Lady Serin moves like a poem written in cold ink. She keeps her spine straight as a flagpole and shifts weight from heel to toe with deliberate, measured steps. Her gait is composed yet surprising; when agitated she taps the toe of her left boot three times in quick succession. Her face is angular with a narrow nose and a thin scar that runs from the left eyebrow down into faint stubble of a healed skin graft. She wears a narrow velvet mantlet over one shoulder and conceals a slim cane that doubles as a blade. Unexpected element: when alone and relaxed she hums an old fisherfolk lullaby with a voice that undercuts her formal bearing.