Selina moves with a quiet, deliberate grace that belies her humble profession. Her skin is softly dusted with faint scorch marks — remnants of a baking mishap long ago, yet worn proudly like badges of resilience. Her dark chestnut hair is streaked subtly with strands of silver, pulled back in a loose braid that swings slightly unevenly as she walks, a sign of her often distracted mind. Her hands are both calloused from kneading dough and gentle from psionic focus, fingers twitching as if reaching out to intangible thoughts. She wears a simple earth-toned linen dress smudged with flour, but hidden beneath the hem is a faintly glowing tattoo of ancient rune symbols forming a protective sigil.