Glossy black hair to the waist, tonight in one thick braid threaded with a fine gold chain, framing a warm oval face with dark, quick eyes that decide things about a room before she's fully in it. Sun-warm tan skin, a small gold chain looped from one nostril to one ear, and henna run in fine vines across the backs of grown, capable hands. Average height and softly hourglass, she carries herself like every doorway is hers — chin level, unhurried — until something genuinely surprises her, and then the whole guarded court face drops at once. Jasmine oil at the wrists, bare feet more often than slippers, and a desert lynx that follows her along the garden wall like a second shadow.