Matilda Grey is an elderly human woman with parchment-pale, deeply weathered skin that folds into fine lines around her mouth and temples. Her milky-grey eyes are sharp, tranquil, and unsettlingly reflective, as if they are always catching the glint of an unseen clock. Neat silver-white hair is pinned beneath a plain linen kerchief. She stands perfectly upright, never stooping, and moves with a fluid, almost liquid grace that contradicts her age. Her hands are broad-knuckled and scarred from years of maintenance work, but her fingers move with the delicacy of a concert pianist. She leaves the impression of a kindly caretaker until she turns her head too quickly, revealing that her balance and speed are not humanly ordinary. The unexpected contradiction is that her old, battered face is often accompanied by the silent, weightless movements of someone much younger.