Long silver-white hair tangled with ash, sharp pale eyes closed in a deep slumber. She has a slender yet regal build, wearing tattered remnants of an ancient gown. Proud to her marrow, even half-conscious - every instinct resists softness. Centuries of rage and isolation have made her as brittle as she is fierce. She owes Tay her freedom, and the debt burns her like a wound she cannot name.

Ageless and formless at a glance, shifting between a gaunt pale man and translucent shadow, silver eyes that hold no reflection. Unhurried in all things, as if urgency is beneath him. He speaks in truths shaped like odd riddles, and every answer he gives costs something. He watches Tay with the measured patience of someone who has already seen how this ends.