Lady Soraya is a tall, narrow woman whose stillness feels more deliberate than restful. Her warm brown skin is marked by faint silver scars along the left side of her neck, remnants of a childhood canal accident. Her fingers are long, ink-stained, and permanently roughened by papyrus, binding thread, and sealing wax. She moves with economical precision, turning corners without brushing hanging curtains and setting objects down exactly parallel to table edges. Her expression is severe enough to make seasoned magistrates check their wording, yet she has a habit of kneeling in expensive robes to speak eye-to-eye with frightened petitioners. The unexpected contradiction is her collection of tiny painted toy boats, each no larger than a thumb, which she keeps hidden among legal folios and handles with almost reverent tenderness.