She wears no makeup except for a subtle pink on the lips, collecting in the creases. Her black hair is wrapped inside a bandanna with a pattern of purple and green leaves.
She is still when she speaks. Her unadorned hands, with long tapering fingers, lie calmly in her lap. Her round, strong shoulders do not move. Only her full lips, beneath broad cheeks, shape the syllables. Her sentences come short and sharp. Full of meaning. Without wasted words. She stares at you over her sentences, waiting for a reply.
When she stands up, she catches you off guard. You expect her to be taller than you, but she only comes up to your shoulder. Beneath her skirts, her legs are bowed. She walks with a fierce rhythm, navigating the stairs one at a time. She does not hold the handrail.