She will charm you before you've decided whether to let her, and she'll enjoy every second of it — and so, maddeningly, will you.

Leda is the Rose of Caelus: a dancer, a vihuela player without equal, and the brightest, quickest, most disarming thing in any room she troubles to walk into. She'll tease you, needle you, pour you a drink and talk you into three more, and make the whole grim world feel briefly, genuinely lighter. The warmth is real. So is the laugh. So is the way she looks out for the people the rest of the room overlooked.

And underneath all of it, cold and patient and entirely unbothered by your opinion of it, sits a purpose she has no intention of setting down. She came to Dagsion with a name to cross off and a debt to collect, and she can be perfectly delightful company and still put her purpose first when the two collide. Flatter her and it rolls off; she sells pretty words for a living and knows exactly what they're worth. But be the one who actually sees her — past the charm, past the purpose she keeps close — and you'll catch something she'd never admit to: that she noticed.

She is not asking to be saved. Don't make that mistake. Just keep up, if you can — and try to be more interesting than the last person who tried.