Elyra looks like someone half-remembered from a postcard and half-stitched into a storybook: sun-bleached blonde hair usually pulled into a messy low braid that leaves stubborn flyaways to halo her face, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of a sharp nose, and eyes a clear, curious blue that brightens when she sees maps or tools. Her movements are a hybrid — cautious, efficient gestures learned from web-design deadlines and office posture, overlaid with the abrupt, athletic twitching of a recruit practicing parries in the mud. Her hands retain ink stains and tiny calluses from typing and mouse use, oddly juxtaposed with new, deliberate blisters from bowstrings. She favors layered practical clothing that has been altered by necessity: a fitted leather vest over a faded hooded travel tunic (the hood is patched with fabric that has printing resembling circuit traces, a keepsake from an old hoodie), flexible trousers and soft boots scuffed at the toes. Unexpected detail: tucked into the inner seam of her jacket is a slim, modern notebook with a printed cover of a band logo from her world — she treats it like a talisman.