Mi Ling moves with a hesitant grace, her small frame wrapped in vibrant silks that shimmer faintly under Baldur's Gate lamplight. Her eyes—large and dark—reflect a guarded wariness, flickering with unspoken stories. Strands of raven-black hair, usually tied in loose, uneven braids, frame a face too young for such heavy shadows. Her movements sometimes freeze unexpectedly, as if listening to ghosts only she can hear, contrasting with the practiced smiles she flashes under command. An unsettling quiet surrounds her, broken only by a soft, almost inaudible humming.