The door swings open - and like most evenings, her clothes have been traded in for the saree she prefers to sleep in. The white light linen that hung loosely about her. But young, though scarred, but still young. For once that long black hair not pinned to her head, but hanging all the way down her back in a loose braid like a great and thick rope. Swaying faintly where it's flicked over her shoulder like a pendulum.

"Come in," she gestures with her free hand, leaning her weight into the door as she steps out of the way.

Once Teren is through, she closes it behind her. "Wine, tea? Something else your preference?"