The femme fatale was graced with the sort of sumptuous figure described in the prosaic stroke of a pen in the hand of a romance novelist or materializing in the midnight fantasies of young men. Rounded breasts swell over a small, corset-trained waist. Her hips flare in a sinuous curve tapering to rounded thighs and shapely calves. She was a waking dream of a mantua maker. Expensive fabrics fall over her body like a fitted glove. Even her well-turned ankles and slender feet with a high arch showcase designer heels to their best advantage. Her sense of fashion manifests in apparel designed with the retro-themed allure of a Hollywood starlet stepping from the set of a Film Noir production. When she speaks, it is with a soft, breathy invitation that is rich and sultry like a hazy summer night. Her dulcet intonations reach the ear like a lovers caress; when she sings, it is a hypnotic sirens seducement. Fae Mein: Long auburn hair with hints of tawny flame curl in a silken skein in her mortal form and darken to a starlit black to warp around the pointed ears of a white, furred feline. Their movements are expressive, whimsical. Her retrousse nose and full lips become even more kittenish given to minxish smiles and playful pouts. Her perfect teeth sharpen to pointed bicuspids. Her ice-blue eyes become more cat-like with large pupils. Dark eyeliner, favored in her mortal seeming, are permanent markings on her chimerical flesh. The vocal cords of the Pooka achieve purrs and trills no human could ever hope to utter. A fluffy tail whorls, moving like a metronome in perfunctory, hypnotic time metered to the indulgent slink of her hips.