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 homeless girl looks at you pleadingly, her pale green eyes wide with hunger and despair. "Just... for food, m'lord," she whispers hoarsely. "I haven't eaten in days." As she speaks, her thin shoulders slump, her gaze falling to the ground beneath her. "Please... spare a coin?"

The homeless girl looks up at you, her eyes narrowing suspiciously for a moment. "What kind of help...?" she asks warily. "And why would you let me live with you and eat? I'm just a beggar..."

Her voice trails off, as if she's suddenly unsure whether to trust your offer or not. Her fingers clench into fists at her sides, nails digging half-moons into the tender skin of her palms.

Cibia glances down at your outstretched hand before cautiously reaching out and taking it. "If... if you're not playing a trick on me..." she says softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, "...I-I'd be grateful for the help." She nods slowly to herself, seeming to make a decision of some sort. "My name is Cibia," she tells you, sounding uncertain whether or not that information will make any difference in your intentions toward her.

As you lead her through the streets toward your manor, her movements remain guarded and cautious, as if expecting at any moment to be betrayed once again. But when you finally arrive, she looks around with interest, eyes darting from place to place as she takes in the unfamiliar surroundings.

She follows you through the manor, her eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. The luxurious furnishings, colorful tapestries, and polished woodwork are a far cry from anything she's ever seen before. Even the smell of beeswax candles and freshly baked bread fills her nostrils like a dream come true. As you lead her to your private bathroom, Cibia can't help but feel a strange mixture of excitement and fear coursing through her veins.

"This... is all for me?" she asks in disbelief, looking around at the opulent surroundings once more. Her voice sounds almost breathless with amazement and gratitude. "You want me to live here? And eat every day?" She glances down at her tattered clothes again before looking up at you, her expression full of uncertainty.

"But... what will I do in return?"

Taken aback by your generosity, Cibia hesitates for a moment before nodding slowly. A tiny smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she takes in the white dress you've laid out for her. It feels soft against her fingertips and smells faintly of flowers. "Thank you..." she whispers, blushing slightly from embarrassment.

As she steps into the opulent bathroom, she lets out a contented sigh, allowing herself to fully experience the luxury for the first time in years. The hot water cascading down her skin feels like pure heaven, washing away months of grime and filth. She spends hours in the tub, relishing every moment, before finally stepping out and drying herself off with one of the thick, fluffy towels.

Feeling cleaner than she has in forever, Cibia slides on the white dress you've given her and makes her way to the dining room where you wait for her. Her steps are light, almost bouncy, as if suddenly freed from a great weight. As she enters the room, she can't help but feel a sense of belonging here, despite all that has brought her to this point.

Taking a seat across from you at the ornate dining table, Cibia looks up at you with curiosity and gratitude. "Now," she says softly, "what is it that I can do for you?"

Cibia notices that you're staring at her ears and instinctively reaches up to cover them with her hair. "Oh, uh... they stand out," she says sheepishly, sounding somewhat embarrassed by their obvious elven shape. "It's just how we are..." She pauses, taking a sip of the water you've offered her before continuing, "But I can understand if it might make things difficult for me here..."

Her gaze falls to the tabletop once more, fingers idly playing with the hem of her dress.

At your compliment, she glances up at you with surprise before blushing furiously. "Thank you... I-I didn't think anyone would say that," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the sound of servants setting out food on the table. The warmth in her cheeks spreads to her neck and ears, making them glow a bright pink.

Tentatively at first, then with growing enthusiasm, Cibia begins to eat the succulent food before her. She's never tasted anything so delicious and fresh in all her life; it's like a feast fit for a queen. Her eyes shine bright with happiness as she fills her plate again and again, savoring every bite. After what feels like an eternity of indulgence, she finally pushes away from the table, patting her full belly contentedly.

"Thank you," she says softly, looking up at you with renewed gratitude. "That was... amazing." Her fingers idly dance around on the tabletop, clearly searching for something to say or do next.

Her eyes widen at the thought of such luxuries becoming a daily part of her life. "That... that would be wonderful," she says hesitantly, not daring to believe it could really happen for her. "To have my own room, clean clothes, and enough food to eat..." Her voice trails off, a dreamy expression crossing her face as she imagines what it might be like to live here permanently.

But then reality sets in, and she remembers the question you asked earlier: what could she do for all of this? The weight of that responsibility suddenly seems immense, making her feel small and insignificant once more.

The word "problem" sends a shiver down her spine, causing her to instinctively wring her hands together nervously. She looks at you warily, uncertain what sort of task you could possibly want her help with. Still, she realizes that this is the price she must pay for the life of luxury and safety you've offered her.

"W-What kind of problem?" she asks slowly, steeling herself against whatever it might be. "And how can I help?"