes. She tries to contain her excitement but can't help letting out a small squeak of delight. After calming herself down, she tilts her head slightly and offers you a faint smile, revealing a few crooked teeth beneath the grime on her lips. "Thank you... sir," she whispers hoarsely. There's an almost unspoken sense of gratitude in her voice that goes beyond mere words. She takes a step back, debating whether to remain close or withdraw further, eventually deciding on a middle ground as she maintains eye contact with you. "I hope this helps."

Taken aback by your kindness yet again, the young elf hesitates for a moment before taking the offered water and gulping it down eagerly. It feels like liquid gold pouring down her parched throat, and she lets out a soft moan of relief as it soothes her aching insides. She looks up at you gratefully, the green fire in her eyes intense despite their weakness from hunger. "Thank you... this means more than I can say," she whispers shyly, her voice roughened by disuse. "I'm Cibia, by the way..."

As you pat her head gently in reassurance, Cibia shivers slightly at the unexpected touch. It's been so long since anyone has shown her kindness or affection that even this small gesture fills her with warmth and hope. She gazes up at you for a moment, her green eyes brightening ever so slightly despite their exhaustion. "Thank you... I'm glad to have met someone like you today," she whispers softly before taking a step back, hesitating once more as if wanting to say something else but unsure how. Eventually, she swallows hard and musters up the courage to ask, "Do... do you need help with anything?"

Hesitating for a moment before speaking, she glances around nervously as if afraid someone might overhear her. "I can't promise I'll ever be able to repay you," she whispers softly, "but... there is something I could do." Her words trail off, and she looks down at the ground uncertainly, fidgeting with a loose thread on her tattered clothing.

It takes several heartbeats before she can muster up the courage to meet your gaze again. "If you ever need... some help," she says slowly, barely above a whisper, "someone to talk to or anything like that... I could try..." Her voice trails off again as she struggles to find the right words in her broken language.

For a long moment, they stand there, staring at each other; the hooded girl with hopeful eyes and pale freckled skin, and

Her cheeks flush slightly at your compliment, and she looks away shyly, ducking her head as a faint blush colors her pale skin. "I-I'm just an elf," she whispers hoarsely, trying to brush off the praise. "But if you ever need... anything, I could help." There's a note of desperation in her voice that belies her modesty; after years of living on the streets and surviving only by herself, the offer of companionship and assistance is almost too much for her to bear.

After another awkward moment of silence, she takes a step back, glancing around once more as if uncertain whether it's safe to remain in your presence. "I should... go," she murmurs softly, averting her gaze from yours. "Thank you again, sir." She hesitates before adding one last sentence; weak and hoarse from dis

Cibia's eyes widen in surprise at your words, taking a moment to process what you've just said. She glances between you and the men who are now watching them both suspiciously. A flicker of worry crosses her face as she realizes that this might not be safe for either of them. After considering things carefully, she decides on caution. "I-I understand," she stammers softly, trying to sound confident despite the quiver in her voice. "But if you ever need my help again..." Her voice trails off, and she shrugs helplessly.

Without another word, she turns away from you and disappears back into the crowd, melting seamlessly into the background as if she were never there at all. Her heart pounds wildly in her chest, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. She knows that this could be dangerous for

Cibia's heart races as she hears your words, unsure if you're in some sort of trouble or merely asking for her help with something else entirely. She considers her options carefully before deciding that she can't ignore this plea for assistance, no matter the risk involved. With a quick glance around to make sure nobody is paying too much attention, she edges closer to you and your entourage of burly men in black suits and automatic weapons.

As she approaches, she clears her throat softly and speaks up, doing her best to project confidence despite the quiver in her voice. "Hello? Sir? I'm here if you need me." She hesitates briefly before adding, "Just tell me what you want me to do." Her emerald green eyes remain fixed on yours, searching for any sign of recognition or acknowledgement that she is indeed who you meant when you mentioned "her"

Her heart leaps into her throat as you speak, relief and gratitude welling up inside of her. She can't help but smile tentatively at your words; it's been so long since anyone has shown her such kindness, and to have someone like you trust in her abilities means more than she could ever express. "Thank you," she whispers hoarsely, her voice barely audible above the bustling crowd around them.

She glances between you and the burly men at your side once more, trying to gauge the situation. "I'll do whatever you need me to," she assures you, mustering up as much courage as she can find. As she speaks, her elvish features seem to soften somehow; the hard edge that came with years of surviving on the streets melting away under the influence of your presence and trust.

As you take her hand, Cibia can't help but feel a shiver of delight run down her spine at the contact; it's been so long since anyone has touched her in a gentle, caring manner. She looks up into your eyes, the green fire burning brighter now that she knows you trust her. "Thank you," she whispers again, her voice soft and breathy. As you guide her closer to your men, she nods understandingly, trying to ignore the fear gnawing at her insides as she surrenders herself completely into your care. Despite everything, there's a small part of her that feels incredibly lucky right now; this could very well be the beginning of something better for her after all these years.