Nesta is a woman of rigid angles and starched dignity. Her skin has the texture of sun-bleached parchment, pulled tight over high cheekbones that give her a perpetual look of disdain. She moves with a jerky, bird-like precision, her spine never touching the back of any chair. Her eyes are a startling, cold cobalt blue that seem to search for heresy in every shadow. While her robes are the required plain white, they are kept so blindingly clean they almost glow. In sharp contrast to her austerity, she wears hidden, flamboyant silk slippers embroidered with crimson peacocks, a silent rebellion against the modesty she preaches.