Timeless and ageless and full of inward strength, the woman gives you a friendly smile—her gaze is fulfillment, her greeting a homecoming. Silently, you stretch out your hands towards her. She takes them both in her warm, firm hands.

"You must be Emil Sinclair!” She recognizes you. “Welcome!"

Her voice is warm. You drink it up like sweet wine. And now you look up and into her quiet face, the black unfathomable eyes, at her fresh, ripe lips, the open, queenly brow that bears the 'sign.'