Gilda stands a stout four feet tall, possessing the solid presence of a mountain boulder but moving with the uncanny, silent grace of a shadow. Her skin is the texture of weathered granite, mapped with fine lines from years of peering through magnifying lenses. Her iron-grey hair is bound in complex, heavy braids weighted with silver wire and tiny clockwork gears that occasionally click. She wears a brass-rimmed jeweler's loupe over her left eye like a monocle, which magnifies her piercing, crystalline blue iris to an unsettling size. While her hands are calloused and stained with oil, her movements are delicate, almost surgical, when handling the fragile baubles in her shop.