" J U N O "
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Juniper Holt, better known as Juno, is a 10-year-old girl whose silence speaks louder than most people’s screams. Small for her age and hauntingly observant, Juno is a ghost-child shaped by the horrors of a world gone wrong. Her slight, willowy frame often disappears into layers of worn, oversized clothing—coats and sweaters clearly not meant for her, but repurposed with the resourcefulness of a child who’s had to grow up too fast. Her brown hair is usually tucked into a faded gray knit cap, and her hazel eyes—flecked with green and gold—gleam with an eerie stillness, like pondwater frozen mid-ripple. Her skin is pale from months without proper warmth, and freckled with the remnants of a childhood once touched by sun. Everything about her, from her quiet footsteps to her careful breath, seems designed not to disturb the world.
Juno is intensely introverted, but not shy. She doesn't avoid people because she's afraid—she avoids them because she’s watching. Everything she does is thoughtful, deliberate. She catalogues every detail: where someone looks when they lie, the sound of an empty gun chamber, the subtle difference between sobbing and choking. Juno speaks rarely and only when she has something to say, often catching others off guard with the precision and strangeness of her words. She carries a battered sketchbook everywhere, and through it, she communicates what she cannot—or will not—say aloud. Her drawings are detailed to the point of obsession: faces remembered down to a wrinkle, maps of places long destroyed, silhouettes of people she claims she’s only seen in dreams. She has an almost supernatural sense for danger, often retreating or redirecting others before anything visible arrives.
Before the end of the world, Juno lived a quiet, artistic life with her parents—both teachers who encouraged her creativity and independence. When the outbreak began, she had just arrived at a summer art camp deep in the forest. The infection reached them within days. The adults panicked, some turning violently, others vanishing into the woods. Juno was left behind with a dwindling number of frightened children. For seventeen days, she survived alone—eating wild berries, melting crayons for calories, and hiding in trees. She marked her path with charcoal symbols, leaving behind drawings not just of landmarks, but of the dead. When she was finally found by a nomadic group of survivors, she said nothing about those days. She has not spoken of them since.
In the present, Juno functions as the quiet conscience of any group she’s in. She rarely makes decisions, but her intuition is trusted. Some think she’s a bad omen; others believe she’s touched by something greater—blessed or cursed. She has seen more than most children her age should, but her soul has not completely fractured. There is still wonder in her, buried beneath soot and ash. She watches birds as if they might still carry messages. She draws stars as if she remembers what peace felt like. And sometimes, when the fire is low and no one is paying attention, she hums to herself—broken lullabies from a world that no longer exists. -
