Thalienne moves like wind through buds: light, almost buoyant, but with sudden, brittle jolts. Where she should show Spring's pastel living greens and pearlescent blooms, her coloring reads bright, sun-stung summer — leaves of wheat-gold and petals browned at their edges. From her forehead sweep a crown of reindeer antlers: once soft and velveted, now partially flayed. Strips of downy velvet dangle in ragged ribbons; beneath, blackened bone spikes jut like inked thorns and glisten with persistent, rust-colored blood. Her left antler is hollowed and rimmed with a faint obsidian crust; from its center bleeds a thin, sticky ribbon of sickly red aether that drips and hovers as if reluctant to fall. At the center of her chest, where Eladrin seasonal marks usually bloom, is a corrupted sigil: cracked, blistered skin like dried riverbeds fused with charcoal burns; the 'flower' of the mark secretes a faint ember-scented dust. Her left eye is clouded and scored by the same red energy; small fissures of that light creep like root-veins down her left arm. Motion betrays contradiction: she is elegant and quick, yet sometimes stumbles as if remembering a very old wound, fingers skittering to brush at hanging velvet and failing to soothe what it reveals.