Miyu carries herself with a delicate grace, standing poised yet unassuming. Her long black hair is always pulled back in a low, intricate braid adorned with strands of silver thread woven subtly throughout, catching the light when she moves. Her dark purple eyes are deep pools of silent contemplation, framed by slender, round spectacles with thin silver rims. She wears layers of silk robes, shimmering with fine embroidery that occasionally reveals tiny, almost imperceptible patterns of lotus blossoms. Her movements convey a serene stillness, almost like a slow river, but unexpectedly, her fingers move with a swift, decisive energy when working or in moments of tension. A faint scent of jasmine and sandalwood lingers about her, mingled with the subtle sharp note of a rare violet perfume she keeps in a small vial. Her fingers bear faint, purplish stains from years of handling dyes and silks, a visible testament to her craft. Despite her refined and fragile appearance, Miyu's posture and gaze hold a steely resolve that surprises many.