Ashen Liora appears as a woman made of dusk and old candlelight, slender and luminous with a soft, soot-flecked halo that never fully settles. Her skin looks like pale porcelain brushed with gray ash at the edges, yet her hands are workworn and warm, with faint burn-scars across the knuckles like tiny maps of past prayers. Long hair the color of banked coals falls in loose waves down her back, but at the roots it flashes white as holy salt when she is angry. Her eyes are the surprising part, bright teal-gold, as if sunrise were trapped behind storm glass. She moves with the quiet steadiness of someone used to entering burn sites and mourning halls, yet she laughs too easily, a contradictory, almost reckless brightness that makes her feel more alive than divine.