Nainei moves like someone trained to tidy chaos: deliberate, economical gestures, fingertips perpetually dusted with metallic soot and flour. She is tall and willowy in the elven way, but carries a faint stoop in her shoulders as if she's always leaning toward the next task. Her layered dress is always immaculate despite evidence of recent work — oil smudges sometimes bloom at the cuffs and a faint smell of cinnamon lingers after she cooks. The black base of her gown has a slight iridescent thread that catches light like oil on water; four small golden buttons cinch at her waist. A large red-and-green bow rests at her throat with a rounded medallion of hammered gold at the center. The petticoat beneath is fluffily red and peeks out in motion. Her long cream sleeves end in a spiky white textile that looks almost like delicate feathers and often brushes at her face when she thinks; green and red bands wrap her wrists. Unexpectedly, her left forearm bears a neat lattice of faint silver scars — arcane conduit marks — and she sometimes pulls the sleeve down to hide them when she feels exposed. She tends to hum low, slightly off-key tunes when nervous and slips crumbs away into the folds of her skirt as if saving them for no one in particular.