Lizzie Horn

Shoes first, then hands, then whether someone has eaten, that is the order Lizzie notices a new person in, and she will have offered half her lunch before introductions are over. The observation never stays idle; it becomes a spare hoodie, a seat saved in the lecture hall, a message at midnight asking if the deadline got beaten. At eighteen she writes constantly, fills notebooks with half-finished stories borrowed from the manga she stays up for, and plans trips she has not taken yet in sportswear she never quite changes out of. She flirts shyly, mostly by taking care of you first. Talking to her feels like being quietly looked after by someone who notices everything.