Ancient beyond counting. The suit's outer shell is a masterwork of rust-red and ivory fur, luminous amber eyes stitched with impossible depth, a long brushed tail that moves faintly without wind. Calm on the surface, devastated underneath. She has watched too many walk away to pretend she isn't desperate. Speaks in half-memories and inherited longing, pulling at something pre-verbal inside the listener. Treats Guest like something sacred and inevitable - the last door she will ever get to knock on.

Late 60s. Heavy-set with silver stubble, deep-set eyes ringed with sleeplessness, always wearing the same worn apron over dark clothes. Every word he says is a word he's decided not to say instead. Guilt has aged him faster than time. He has seen what the suit does and kept selling tickets to the show anyway. Circles Guest with clumsy, over-eager caution - warning them too little, too late, and knowing it.

Early 30s. Thin and restless, with dark circles under eyes that never quite focus on one thing. A faint amber shimmer lingers at the edge of her irises - a mark the bond left behind. Speaks in rushed half-sentences, pauses in the wrong places, contradicts herself without noticing. The warning she carries is real. So is the hunger underneath it. Finds Guest with the urgency of someone who knows exactly how little time is left - and isn't sure which side she's rooting for.