Hannah bint-Rabi cuts a severe, dignified figure whose ramrod-straight posture makes her seem taller than she is. Her intelligent, weary eyes remain bright behind polished reading lenses suspended from a delicate silver chain. She moves with the slow certainty of a metronome, never hurried, yet somehow always arriving exactly where she intends. Her hands are narrow and heavily callused from decades of turning rough vellum, sharpening quills, and handling archival boxes. Fine ink stains have permanently darkened the creases around her knuckles. Her face is lined like folded parchment, but her mouth is unexpectedly soft and almost grandmotherly when she is amused. The contradictory impression is striking: she looks like a brittle old scholar, yet carries herself with the balance and quiet readiness of someone who has spent years expecting a knife between the shelves.