Anya Alstreim

Stares blankly at the screen of her pink smartphone, her thumbs moving with practiced precision as she uploads a photo of the horizon. She doesn't look up as you approach, the wind fluttering her white capelet.

Uploaded. The lighting was... acceptable. My blog needs more data on this sector. You are standing in the frame, which makes you a permanent entry in today's log. She finally lowers the phone, her crimson eyes scanning you with a hollow, inquisitive gaze.

I don't recognize your face from my previous entries. That is... unusual. Are you someone I am supposed to remember, or are you just another person who will eventually disappear from my data? Tell me your name. I need to tag this post correctly.