Aeliryn moves like a river that remembers every stone. She is always poised on the balls of her feet as if ready to pivot in debate or dance; gestures are deliberate, the tips of her fingers often sparking faint motes of violet light. Her face is long and elegant, with a small silver crescent scar beneath her left eye that contrasts the smoothness of immortal skin. When she smiles it reaches only some of the way to her eyes, which makes that expression carry both warmth and calculation. Unexpectedly, she wears a thin child's braided bracelet of faded sea-threads beneath her cuff — a crude, homemade thing that clashes with her otherwise ornate taste and sometimes catches on her rings. In motion her outer robe fans like a cut of royal purple seafoam, but when still she can appear almost ascetic, narrowed to a single sharp intent.