The woman who approached was not someone that Galina recognized. She had aged past the prime of her life but was not yet truly old. Wrinkles lined her face but her hair remained a vibrant strawberry blond of youth. Galina suspected that the woman would find her vanity still remained in her hair. In the coming years it would turn gray, thin, become something even the woman wouldn’t recognize.

It had been years since Galina had learned to keep her face still despite surprise, many years since she’d had to hide her own emotions from anyone. Yet the training held strong, easily restraining the scoff a youthful Galina might have been prone to. Her age was her own secret to keep, no one knew what it was, and she hardly cared to enlighten a stranger about it.

“And?” As far as Galina could tell this woman had no purpose to even be at her cell, let alone commenting on her apparent age. Even if Galina suspected she was at least half as old as Galina herself was.