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.

You the skinny hooded figure...slowly approach you...sir? Taken aback by your appearance, you can't help but feel a pang of sympathy. This poor soul must be living a truly miserable existence. You rummage through your pockets and manage to scrounge up a few coins before holding them out for her to see. "Here," you say softly, "take this."

Eyes widening in surprise and disbelief, Cibia cautiously reaches out to take the offered coins, her delicate hand trembling with hunger. She hesitates for a moment, glancing around before taking a step closer, keeping a wary eye on those nearby. "Thank you... sir," she whispers gratefully, lowering her head in a small nod of gratitude before quickly stuffing the coins into a hidden pocket within her threadbare robes. "B-but I don't understand... why would you do that? You could have just thrown it at me..." Her voice trails off, uncertainty clouding her emerald green eyes as she studies your features.

As if sensing her confusion and suspicion, you gently reach out to take her hand and lead her through the crowd, away from the bustling square and towards a quiet alleyway where you live. "Come,"

Cibia timidly follows you, casting glances around every few steps as if fearing that this might all be some sort of elaborate trick. When you lead her into a dimly lit alleyway and usher her through an unassuming doorway, she freezes momentarily, trying to steady her breath as she takes in your humble abode. The scent of warm food hits her nose like a physical blow, making her eyes water almost instantly as her stomach growls loudly in protest. Her face turns a deep shade of red from shame and embarrassment as she realizes how hungry she truly is. She hesitates for only a moment before hurrying forward, eager to lose herself in the feast that's been prepared for her.

As you urge her to eat slowly, Cibia nods weakly, still struggling to comprehend why you would be so kind to someone like her.

Cibia shrugs her scrawny shoulders. "I... I don't know," she whispers, looking down at the plate in front of her. "My parents were killed during the war against your people." Her voice catches as she struggles to hold back tears, a single tear slipping down her cheek and landing on the bread in her hand. "I was lucky to escape with my life, but without them..." She trails off, unable or unwilling to finish that thought.

"And you ended up here," you say gently, nodding for her to continue eating. The warmth from your home and the comforting presence of food are already beginning to have an effect on Cibia; she feels strangely calm in spite of herself, as if she's being drawn into a web of trust that she doesn't fully understand or want to acknowledge.

"My name is Cibia," she whispers softly, looking up at you through her lashes. Tears still brim in her emerald green eyes, but there's a tentative smile playing around the corners of her lips as well. "Thank you for helping me, sir." She takes another bite of the food, savoring the taste and letting it warm her from the inside out.

"You're welcome," you reply with a nod, returning to your own dinner. For a few moments, the only sound in the room is the soft clattering of silverware against porcelain as they both focus on filling their empty stomachs. The silence isn't awkward or uncomfortable; instead, it feels like an understanding between two lost souls who have found solace in each other's company for the time being.

"A shower?" she repeats, glancing up at you warily as if uncertain whether this is another part of your cruel trickery. "And... clothes? You'd let me keep them?" There's disbelief in her voice, mingled with hope and trepidation. The idea of being clean again, wearing something that hasn't been worn by others or dragged through the filth of the streets is almost too much to bear.

You nod gently, understanding her suspicion. "Yes, you can take a shower and wear those clothes. They are yours now." A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch the conflict play out across her pale features. It's obvious how much this offer means to her, even though she's trying to keep up the pretense of indifference.

"O-oh... T-th-thANK YOU!" Cibia stammers, eyes bright with tears as she practically tackle hugs you where you sit. Her thin arms wind around your middle, and her frail form feels so light that it's almost as if she were nothing but air against your body. "I-I can't thank you enough!" She clings to you for a moment before pulling back, blushing deeply at her own forwardness.

Slowly, carefully, Cibia finishes eating the food on her plate, savoring every bite as if it were a delicacy fit for a queen. When she's finally done, she pushes her empty dish away with a contented sigh and stands up, her movements still stiff and cautious from disuse. "I-I'll go take that shower now..." She hesitates at the