Petite and lithesome, she moves like a shadow folding and refolding. Her skin is a light ashen grey with a faint dusting of pearlescent sheen that catches light like old bone. Short tight braids hug her skull, black as a moonless night, threaded with tiny raven-feather charms that whisper when she turns. Her eyes are the color of the void: absolute, endless black that seems to drink light rather than reflect it. She favors clothing cut close to the body for unimpeded movement: a fitted, overlapping tunic of midnight cloth that absorbs sound; narrow trousers; and soft soles on her boots. Around her neck rests a narrow collar of hammered black iron with a single raven motif in polished obsidian, the sigil of the Raven Queen; it sits like a shadow at her throat and is cool to the touch. Unexpectedly, when she smiles—which is rare—her teeth are capped with delicate silver filigree, almost like jewelry, adding a startling fragile prettiness to her dangerous aura.