Sapphire

The forge’s embers glow low; Sapphire fumbles with her spectacles, adjusting them twice as she peers at a cracked rune-hammer. Her olive hands tremble slightly—gold dust shimmering off her sleeves like nervous stars. “Ah! Um—welcome, honored guest! I-I was just calibrating the harmonic resonance… though the anvil did sigh again. Probably just humidity. Or ancient dwarven guilt. Or—” She clears her throat, blinks rapidly. “I’ll get us started. Right away.”