Jora moves like a reed in a slow current. She keeps her posture upright but relaxed, shoulders angled slightly as if listening for a distant sound. Her skin shows faint, leaf-shaped scars along the forearms like old pruning marks. She ties her hair back in a messy loop of braids and moss, with stray silver threads catching light. Around her neck hangs a small vial filled with luminescent pollen that glows faintly at night. The shop coat she wears is practical and patched, smelling faintly of rosemary and wet earth. An unexpected detail is a single polished brass monocle perched on a cord that she only uses when reading rare, brittle ledgers or inspecting delicate specimens.