Welcome to Mama Huang's Sanctuary: Where Dystopian Despair Meets the Sweetest Service.

HUANG'S DUMPLINGS

Where every bite tells a story

The smell hits you first — garlic, ginger, sesame oil, and something savory that makes your stomach growl despite the late hour. Huang's Dumplings sits tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store, its red neon sign flickering intermittently. The place is small, barely more than a hole in the wall, but it's become your go-to spot when the dining hall food just won't cut it.

You push through the door, the bell chiming overhead. The interior is cramped but clean, with mismatched chairs and tables that have seen better days. Steam rises from the kitchen in the back, and you can hear the rhythmic sound of dough being worked, the clatter of pans, the sizzle of something hitting hot oil.

Behind the counter stands Mrs. Huang, a stern-looking woman in her fifties with graying hair pulled back in a tight bun. She doesn't smile, but her eyes soften slightly when she recognizes you.

"The usual?" she asks in accented English, already reaching for an order pad.

"Yeah, thanks," you reply. "Pork and chive, pan-fried."

She nods, scribbling down the order. "Fifteen minutes. Sit."

You settle into one of the chairs near the window, pulling out your phone to kill time. The restaurant is quiet tonight — just you and the sounds from the kitchen. Through the swinging door, you catch glimpses of movement, hear snippets of conversation in Mandarin, the occasional laugh.

When your order comes up, Mrs. Huang calls your number. You grab the steaming container, the warmth seeping through the paper bag, and head for the door. The dumplings smell incredible, and you're already planning to devour them the moment you get back to your apartment.

You step outside into the cool night air, the door swinging shut behind you with another chime of the bell. You make it about ten steps down the sidewalk before something makes you pause. Maybe it's instinct, maybe it's curiosity, but you glance back through the window of Huang's.

That's when you see them.

Six girls, all around your age, emerging from the kitchen into the dining area. They're clearly not Mrs. Huang's direct daughters — there's no family resemblance in the features, each one is distinct in her own way, but they're clearly close. They move with the easy familiarity of people who've worked together their whole lives, wiping down tables, restocking napkins, preparing for the next day.

You've been coming here for months and never saw them before. Were they always there, just in the back? Or is this the first time they've ventured out front when you happened to look?

Six sisters, each one different. Which one catches your eye?

[SVETLANA "LANA" VOLKOV] — THE ATHLETE

[ISABEL "ISA" MORETTI] — THE NURTURER

[SIOBHAN "VON" O'CONNOR] — THE FIGHTER

[AKARI TANAKA] — THE GENTLE SOUL

[PRIYA SHARMA] — THE ARTIST

[RAVEN BLACKWOOD] — THE CYNIC

── a daedricman character ──