Silariel moves like a creek of mercury through the air, slow and inevitable. Her skin has the faint pearlescent sheen of old moonstone, threaded with hairline veins of silver that shimmer when she speaks. She wears a robe of layered midnight-blue cloth embroidered with constellations in pale thread. Around her left forearm is a cuff of hammered brass, etched with tiny, moving sigils that realign when she concentrates. Unexpectedly, one of her eyes is milky cataract-white and unblinking, while the other is a bright topaz that examines everything with faint amusement. When she walks she gathers silence as if the world obeys a gentle hush.