A small, energetic tiefling who moves like a spark hopped from one ember to another. Lysa's gestures are always in motion: she pirouettes when she speaks, taps rhythms on surfaces, and leans forward as if about to confide a secret. Her horns curl back like polished ram's horns but are nearly hidden by a cascade of ribbon-braids; the ribbons are stitched with tiny bells that chime if she laughs too hard. She favors slip-on slippers and layered skirts that flare with a practiced theatricality. Unexpectedly, her left eyebrow has been braided into a thin silver chain that loops to a tiny charm shaped like a child's drawing of a ship—an odd, childish relic against her otherwise showy costume. When still she radiates bright warmth; when threatened she tightens like a coiled spring, eyes pinning like a hawk's under a playful gaze.