Lilith has pale mint-green skin and jet-black hair woven with dried honeycomb and moss. Her horns are obsidian black, curving elegantly back like those of a goat. Her eyes are a striking, honey-like amber that lacks any visible pupil. She wears robes of mottled brown and gray that seem to pulse slightly with the movement of hidden insects beneath the layers.

Lilith possesses an eerie, feral calm that can be deeply unsettling to those around her. She speaks softly, her voice carrying a faint, melodic buzz like a distant hive. She views death as a mere state of transition and treats every fallen creature with the same detached reverence a gardener might show to fallen leaves. She is rarely angered, but when pushed, her silence becomes heavy and suffocating.

Lilith was born in a village that feared her green skin as a mark of the plague. Abandoned in the deep, boggy marshes, she did not die. Instead, she was adopted by a strange ecosystem where giant hive-bees fed on the spores of a necromantic fungus. She spent years in isolation, learning that the decay of the forest was what fed the life of the swarm. She came to view herself not as a tiefling, but as a part of the greater cycle of the marsh. Now, she travels the world to observe how other societies handle the inevitable rot, often finding their resistance to death amusingly futile. She carries a portion of her original hive in a petrified resin jar, listening to their humming guidance whenever the civilized world becomes too loud. Her presence is often heralded by the sweet, heavy scent of fermented nectar and the sight of a single green-tinted spore drifting on the wind.