Caelith moves as if music defines gravity: a quick, rolling gait that ends in a theatrical bow or a playful shoulder shimmy. His face is finely angled, high cheekbones softened by a perpetual half-smile that makes his eyes read as both amused and appraising. He wears a collar of tiny mirrored discs that tinkle with every tilt of his head; the mirrors sometimes catch and reflect a fleeting, private expression that contradicts the visible smile. His hands are long and callused at the tips from juggling and instrument strings, and one knuckle carries an old burn scar in the shape of a tiny crescent moon. Unexpectedly, his left eyebrow is threaded with a thin silver chain woven through a few hairs — a keepsake from a lost partner — which flashes when he frowns. When idle, he often toys with a bright glass bead that slides along the inside of his palm, turning performance into thought.