Ageless and fair, Magdalena was truly her Lady's child; a moonbeam frozen mid-day, her gelidity exchanged as a creature of gossamer-woven shrouds, silver-spun faerie-tale, and tenacious, clinging shadows. Lofty in height, willowy in build, her own haunting, fae-ish beauty was complimented by an appropriate air of fragile delicacy, and a preternatural pallidity that spanned from her ashen, wan tone to her flowing, silvery locks, tamed tresses that flowed to the small of her back. Her gaze was imperious and discerning, argent and aloof; sharp and coruscating - a fitting continuation of motif in her service. Her smile was demure, sparing tawdry efforts for a disarming and disquieting simplicity.
She was a creature of curious politesse. Her laughter was terse but genuine. Her manner was decidedly mild, her speech archaic and devoid of uncordial breviloquence.
She moved with a step that was steady and gliding, practised but desultory. Neither here, nor there, be it physically or in state of mind. A scholar, busied by her own avocations -- weighty tomes, with a preference for one: it filled the span from her fingertips to her forearms, covered in snowy leather, emblazoned in radiant nacre along its front and spine in words foreign and eldritch. Its presence was constant, though her place in it varied, with the entire things pages festooned with arrangements of bookmarks; gaily coloured tongues whose ends frayed and forked, tattered by their ends.
Peregrine apparel did little to dispel an ethereal air to her, swathed in as many layers of mystique as she was fabric. A gown-robe was preferred, slender and cinched at its waist so as to be almost sheath-like, fashioned from fine silks and wispy gossamer and tailored with full sleeves that trailed well beyond her satin-gloved hands. Lengthy pellegrina draped about her narrow shoulders, touched by the invisible gravity of her station that left their youthful form sagged despondently. The entire ensemble was trimmed in black, hemmed with woven shapes depicting the many phases of the moon, the belt at her waist similarly studded by silvery spheres. Garnishing was largely absent, with but a few chains of gold 'round her neck, ranging from chokers to lengthy-chained pendants and the occasional band about her fingers, worn neatly over her gloves. A dusting of dark berry complimented her washed-out features, and a touch more harsh a gilding liner to widen those sleepless eyes; beautiful, but doing little to dispel visual effects of insomniac hours dedicated to bookish retreats.
Most queer of all was her facemask, that symbol of faithful opulence. At the bridge of her nose it began, rising as a black, silken blindfold to just above her brow. A small orb was its centrepiece - a strange and questionable cintamani stone - polished and nacreous, flanked by two silvery crescents. From them, an obscuring tangle of filigree spread and spidered over her upper face; a diadem of gleaming, woven pearl.