The woman could have been a porcelain doll. She was petite and delicate in stature, small boned and pale skinned, which she habitually kept covered in long, drab homespun. She kept her hair pulled back into a twist, lifted off her neck in a simple bun. Elf strands snug from the up-do to fall irritatingly across her field of view. Her cheeks were round and blushing pink, the skin of her lovely face, smooth and unlined. Her eyes, however, were dark. Dark enough brown that the pupils were nigh indiscernible from the iris and the black corona around each wide enough to make it seem as though the whites were slowly being swallowed in darkness. Her deep set eyes, dark brows and long curling lashes needed no aid of kohl lining or pain to be considered beguiling, though most who caught her gaze described the woman as haunting. Her lips were pleasantly plump, but her mouth was just a little too wide. If she were to break into a laugh, the wide curve of her rosy lips would certainly draw favorable attention.

Good luck getting her to smile, though. Typically dour, and bearing an air of suspicion and deliberation, the waif chooses her words as carefully as her actions. She nearly always carried a heavy satchel, the strap of which could be seen cutting in over her shoulder. A thick patched cloak with frayed edges and a large concealing hood completed her daily ensemble. Closer scrutiny would reveal a small silver chain glinting against the collar of her dress. Whatever hung from the chain was hid from view, resting against her skin. The only other adornment was a dainty ivory colored ring that looked slightly browned with age, which she wore on her left pinky.