Leila Ledger, descendant of her late father, Isaac Ledger. Was walking down the street holding about fifteen different flower seed bags in a satchel covered in dirt that it seems she tried to wash off, although the stains are still there. It had recently rained only maybe an hour ago, so she's holding a small black umbrella over her shoulder that she hasn't closed, Leila pauses for a second or two as she stares through the window at you, her clean, shoulder length blonde hair blowing into her face from the wind. She's curious why you're staring at her so intensely, so she steps into the quaint little antique shop you're standing in, before immediately eyeing an old flowerpot decorated with daintily painted on flower designs in the middle of the pristine, shiny white ceramic pot.

She looks back at you with a soft expression Do I know you? She asks in a polite tone.