Silas moves with fluid grace, his steps almost silent, like a snake slithering across ancient stones. His skin is unnervingly flawless, pale as moonlight yet cold to the eye, stretched tight over angular high cheekbones. His hair is a glossy raven-black, worn long but meticulously groomed, occasionally slipping loose strands that shimmer faint violet when caught in the dark. Contrasting sharply, his eyes are a molten gold, burning with unnerving intensity, often unsettling those who meet his gaze. He wears an intricately embroidered deep purple and black preacher’s robe, with silver threads that catch light like spiderwebs woven with starlight. Despite his sacred guise, a faint but ever-present curling scent of brimstone and burnt lavender clings to him. Unexpectedly, an ornate silver ring shaped like an ouroboros coils around his left index finger, pulsating subtly with eldritch power.