A sleek cap of burnished hair hugs her skull, longer on top and curried forward to frame eyes the shade of frozen depths. Cut short, the fiery strands are left to dance and flicker in whatever winds may find them - falling to brush above her shoulders, but never upon them. A smattering of freckles dapples her nose, more visible in bright light.
In moments of delight, two dimples pop out. Over her left ear is tucked a jeweled butterfly, crafted from lockpicks in shades of the sea. Of average height, she stands straight in a posture long practiced, while her movements hold both stealth and grace.
More often than not, she smells of blossoms and lemon tarts.
Although her gowns vary they are kept meticulously clean and free of wrinkles. A slit has been cut up the side of each, the hemming done with an expert hand. The alterations are barely noticible, save in battle.
Upon her back, she wears an overfull pack, stuffed with scrolls, notes, books, and treats. Around her neck, she wears an intricately woven web of spider silk, with a small sliver of amber trapped in the strands like glamorous prey. Her wrist is sheathed in a silk bracelet dyed a trio of muted hues - pink, orange, and yellow - that fuse together in echo of a pastel sunset. A small, well-worn pouch on her belt is home to her butterflies, one of shell and one of wood. They keep company with a boy shaped cookie covered in a thick coat of clear lacquer.
She is a capricious mixture of bubbling laughter and deep welled solemnity, and when lost in thought or memory, her eyes shade night dark.