Vaelora is striking in the way a lightning strike is striking, impossible to ignore and slightly alarming even when beautiful. She has a lean, dancer's frame, but moves with the loose confidence of someone who expects the world to make room for her and usually does. Her skin has a warm pearl sheen, like moonlit shell, and faint constellations seem to surface beneath it when she laughs. Her hair is a wild spill of black threaded with silver, but the silver is not streaked evenly, it gathers in bright, wind-tossed ribbons as if the night sky itself forgot to stay still. Her eyes are mismatched, one gold and one storm-gray, both sharp with amusement. She wears layered robes of deep indigo and bruised violet that look expensive from a distance and slightly mended up close. The cloth is embroidered with tiny bells, teeth, and stars, yet she walks so softly they rarely ring. The unexpected part is her left hand, which is always wrapped in plain healer's linen, neat and almost sober, contrasting absurdly with her dazzling, irreverent presence.