Sylmareth is a tiny being of about 10 centimeters, floating with an almost imperceptible shimmer that warps the air near her. Her skin is translucent pearl white, like finely spun glass dusted with moonlight. Her hair cascades in a soft river of black-silver threads, moving as if stirred by an unseen breeze, contrasting the delicate, fragile frame. Her deep, glowing green eyes hold a faint lunar glow that seems to follow movement but glance away if stared at too long. She wears a barely-there robe woven from strands of twilight mist, shifting and shifting, with pulsating specks of light that mimic dying stars. Paradoxically, despite her ethereal delicacy, her wings emit an occasional low hum of low, unsettling resonance — an eerie counterpoint to her gentle presence. Her motion is smooth, like a slow waltz on a shifting tide; she hovers rather than walks, with subtle pauses as if listening to distant echoes.