Kaelith moves with a fluid grace unusual for the grime-choked factories of Gearford, her steps silent but assured. Her pale, almost translucent skin is marbled with delicate copper veins — faint traces of her pact's tether to a forgotten gear deity manifesting beneath the surface. Her left eye is an intricate, clockwork orb of polished brass, softly glowing with a warm amber light, constantly rotating tiny internal lenses to scan her environment, contrasting strangely with her otherwise organic elven features. Her raven-black hair is bound in loose, oily braids threaded with thin coils of fine wire and tiny cog charms that click softly when she gestures. Despite her elegant composure, the tips of her fingers bear small burns and soot stains, a testament to nights spent welding arcane contraptions. Kaelith wears a tightly fitted, dark teal leather coat with brass buttons and reinforced seams; the collar lined with finely twined copper thread. Unexpectedly, she sometimes finger-combs her hair obsessively in moments of stress, an odd softness beneath a hard exterior.