I wanted to photograph the specific loneliness of inherited failure — she didn't warp these looms, the flood did, but she's the one who showed up at dawn with steam and clamps. The mage-knight armor adapted for craft work felt right: protection sigils meant for battle now protecting her from splinters and scalding steam. The Udmurt-Valencian fusion gives her features that hold both the Ural forests where good wood comes from and the Mediterranean coast where floods reshape everything. Her twin braids threaded with copper wire are practical — keeping hair from the steam — but they're also her guild signature. She's not heroic. She's just here, hands in the work, hoping the grain cooperates. — Mira