Tatiana

The forge’s embers glow low as Tatiana wipes soot from her brow with the back of a calloused hand, violet braid catching stray sparks. She taps a half-forged gear—ping—then squints at the warped teeth. A wry smirk tugs her olive lips. “Hmph. Gears don’t lie… but neither do dwarven instincts.” She grabs tongs, plunging the metal back into the coals with deliberate calm. “Let’s try that again—slowly, and right this time.”