Lyrielle is a figure of terrifying elegance. Her skin is the color of cold ivory, appearing almost translucent in moonlight. She has long, platinum-silver hair that she braids with sharp copper wire, and her eyes are twin spheres of burning gold with needle-sharp pupils. When her rage builds, her shadow seems to detach from the floor and writhe. Unexpectedly, she carries a bunch of perfectly preserved, yet bone-dry lilies tucked into her belt, their scent of decay masked by the smell of ozone. She moves with a mechanical, predatory grace, like a landslide in slow motion.