Vaelor is slender and long-limbed, with the slightly underfed look of someone who has lived more in libraries than at tables. His skin is pale with a warm honey undertone, but one cheek bears a faint, permanent bluish sheen from an illusory accident that left half-real magic tattooed under the skin. His hair is ink-black at the roots and fades to silver at the tips as if it has been dusted by moonlight, worn in a loose knot held together by a brass quill. He moves with careful economy, as though every step has been rehearsed in advance, yet there is an odd contradiction in him: his hands tremble when he is frightened, but his face remains serenely composed. He wears layered charcoal robes lined with mirror-thread that catch light only when he turns, making him seem present and absent at once.