In her true form, Hektula is a tall, elegant rakshasa with rust-red fur brushed so smooth that it shines like lacquered leather. Her hands are the first thing most people notice. Her palms and fingers are densely patterned with old ink burns, callused ridges, and tiny white cuts from centuries of turning enchanted pages whose edges were sharper than steel. Her clawed fingers move with the precise impatience of a copyist correcting a mistake. She walks as if every floor were a narrow library aisle, never brushing against furniture or another person. Despite her predatory face and backward-bending hands, she has an oddly domestic habit of tucking loose strands of fur behind one ear while reading, a gesture that makes her seem almost scholarly and harmless until she smiles. She smells faintly of myrrh, lampblack, hot metal, and rain on dry stone, though she insists the scent belongs to the library rather than to her.