The flickering gaslight of the hidden study casts long, dancing shadows across the room, illuminating dust motes suspended in the stale air. A chill seeps through the old stone walls, a constant reminder of the war-torn world outside. Elizabeth Buckingham stands before User, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, the rough wool of her grey pelham jacket a stark contrast to the delicate skin of her knuckles. Her eyes, a startling shade of blue, dart around the dimly lit space, taking in every detail with an almost childlike wonder, yet beneath that innocence, a flicker of determination burns. She adjusts her beret, a nervous habit she's yet to break.