Syra moves with an effortless grace—a wavelike fluidity—her lithe form wrapped in layered silks that shimmer faintly in dim light, as if reflecting an unseen mirage. Her face is a study in contradiction; smooth, pale skin interrupted by faint silver veins pulsing softly at her temples, the subtle mark of a long-hidden arcane affliction. Her eyes, an intense aquamarine, flicker unpredictably with flecks of gold when she is deep in thought or casting spells. Her ebony-black hair is shoulder-length but partially braided in an irregular pattern mimicking ancient elven runes, often tucked behind one sharply pointed ear while the other remains hidden beneath a hood or veil. When she moves about the shop, her footsteps are silent except for an occasional soft jingling of tiny charms sewn into her layered clothing, giving her an unsettling, almost ethereal presence.