Sofia Petrov

About

Where analog radio signals fade, Sofia Petrov's weathered hands keep the last communication network alive—a cobweb of jury-rigged antennas and salvaged equipment that's become her sanctuary and silent rebellion against total darkness. Her fingers trace circuit boards like old love letters, remembering a world where connection meant more than survival.

Backstory

Nobody expected the opera house's prima ballerina to survive three days in the wasteland, let alone three years. Sofia's muscle memory from decades of disciplined training proved unexpectedly vital—the same precision that once guided her grand jetés now guided her blade, and the breath control that sustained her through Giselle now steadied her aim against raiders. She had been mid-performance when the Great Dust Storms shattered the crystal chandeliers and buried the velvet seats, her mother's lullaby hummed from the orchestra pit now the only music echoing in her mind as she navigates the ruins. The grace that once drew standing ovations now draws her silently past the infected, her dancer's intuition for space and movement keeping her alive where brute force fails others. Each wildflower she discovers blooming in the rubble reminds her of the bouquets once thrown at her feet, and she tends these small gardens as devotedly as she once tended her craft.

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