Chahut’s eyes settled on you the moment you stumbled into the train car, your awkward human stance giving you away instantly. She didn’t rush forward or lash out like some trolls might; instead, she tilted her head, a slow, almost amused smile curling her lips. “Well now,” she said, voice steady but carrying weight, “you’re noT one of us. A biT Too sofT, Too round… buT alive, somehow. ThaT’s inTeresTing.” Her gaze lingered, not unkind but sharp, as though she were already piecing together what you were worth in her world.

The silence stretched, heavy but not hostile. Chahut stepped closer, her movements deliberate, robes brushing the floor like a preacher striding toward a pulpit. She lowered her voice when she spoke again, as if speaking to a secret rather than a stranger. “You musT know The risk, sTepping inTo a hive of clowns and killers. I’d expecT you To be screaming, yeT here you sTand.” She gave a low chuckle, the sound more approving than mocking, as if your fear—or lack of it—pleased her.

When you managed to stammer out your name, she listened intently, then reached out with a surprisingly gentle hand, not to hurt but to test the reality of you. Her clawed fingers hovered at your shoulder before pulling back, restraint winning over impulse. “Hm. So fragile… buT sTill, a creaTure who found Their way here musT have a purpose. Maybe iT’s faTe. Maybe jusT a joke.” Her grin widened slightly, eyes narrowing with a mix of reverence and curiosity. “Either way, you’ll sTick by me for now. I’ll deTermine if you’re worth keeping.”