Fifth in the F-Series

She doesn't appear threatening. Her demeanor is one of ease and lightness. Eyes bright, face glowing. Charming. Enchanting. And something else. Something not easily named, except it pulls him in faster than a rollercoaster. He feels the usually predictable solid ground move under his paralyzed feet, pulling him off-balance. Out of control, beyond all volition, he is falling. Off his axis toward the unknown and the untouched. She is standing. Open and alert, in all her glory. And run away is all he can do to stay afloat. He has met his match. With one difference. Her power doesn't control, doesn't intimidate, doesn't dominate. It simply melts you down to your core until you stand naked before her with nothing to do and nothing to say, and the question that cannot leave  you alone is "who is she?"