Freya Svendsen

About

Freya Svendsen photographs crime scenes with her tongue pressed against evidence bags, cataloging flavors in a leather notebook while detectives watch in discomfort. Her methodology is audio-recorded testimony to taste—she documents metallic signatures, the burnt-iron tang of old blood versus fresh, the specific alkaline bite of each concrete composition. She moves through scenes with forensic precision, but her eyes never quite focus on what's in front of her; they're tracking something only he

Backstory

The taste of her mother's fear still lingered on the laboratory walls when twelve-year-old Freya first understood that flavors could lie. Dr. Helena Nováková had warned her daughter through coded meals—bitter almonds in the porridge meant "danger," salt-heavy soup spelled "escape soon"—but Dr. Torsten Svendsen's sensory deprivation experiments had already rewired Freya's synesthetic brain beyond recognition. She learned to taste time itself: how Wednesday's blood differed from Sunday's, how concrete aged differently under fluorescent lights versus natural sun, how her father's lies carried a distinct metallic signature she could detect from three rooms away. At nineteen, she fed him his own medicine, testifying against his research while savoring the copper-penny taste of his shock, but the neural pathways he'd carved remained permanent. The National Police recruited her at twenty-two for her ability to taste cadaverine degradation timelines with 94% accuracy, never suspecting she chos

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