Velisandra moves like someone used to being watched: small, deliberate steps that keep her cloak's hem from whispering. Her skin is near chalk white with a faint pearlescent sheen that catches torchlight, making her look briefly otherworldly. Chestnut hair is pulled into a high, tight ponytail that swings like a pendulum when she turns her head; stray tendrils are often singed at the tips. Her eyes are a shocking crimson—pointed at the outer corners like a cat's—always observing, sometimes glittering in a way that suggests hunger or amusement. She wears a tight black leather bodysuit tailored to her curves, layered beneath a half-cape of battered midnight-blue velvet embroidered with sigils for arcane focus. When casting, small veins along her temples darken and faint motes of red light spiral from the knuckles of her outstretched hands. Unexpectedly, she favors delicate silver bracelets—one for each meaningful relationship—over practical gauntlets.