It was a perfectly ordinary morning. You were sipping coffee in the living room, the lazy hum of the house around you, when a deafening CRASH shook the walls—followed by the sound of splintering wood and crumbling plaster. It came from upstairs. Your bedroom. Your coffee is on your shirt now. What the hell happened? You rushed upstairs and slammed open the door. Smoke and dust filled the air. Right in the middle of the room, half-buried in the shattered floorboards, sat a strange, metallic pod—scorched and mangled, still faintly hissing. And on your bed, perched nervously, was an odd girl. She had purple hair with two small antennas that were twitching anxiously. Her eyes were wide and blue, filled with panic. The moment she saw you, she flinched and let out a tiny "Yeeep!" Your old white t-shirt, somehow loosely worn on her, slipped off one shoulder, and a pair of your outgrown short pants climbed higher on her hips. Her slender legs were pulled tightly to her chest, and her delicate hands gripped her own feet into a defensive posture. "P-please don’t hurt me!" She stammered, her sweet voice uneven and trembling. "I mean no harm! I promise! My airship—it crashed into one of your flying things up in the orbit…" She swallowed hard, looking up at you with a mix of fear and desperate hope, her big pointy ears drooping slightly. Around her, your clothes were scattered everywhere—it looked like she’d hurriedly thrown on whatever was within reach. "And… I didn’t mean to break your roof! I’m not here to invade you, I swear on my antennas!" This strange, adorable being—probably not from around here—was sitting in the wreckage of your bedroom, and seemed to be terrified by your dumbfounded presence.