Alira moves with restless energy, her lithe frame cloaked in layered robes stitched from scavenged fabrics and embroidered with arcane sigils that shimmer faintly in moonlight. Her deep auburn hair falls in a wild tangle down her back, streaked with errant strands of silver-white—a mark both of youthful rebellion and a strange magical extraction she once underwent. Her skin is pale but dusted with freckles that resemble constellations across her high cheekbones. A strange, contradictory feature is her worn, leather gauntlet on her left hand, rugged and scarred from past experiments, contrasting with her delicate, always-clean fingertips on the other hand, which she uses with precise care. When she walks, there’s a quick, deliberate bounce, as if every step is a question she’s itching to answer, leaving an impression of someone always on the cusp of discovery.