Vey is a stark, almost bleached-white changeling with skin that looks like carved moonmilk and feels faintly cool, like porcelain kept in shadow. Their silver-white undercut is always immaculate at the temples but falls in uneven, soft lengths at the crown, as if it has been cut in haste after every major lie they have ever told. Their face is largely featureless in a way that is unsettling rather than plain, dominated by overlarge blank white eyes ringed in dark gray, with only a subtle suggestion of a nose and a mouth that seems too deliberate, too carefully learned. They move with a dancer's precision and a surgeon's stillness, but there is a contradictory gentleness to them, like someone who handles cracked teacups with reverence and battlefield corpses with equal concentration. Up close, their skin carries faint pearly seams that appear and vanish with emotion, like music written under ice. Their presence leaves the impression of a winter chapel after the last bell has stopped ringing.