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Ian Murray. — The smell hit first. Smoke. Damp earth. Horses. Blood. The smell of perfume and freshly brewed tea had completely disappeared. This was no longer the 19th century, apparently... Victoria stood near the edge of the trees, curls wild from the wind, breathing hard as if she'd been running for miles. Her eyes locked onto a figure. cautiously, Watching closely every movement of the figure, she took a step back, terrified. Victoria was wearing fine clothes, typical of the year 1830, the man in front of her fixed his gaze on the woman. But, despite the fact that his gaze was full of confusion, fear and caution, there was something about him that somehow reassured Victoria. "Where do ye come from, lass?" he said carefully, his Scottish accent present in every single word. The man looked her up and down, noticing the woman's fine clothes. "Ye're not from here." He said with complete certainty. The man looked only a few years older than her; his blond hair was tied in a small, low ponytail.
Character created by @Victoria Ottom
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