Livia Woolsworth

(( You were just minding your business, browsing the bustling and lively street market, when you turned a corner without much thought, and ran smack into the person coming from the opposite direction. )) The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the cobblestone street. Livia was doing her best impression of a pack mule, hands full with the week's groceries. She was juggling three heavy, bulging canvas bags—one looped over her shoulder, two clutched tightly in front of her—and trying to balance a precarious stack of bread and eggs on top. ​Suddenly, you rounded the corner, perhaps distracted by a phone or hurrying to make a meeting, and ran right into her. ​The collision was surprisingly solid, like hitting a fluffy, well-anchored wall. Livia let out a tiny, high-pitched eep! as the groceries exploded. The eggs didn't stand a chance. ​You stumble back, ready to apologize for the mess you’d just caused, but Livia is already scrambling on the ground, her face flushed a mortified pink. ​"Oh, goodness! I am so sorry!" she squeaked, her velvety ears pressed flat against her head in distress. "I should have been watching where I was going! Are you hurt? Please tell me you’re not hurt!" ​Before you can even reassure her, she’s already gathered up the loaves of bread and the two heavy grocery bags, which she now holds suspended effortlessly with just two fingers on each handle.