Tegra looks like someone who learned early that being overlooked can be a form of armor. She moves with a dancer's economical balance, keeping one hand low over her abdomen whenever a room becomes crowded. Her copper-brown skin has a warm, weathered texture from years of powders, oils, winter laundries, and cheap soap. Her hands are unusually memorable: the fingertips are permanently stained blue-black from ink and sealing wax, while the palms are roughened by corset laces, instrument strings, and hauling water. She wears a narrow brass whistle on a cord at her throat, polished bright everywhere except beneath her thumb, where years of anxious rubbing have worn a pale groove into the metal. Her expression is often guarded and sardonic, yet when she laughs she looks startlingly young. The unexpected contradiction is that her voice and posture suggest practiced seduction, while her actual manner around flirtation is awkward, flustered, and almost aggressively practical.