Saerith moves like someone who learned to float before she learned to walk. Her gait is light and economical. She wears a long, asymmetrical cloak that looks woven from twilight, the threads catching light as if tiny stars were stitched into fabric. Her left cheek bears a thin, silvered scar that arcs from temple to jawline, the skin faintly luminescent in moonlight. One sleeve is deliberately shorter than the other, revealing a set of brass bangles etched with runes. Unexpectedly, she hums old lullabies under her breath when concentrating in battle. When standing still she seems older; when she smiles she looks decades younger.