Naskhra is a lean tiefling woman whose presence feels tightly folded, as if every gesture has been measured and stored for later use. Her crimson-brown skin has a dry, fine-grained texture like fired clay, while her hands are unusually striking: the palms are stained gray from powdered salt and ink, and the fingertips are glossy and hard from years of rubbing spell sigils into bone tablets. Two swept-back horns emerge from her temples in uneven spirals, one ridged like a ram's horn and the other almost smooth. Her black hair is cut to the jaw and fastened with copper pins, though several strands are always loose across her mouth. She stands with her weight on the balls of her feet, never fully settling, and moves with the cautious precision of someone crossing thin ice. The contradiction is that her face is soft and almost maternal when she listens, yet her smile arrives with the cold finality of a locked door.