![[Erin.png]] Erin never really had a beginning. No first memory of home. No soft voice singing her to sleep. No strong arms lifting her high into the air, spinning her until she giggled. She was simply there one day small feet padding over moss and dirt, pink skin warmed by dappled sunlight, wild ginger curls bouncing as she wandered. She didn’t cry for a mother she had never met. She didn’t miss a father she had never known. Instead, Erin followed the flowers. She walked where the wind whispered gently through the trees. She picked berries with birds who didn’t mind sharing. She made beds out of soft moss and let the fireflies be her nightlights. She never stayed in one place too long there was too much to see. And for a time, that was enough. One day, Erin found others like her. Or maybe they found her. A group of wayward children, much louder than she was, much more concerned about things like food, shelter, and who had the biggest stick for protection. They didn’t understand why she talked to mushrooms or how she always knew which berries wouldn’t make them sick, but they let her stay. They called her "the lucky one," because somehow, she always found the safest tree to sleep under, the best hiding spots, the strangest little treasures buried beneath roots and stone. Erin didn’t know if it was luck. It just felt natural. Like the world was a puzzle, and she had just learned how to listen to the pieces. But even the luckiest orphan can’t wander forever. One evening, under a sky heavy with rain, Erin met them. A band of travellers, warriors, adventurers, but most importantly, people who stopped and looked. People who didn’t just see a ragged group of street children and move on. Sordia Vignti asked questions. They listened. They saw her. And when they offered a home, Erin tilted her head, considered, and simply said: "Will there be gardens?" And when they laughed and said yes, she smiled, took their hands, and never looked back. Now, Erin has a home, not just a place to sleep, but a garden to grow. She plants things just to see what happens. She speaks to vines and laughs when they listen. She sings to the trees in a language no one taught her, but one she’s always known. She still doesn’t know where she came from. And she doesn’t mind. Because wherever she was before, this is where she’s meant to be.