Race: Human (forma de muerta)
Age: GGGGGGMILF
Gender: Lady
Weight: Less
Build: Precarious
Skin: Gone
Hair: Nada
Eyes: Tourmaline

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Catrina greets the world around her with a perennial worm-cleansed grin and the unerring stare of two gem-encrusted eye sockets that glitter with a violet glow. She adorns herself with fine clothing that evokes the noble class of a faraway land. Her skull is rarely without her signature wide-brimmed hat atop it, whose band is always richly decorated with various flowers and feathers that give her otherwise dark clothing a much needed splash of life and color. It is obvious to anyone that the woman lacks any trace of flesh, muscle or organs - a magically animated set of human bones given the semblance of life and draped in fineries.

Despite her condition Lady Catrina usually lives up to the promise of her unfaltering, toothy smile - there is a bounce in her step and more often than not a jest or laugh to go along. Her movements are not mechanical and efficient like some mindless construct, even if they are slightly uncanny and puppet-like as the bones articulate unaided, as if guided by unseen strings. She moves with a practiced grace and refinement as a woman high-born would be expected to despite her apparent enthusiasm, every stride a fluid motion like she were weightless, which she very nearly is.

When it comes to her body itself it is very evident that she keeps her bones in exceptional condition, cleaning and caring for them to her best ability - though their age made it impossible for them to be flawless. Discoloration, nicks and scratches along her fingers, tiny cracks in her skull and even miniscule chips in her faceted gemstone 'eyes' - all betray the storied past this particular corpse must have had. Those with an eye for such things could tell that her bone structure was befitting her claim to noble birth, the shape of her skull hinting at a face that might have been quite attractive, once, long ago.

Her voice is euphonious and ethereal as it echoes off of the weave itself, coming from deep within her hollow chest just as it would from someone living, but always carrying that wavering hint of it's ghostly nature. Her speech is usually tinged with a spark of joy as she speaks and tells her awful, awful jokes - and that cackle of hers is impossible to mistake. Despite not actually needing to do so, her jaw flaps open and closed in time with what she says, perhaps just to make the people around her more comfortable. However, in quieter moments the skeletal woman's tone takes on a doting, almost motherly quality with an undertone of a distant sorrow that betrays an emotional core somewhere within the soul of the otherwise unfeeling, if affable, undead.

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Notes:

- Two bones from her left-hand ring finger are missing.