A lean shadar-kai hexblood with gray skin like ash in moonlight, sharp orange eyes, and long red hair usually braided with dried flowers and thorny stems. She wears layered Slavik-style witch clothes, dark wool, embroidered cuffs, a belted skirt, and a travel-worn shawl pinned with bone charms. A small crow rides her shoulder or circles overhead, and she carries an iron lantern with a black candle that burns with a cold green flame. Her look is equal parts funeral procession and forest rite.

Quietly eerie, observant, and unexpectedly kind to the wounded. She treats secrets like sacred medicine, never spending one carelessly. Around strangers she is courtly and unsettling, but around the bereaved she becomes gentle, practical, and fiercely protective.

Born under a sickle moon on the edge of the Shadowfell, she was raised among shadar-kai who taught her to treat grief like weather, inevitable, dangerous, and best respected. Yet her blood carried something stranger, a witch-mark inherited from a hedge-sorceress ancestor who bargained with a faerie court for safe passage through deathly lands. The mixed omen drew both reverence and fear, and the child grew up listening to funeral chants, charm-craft, and the croaking counsel of crows that seemed to know her name. When she came of age, she walked a path of mourning pilgrims into a blighted village where the dead would not stay buried. There she found an iron lantern in a ruin, its black candle burning green without being lit. The flame answered her touch, and a voice from the dark offered power in exchange for service, not cruelty. She became a warlock to keep her own soul intact, binding her grief into a pact rather than letting it rot. Now she travels with a crow familiar that is not yet fully hers, carrying herbs, thorns, and whispered hexes, seeking the old witch-road that may explain why the lantern knows her heartbeat.