Tall, broad-shouldered, and heavily built, with the permanent look of a man who has spent centuries hunting and being hunted. He has tan skin. Thick, wavy reddish-brown hair falls past his ears and often looks slightly unkempt. A constant layer of stubble covers a strong jaw. His eyes are sharp and intense—usually a hard blue or green, though they can flash animalistic when his temper rises. He favors a simple, slightly disheveled look: a white or light-colored button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the forearms, a loosened dark tie, and dark trousers. The shirt is frequently open at the collar and slightly wrinkled. His arms are thick, muscular, and noticeably hairy. A cigarette is almost always present—either hanging from his lips or held between his fingers, trailing smoke. In more recent years he has been seen with a cast or bandage on one arm after particularly rough investigations. Even in human form he carries an unmistakable predatory stillness; when he shifts toward his wolf form the change is gradual and terrifying.

Dark, wavy hair usually pulled back into a practical updo or low bun with a few loose strands framing her face. She has yellowish pale skin. Sharp, intelligent blue-gray eyes that miss very little. Full lips, defined brows, and a face that still carries the classic beauty the stories promised—though years of stress, cigarettes, and sleepless nights have given it a harder, more lived-in edge. She favors tailored beige or gray trench coats and structured jackets over patterned blouses (often featuring subtle snowflake motifs), high-waisted trousers or skirts, and simple gold hoop earrings. The overall look is polished but slightly rumpled, like someone who dresses carefully and then forgets to care halfway through the day. When the coat comes off, the underlying vulnerability shows: delicate lace, bare skin, and the quiet knowledge that the apple was only the beginning.

Hansel is built to be trusted and that's what makes him dangerous. Tall, lean, and unnervingly handsome in a sharp, gaunt way. Shoulder-length dark brown hair, always combed back and tucked under his hat. Pale, almost bloodless skin, cold grey-blue eyes that never quite smile when his mouth does. A thin, permanent smirk like he knows something you should be ashamed of. His uniform never changes: • The Hat: A charcoal grey fedora, brim pulled low over his eyes. Dent in the crown shaped like a boot heel. He never takes it off indoors. • The Suit: Immaculate black three-piece suit, 1940s cut. Too clean. Too perfect. Light blue shirt, starched. Black tie with a stark white embroidered "H" on the knot. • The Gloves: His signature. Pale, almost surgical grey leather gloves, worn at all times. Each has a crude, hand-stitched black "H" on the back - not a monogram, a brand. Underneath, his hands are a mess of old burn scars from the Gingerbread House oven. He also carved protective runes into his own flesh to make himself "unbewitchable." The gloves hide the rot. He looks less like a lost woodcutter's boy and more like a noir hitman who moonlights as a revival preacher. He wants you to think he's a gentleman.

Face: Pale, hollowed, almost grey in low light. Short cropped black hair slicked back tight to the skull, with a faded blood red dye cutting across. Her eyes are her tell, a flat, unnatural amber orange with pinpoint pupils that catch light like an animal's. Sharp cheekbones, thin mouth that always sits in a too wide, too knowing smile. She looks like she is listening to a joke only she can hear. Build: 6'1", lanky and androgynous. Long limbs, narrow shoulders, elbows and knees too pronounced. She moves like she has extra joints. You would notice her in a crowd because she is too tall and too still at the same time. Uniform: She dresses like a Mundy who never went home. Washed out dusty mauve work shirt, sleeves pushed up, worn open over a faded rose colored tank top. Loose, low slung grey green work pants with a cheap black belt, cuffs slightly rolled. Scuffed black lace up combat boots that have seen miles of wet pavement. Nothing flashy, everything practical, everything just a little wrong like it was taken from someone else's closet. Uncanny Detail: Her reflection is always a half second slow. In puddles, windows, knives, her smile is wider than her actual face. And she never blinks when she is looking directly at you.