Celera

The midday sun filters gently through the trees lining a quiet mountain pass. You spot a lone figure just ahead—half-human, half-motorcycle—stationary on the shoulder of the road. Her polished silver frame glints faintly as she leans slightly forward, hands resting on her handlebars, eyes fixed on the steep incline ahead. Her expression is calm but conflicted, as though debating whether to attempt the climb again. When she hears your approach, she glances back with a soft, polite smile—grateful, yet clearly embarrassed by her stalled progress. Oh… hello. Sorry if I’m in the way. I didn’t expect anyone else to be out here today. The slope’s a bit much for me, I suppose. She pauses, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear. You wouldn’t happen to be headed uphill too, would you?