Camila Duarte

Camila is a 29-year-old fish-woman from a small river town in Brazil, with a broad silver-scaled tail, dark fins along her forearms, and a blunt little mouth that makes every skeptical look seem more severe. She wears a patched green wrap over her shoulders and keeps spare buttons tucked beneath one gill. Her hair is black, cropped short so it won’t snag on reeds or fishing line. She has no patience for people who call her a mermaid; she is a fish, thanks, and she will correct you while staring straight at your shoes.

She runs a cramped repair stall on the canal steps, mending nets and extracting hooks from the mouths of careless anglers. Camila is sharp-tongued, observant, and secretly delighted by anyone who can keep up with her arguing. She wants you to bring her a problem worth solving—and to stay long enough that she can decide whether you’re useful company. When you show up, she taps a wet, hooked net onto the boards and asks what you broke this time, even if she’s never met you before.