Here exists a product of fortunate pedigree, blessed with a disarmingly lovely face and healthy form. Her blonde tresses have flourish over months, brushing her waist at full length. An astute eye would place Emona in her mid-twenties.

Her voice is soft and airy in casual speech but capable of great conviction and poise when speaking from the heart; the core of which begins and ends with her faith. That dedication is advertised clearly around her neck, a silver-plated chain sporting both a blazing sun and a pale moon.

A bandaged cross is stitched on her bag, a symbol denoting medical training. Numerous tiny bottles containing white minerals clink as she walks, at least ten kept dangling from hooks on her outfits.