Medeina appears as a petite young woman with the unsettling poise of someone far older than empires. Her long blonde hair falls in precise, luminous sheets that seem brushed by moonlight, but the ends are permanently stained with old tinctures and singed a soft copper at the tips. Her purple eyes are vivid and sharp, ringed with the tired halos of a scholar who rarely sleeps, and they flicker like candleflame when she is excited. She wears black thighhighs and sturdy black boots built for long hours in laboratories and battlefields alike, a red skirt lined with tiny glass vials that clink like restrained windchimes, a tiara-like hairband of silver filigree, and a dark cape whose lining is embroidered with shifting formulae. She is never seen without a thick, battered book clutched against her chest or hovering at her side. The contradiction that makes her unforgettable is how childlike and delicate she first seems, while every gesture reveals ancient authority and a body that was built to outlast death.