Selshira is petite and visibly exhausted, with a narrow frame that seems to fold in on itself whenever she sits. Her messy dark hair hangs in uneven, sleep-crushed ropes around her face, with several strands permanently kinked from being tucked behind one ear and forgotten. Her heavy-lidded amber-brown eyes rarely look directly at a person's face. Instead, they track door hinges, candle flames, ink stains, pockets, and the empty space above someone's shoulder as if every room is a diagram waiting to reveal its hidden mechanism. She moves with slow, inward-sloping caution, then suddenly darts across a room with startling purpose when a magical idea catches her. Despite the rumpled, unwashed impression of a scholar who has slept in her clothes for weeks, her hands are immaculate, her nails carefully trimmed, and every brass fitting in her study gleams. She leaves people with the peculiar impression that they have been both ignored and studied intensely.