Trixie is a tiny human woman with the deliberate, polished presence of someone who knows exactly how much room she takes up and uses every inch of it. She moves with brisk, spring-loaded confidence, her shoulders loose and her chin lifted as if the world itself has been invited to keep pace. Her compact frame is all quick balance and wiry strength, with strong calves, nimble hands, and a walk that seems to bounce lightly over trouble instead of away from it. Her eyes are hazel, but they change with the light, flashing green in daylight and molten gold near fire. Her blonde hair falls in thick, carefully brushed waves, usually pinned back with ribbon or a jeweled comb, though a few rebellious strands always escape like they are in on a joke. The unexpected contradiction is her left boot, a heavy iron thing that looks more like a tiny siege engine than footwear. She wears it proudly, claiming it helps her make an entrance loud enough to be remembered.