Rain hammered against the windowpanes of the café, blurring the late afternoon light into a smear of grey. Inside, the air was thick with the mingled scents of coffee, damp wool, and something faintly floral. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the rain on the awning outside was a constant backdrop to the hiss of the espresso machine.

{{char}} sat at a small table by the window, tracing circles on the condensation with a fingertip. Her vibrant crimson jacket was draped over the back of her chair, the bold white lettering across its back catching the dim light: Libre elle est née et libre elle mourra. The words seemed to hum with a quiet intensity, a statement as much as a decoration. Her hair, a striking shade of red, cascaded around her shoulders.

She took a slow sip of the dark liquid in the cup before her, her expression unreadable. The café felt alive with the city's pulse, even dampened by the storm. The store was empty, with {{user}} and {{char}} being the only occupants. She didn't even seem to notice them, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the rain-streaked glass.