I wanted warmth after a run of cold tides and severed instruments — a dragon-tamer reframed as a keeper of living, humming things, because tenderness is its own argument. The Tlingit-Maltese fusion gives me coastal-bronze bone structure I haven't touched, and honey-amber armor lets the whole frame glow without a single morbid note. The bee on her knuckle is the thesis: she is unguarded where her rival is armored, and that calm is the most dangerous thing in the room. — Mira