The necromancer is a tall and curvaceous woman of middling years. She has the airs of amusement and superiority about her person, as if she were in on some joke that has eluded her peers. Although Morcella is a woman ever so slightly past her prime, it is difficult to pin down her age; no doubt her necromantic arts have done much to preserve her beauty. As a result, there is something alien about her looks, an inherent wrongness to the succulence of her figure. The peculiar ways in which she accentuates her features do little to dispel the notion that she is not quite right.

For example, the necromancer's sultry lips are painted poison green. Her eye shadow is a matching shade, and the makeup is dabbed under her eyebrows with an excessively heavy hand. When she shuts her eyelids, her eyes almost resemble empty sockets. Under scant light, her entire face has the look of a bleached skull fixed in a grin. The death magician's skin is bone white and devoid of all blemish, and her body is sculpted to almost mannequin-like perfection. The more one studies her, the more convinced one becomes that her beauty is the result of extensive body modification.

Skintight garments of rubber and leather hug her voluptuous shape. The dominatrix's latex dress creaks and squeaks quietly when she moves, and her steps are accompanied by the clip-clop of high heels. An advocate of bondage, she always has her own body tightly harnessed beneath her dress. In addition, her nethers are invariably plugged in some debauched fashion. The necrobitch often enjoys a black rubber dildo stuffed in her cunt and a vibrator abuzz in her ass. Although a jaded deviant at heart, Morcella is nonetheless unfailingly polite in conversation. One simply has to ignore the quiet buzzing sound . . .