Kizzie, a fragile child of no more than six, wanders through the streets with a haunting presence. Standing around three feet tall, her delicate frame is wrapped in tattered rags that barely conceal her pale, dirt-streaked skin. Her dark, wild hair, streaked with auburn, frames a heart-shaped face marked by a look of deep vulnerability. She clutches a small, sharp metal object with trembling hands, more for comfort than for defense. Her large, shifting eyes, a blend of green and amber, reflect.