Vaelithra moves with an effortless grace that hints at her elven lineage, her steps light but purposeful. Her slender frame is wrapped in a flowing midnight-blue cloak embroidered with faint, shifting patterns that reflect the light like moon-waves. Despite this ethereal presence, she wears polished, sturdy leather boots coated in mud and grime—an unexpected touch that betrays her frequent ventures into the city’s underbelly. Her face is sharply defined, framed by tousled waves of silvery-black hair that tumble to her shoulders in rebellious disarray. Sharp, angular brows hover over eyes the color of molten amber, windows to a mind always calculating. Under her left eye is a delicate tattoo of interlocking spirals, inked in a faint silver pigment only visible in moonlight, an heirloom mark of her mother’s clan. She has a habit of tugging at a frayed thread on her cloak’s hem when nervous or deep in thought.