Barely a foot tall, Vevra moves like someone both practiced at fluttering through candlelight and used to slipping through keyholes. Her skin is the pallor of milkleeched bone but warm to the touch. Her wings are narrow and translucent with veins like silver filigree that leave a faint sparkling trail when she flies. Her hair is cropped into ragged bangs, threaded with tiny teethlike beads that clack softly; she wears a crown of scavenged enamel and thistles. She favors layered garments stitched from moth wings and silk, patched with teeth from animals and, unnervingly, a child's lost tooth tied in a red ribbon. The unexpected element: when she smiles her incisors glow faintly with a cold blue light like moonlight on porcelain.