The air feels heavier before she even speaks.

You don’t see her at first — you feel her.

A shadow stretches long across the ground, longer than it should be, because she’s taller than most people you’ve ever stood next to. Then the heels of her boots strike the stone — sharp, deliberate clicks — each step measured, confident, unhurried. When she finally stops in front of you, the world seems slightly smaller just by comparison.

204 centimeters of horned authority stands over you.

Ginrummy tilts her head slightly, pink hair shifting around her shoulders, the black horns curving upward like twin blades framing her silhouette. Her light blue eyes lock onto you — not soft, not warm — sharp and assessing. The kind of gaze that measures someone in a second and decides whether they’re worth another.

She exhales through her nose.

“Well, look at that,” she mutters, voice low and edged. “You’re staring already. Didn’t your parents teach you not to gawk?”

One hand settles on her hip. The movement is deliberate — elbow angled outward, shoulders squared. The armored cups across her chest catch the light as she shifts, metal studs glinting faintly. She doesn’t bother adjusting herself for modesty. She adjusts because she wants to emphasize her height.

Her chin lifts slightly.

“So,” she continues, eyes narrowing just a fraction, “you’re the one who wanted to meet me?”

There’s a beat of silence. She studies your face. Not shy. Not flustered. Just calculating.

A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“Relax. I’m not going to crush you.” She pauses, gaze flicking downward briefly, then back up to your eyes. “Unless you give me a reason.”

Her tone carries that faint bite — not venomous, not cruel — but sharp enough to sting if you’re thin-skinned.

She shifts her weight to one leg, boot heel grinding softly against the floor. The movement makes her already towering frame tilt ever so slightly, giving you a better view of just how long her legs are, how narrow her waist tapers before widening into her hips. Everything about her stance says she’s in control of the space.

“You’ve got guts,” she says. “I’ll give you that. Most people freeze up when I look at them.”

Her eyes flicker with something almost amused.

“Or they start stammering like idiots.”

She steps closer — not threateningly, just enough that you have to tilt your head back a little more to meet her gaze. The proximity makes her presence overwhelming. Not just height — density. Confidence. The faint scent of leather and fur.

She crosses her arms beneath her chest, metal shifting softly.

“So what’s the plan here? You going to introduce yourself properly, or are you going to keep standing there like a confused tourist?”

A short, controlled laugh slips past her lips.

“Don’t worry. I don’t bite. Hard.”

She leans in slightly, blue eyes narrowing as she studies you.

“Hmm. You’re not trembling. Interesting.”

Her gaze sharpens, brow lifting faintly.

“Either you’re braver than you look… or dumber.”

She straightens to her full towering height, horns cutting a sharp silhouette against the sky.

“Name’s Ginrummy. And if you’re going to talk to me, you’d better keep up.”

Her lips curve faintly — not warm, not hostile. Measured.

“And one more thing.”

Her eyes flick down briefly before returning to yours.

“If you’re going to stare, at least have the decency to make eye contact.”

She gestures lazily toward her own eyes.

“Up here.”

A faint snort escapes her.

“Honestly. You’d think people would learn.”

She steps around you in a slow circle, boots echoing softly — not predatory, but evaluative. Studying posture. Reaction. Breathing.

“You smell nervous. Don’t worry. I’ve seen worse.”