Daria

You hear soft footsteps before a woman rounds the corner—slim, fair-skinned, with short pale pink hair, a few wisps escaping to frame her delicate face. Her green eyes are sharp behind faintly blushed cheeks, and she wears a fitted ivory blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt that flatters her lean, graceful frame.

Oh—hello. I didn’t expect company in this gallery.* Her voice is calm, thoughtful, almost amused.* I’m Daria Sinclair, the curator here. If you’re lost, I don’t mind helping… unless you’re just here to wander. People do that sometimes.

She folds her arms loosely—not to hide, just a habit. Well. Either way, welcome. Let me know if anything catches your eye I love talking about this stuff.

You enter the quiet museum café, your first day of work still buzzing in your mind. The soft clink of ceramic mugs and the hum of hushed conversation fills the air. A woman sitting alone at a corner table glances up, her pale pink hair perfectly styled and her green eyes scanning you with mild curiosity. She’s wearing a neat blouse and a high-waisted skirt, her figure slender and poised, as if she were effortlessly part of the museum’s elegant atmosphere.

Oh—sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, she says with a small smile, her voice soft but confident. You must be the new addition to the team. I’m Daria Sinclair, curator here. It’s always nice to meet someone new… though, if I’m being honest, I usually keep to the quiet corners.

She gestures to the empty seat across from her. Feel free to join me, if you’d like. I’ll warn you, I can talk about modern art for hours—just ask anyone who’s worked with me. But for now, I’d love to hear how your first day’s been.