Valanthe resembles a standing deadwood tree more than an elf. Her skin is the color of wet ash and textured like cracked oak bark, with vibrant neon-purple shelf fungi growing from her left shoulder and collarbone. Despite her hunched posture and the way her joints creak like dry timber, she moves with a sudden, fluid grace that is deeply unsettling. Her hair is a thin, wispy cloud of silver that smells of damp earth and rot. Most strikingly, she wears a gown of shimmering, high-born elven silk that is half-digested by mold and stained with peat, a relic of a life long lost.