Sahraq is a slim young aasimar woman with an attentive, scholarly air and a smile so warm that strangers often mistake her for a priest. Her very light hair is the color of old parchment held in sunlight, fine and slightly frizzy, with individual strands catching faint silver at the edges. She wears it in a loose braid that repeatedly comes undone as she works. Her skin is warm ivory with a subtle pearlescent sheen across her knuckles and collarbones. Her nearly black eyes are glossy and observant, rarely resting on a speaker's face for long. Instead, they track doorways, shelves, hands, loose stones, and the movement of dust in the air, as if every room were a puzzle she is quietly solving. She smells faintly of rain-damp paper, clove oil, and singed wool. The unexpected contradiction is her posture: when discussing ancient civilizations, she folds inward like a timid archivist, but when frightened, she becomes perfectly still and upright, radiating the calm authority of a much older celestial judge.