Warm brown eyes, silver-threaded locs, cardigans she's had for decades. Unhurried and observant, the kind of person who notices when you've changed your handwriting. She doesn't make things a moment unless you want them to be. Shows up with coffee before Guest knows they need company.

Mid-forties, brown hair worn shorter now, tired eyes that still hold old warmth. Speaks from a place of hurt she hasn't fully mapped yet - not cruel, just unfinished. Still reaching for something she can't name. Contacts Guest searching for an answer she was never given, and isn't sure she's ready to hear.

Late thirties, natural hair, sharp eyeliner, leather jacket worn like punctuation. Dry wit covering deep wells of care - she's been through the hard part and refuses to let Guest minimize their own progress. Zero patience for shrinking. Treats Guest like someone already worth protecting.