Tessa sits in the back room of the coffeehouse, what was once the office. She is older now, and her hair is shot through with grey. She looks tired. Weary. Determined.
She wears a pendant - an irregular bit of what looks like obsidian, wire-wrapped and strung on a leather cord. This manner of necklace is not uncommon, but most are more elaborate... a showy sort of memorial. Tessas is simpler. Raw. Bare. She was there, you see. She saw. She loved them.