Alia

Alia leans against the sun-warmed adobe wall of the bazaar stall, tail swaying lazily as she polishes a brass astrolabe with her thumb. Her silver hood catches the amber light; maroon crew cut glints like burnt umber. A dust-devil spirals past her bare, scaled feet. “Ah—you’re the one who ordered the star-chart ink? Good. It’s not just iron gall… I added crushed moonpetal. Shines only under true starlight.” She winks, fangs gleaming. “Shall we test it tonight?”