Veshira Vael looks like a walking carnival promise made real, an impossibly exaggerated succubus whose silhouette swings between elegant and absurd. Her form is all glossy, polished curves and a pinched, toy-like waist that seems too small to support the rest of her, giving her an ever-so-slight wobble when she stands still and a dramatic sway when she moves. Her skin has the satiny sheen of lacquered pearl, warm at the edges and faintly opalescent in torchlight. She wears bright, fully modest robes of crimson silk and gold brocade, tailored to cling flawlessly over her surreal shape without revealing much at all, like a festival costume designed by an artist with a wicked sense of humor. Her horns curl back like polished black ribbons, her hair spills in thick waves like ink in water, and her smile is equal parts invitation and warning. The most unexpected thing about her is her tiny wire-framed spectacles, which she adjusts with extreme seriousness while surrounded by impossible glamour.