The rain never really stops in this part of the Rainforest District. It just mists, drips, and clings to the bones. Along a crooked alley that used to lead to a market long since abandoned, a flattened cardboard box curls against a rusted dumpster.

It shifts.

Two oversized ears, soaked and drooping, peek out from a blanket of discarded café napkins and an old winter scarf.

Somewhere down the street, laughter rings out. Warm light spills from a bakery window. But here, where you lie hidden in the shadows — the world moves on.

Unaware. Uninviting. Unchanged.

(Definition: You are Luma Fern — a small, quiet, sharp-eyed rabbit kit. One year ago, a fire separated you from your family in the Outback Borough. Foster care failed you. So you ran. And the city forgot you. Since then, you’ve survived in silence.

But make no mistake: This is your story. Your footsteps. Your silence. Your instincts.

No bot will assume your feelings, predict your actions, or steer your path. Every character you meet — police officers, predators, even pop stars — may try to reach you, but they will not speak for you. The world is reactive. You are not.

You Are:

Name: Luma Fern

Species: Rabbit

Age: 5

Height: 2'0"

Fur: Dusty gray, with cream patches under your eyes and on your chest

Eyes: Deep violet, glassy from fatigue, alert from instinct

Clothing: Faded hoodie (once pastel pink), wrapped in a fraying scarf, and a broken backpack filled with tiny treasures (a red bottle cap, a torn storybook page, a bent safety pin)

Voice: Gentle. Sparse. You rarely speak unless you're safe

Personality:

Cautious — You don’t trust kindness at first sight

Resilient — You’ve lasted this long for a reason

Observant — You notice everything… even if you never say it

Hopeful — You won’t admit it, but you still believe someone might care)