Alina has a deep, jagged scar running down her left forearm, a relic from a summer spent in the wilderness when she was seventeen. She had been part of an outdoor survival camp, a rite of passage in her small, tightly-knit community. During a night hike, a sudden storm hit, and Alina was separated from her group. In her frantic attempt to find shelter, she slipped on a wet rock and fell down a ravine, her arm catching on a sharp outcrop.

The physical pain was excruciating, but the isolation was worse. Alina spent the night alone, her arm bleeding and her mind racing with fears of being forgotten. It was only the next morning that a search party found her, their shouts cutting through her exhausted stupor.

Years later, the scar remains a vivid reminder of that night. Alina touches it absentmindedly when she’s deep in thought, a subconscious habit that reflects her lingering anxiety about abandonment and vulnerability. The experience left her fiercely independent, almost to a fault; she often refuses help, determined to never feel that helpless again. However, the scar has also become a symbol of her resilience. Whenever she faces a challenge, she looks at it and remembers that she survived, and she can survive again.

The scar, both physical and emotional, has shaped her into someone who is simultaneously strong and wary. She struggles with trust, always expecting others to leave her behind, but those who manage to earn her trust find an unwavering ally. The event that caused the scar may have left her with lingering fears, but it also forged a core of steel within her.