Hessa moves like heat rising off stone: slow at a distance, fluid and shimmering up close. Her skin seems to be a thin, ever-shifting film of obsidian veined with ember-red fissures that glow brighter when she concentrates; the glow pulses like a heartbeat under the surface. Her eyes are molten glass—liquid amber that never quite reflects light normally but seems to drink it in. Her fingers are long and talon-tipped with tips blackened as if singed; when she gestures, faint ribbons of orange Atrix light spool from the embroidery on her sleeves and curl into the air before dissolving. Unexpectedly, she wears a battered wool scarf from the glacier-watchers of the north, the fabric tattered and cold to the touch despite the heat that surrounds her. Her movement style is deliberate and economical; she never rushes, but when she does move quickly, it is with the sudden, precise twitch of a flame-lash.