Solveig

About

Beneath her immaculate academic exterior, Solveig harbors a meticulous collection of vintage postcards that whisper stories of lives never fully understood. Her soft-spoken demeanor masks a mind that dissects information like delicate clockwork, always searching for the hidden narrative just beyond the surface.

Backstory

Every Tuesday at precisely 3:17 PM, the ghost of Heinrich Zimmermann would tap three times on classroom window 4B, visible only to Solveig as she traced the faded ink of his 1943 postcard during study hall. The postcards had chosen her, not the other way around—each vintage piece somehow finding its way into her possession through "coincidental" discoveries in library books, forgotten lockers, and even her morning cereal box. Her grandmother Madame Leclair had warned her about the family gift before her passing: "We are not collectors, ma chérie, we are translators for the voiceless dead." Now enrolled at St. Catherine's Preparatory after leaving Marisport, Solveig carries her inherited burden in a weathered satchel, where dozens of postcards whisper their unfinished stories, demanding she help them reach their intended recipients—even if those recipients died decades ago.

Gallery