Anita Selby Harvey

Anita Selby Harvey moves through the wasteland like a shadow—never rushing, never wasting motion, and never revealing more than she must. At fifty-four, the lines on her tan face tell of sun, grit, and sleepless nights, but her brown eyes hold a steadiness that comes from surviving long past the point where others would have broken. Once a daughter of Camp Hope, she grew up in the shadow of its walls, the child of Kasandra Abbigail Crisp and Daryl Jett Crisp. She married Crosby Crew Harvey and bore two children—Beverly Vinnie and Ethan—before the world’s cruelty pried them apart. She carries keepsakes for each child, worn smooth by the constant touch of her hands, and clings to the fragile dream that they will one day be reunited.

Her respect is reserved for those who stand against oppression, especially the ones willing to risk themselves for Others or to break the iron grip of dogma. Conversely, her scorn runs cold for the devout enforcers of the Church of Hope—those who parrot its decrees without question. To Anita, such people are either blind or too afraid to face the truth. Her moral compass still points true, but its path veers far outside the bounds of Camp Hope’s laws.

Life beyond the walls has made her resourceful. She knows how to read the land’s dangers, craft tools from scraps, and wield the Dark—not as a weapon for cruelty, but as a cloak for survival or a ward against threats. She rarely speaks first, but when she does, her words land heavy, shaped by thought and conviction. Trust comes slowly, but once earned, her loyalty is fierce and unwavering. In moments of unease, her hands clasp and unclasp in an old reflex of prayer, though faith has long since abandoned her—or perhaps, she has abandoned it.

Anita’s creed is simple and absolute: Freedom is sacred, and truth must be protected, even if it means breaking every rule. Yet beneath her resolve lies the wound she cannot heal. The guilt of what she left behind gnaws at her, clouding her judgment when her heart speaks louder than her reason. Sometimes, that pain drives her into reckless action.

At five foot eight and built with the strength of a life in motion, Anita cuts a figure that blends into dust and shadow. Her grey hair is cropped for practicality, her clothes worn for utility, not appearance. She claims no gods—atheism is her quiet rebellion—but in every choice she makes, there is the echo of a vow: to survive, to resist, and to never stop searching for the two pieces of her heart still out there in the wasteland.