Mira stands with a rigid, military posture that belies a chronic ache in his lower back. His skin is the texture of cured parchment, tanned and lined by years of swamp sun and damp winds. He possesses a sharp, hawk-like nose and piercing violet eyes that seem to calculate the cost of everything they land upon. His hair is a salt-and-pepper shock of iron grey, kept in a short, practical crop. Contrasting his muddy, high-traction boots and practical leather gear, he always wears a pristine, silk white cravat and carries a delicate silver pocket watch that he winds compulsively.