Morgaine is a small, thin statured woman with a feminine hourglass frame. Her aura, though seems to define and clarify reality rather than twisting and warping it. It's much like seeing enlightenment rather than insanity. One gets the distinct impression there is a quiet to her still soul in her presence, betraying a wisdom reaching past the experience of her youth. She carries herself confidently and with poise, most often one can find her quiet, her voice is raspy yet high in pitch, and there's always a certain tone of jovial sing-song. Her accent is decidedly British, though the dialect is undiscernable through the rising and falling of melodic intonation. This distinct voice is made even more so by an echo that accompanies it as if always in a large room no matter the environment. She's sometimes, when in the best of moods, prone to riddle and/or rhyme-speak.
Her alabaster skin is as smooth as cream, allowing for a perfect canvas for her blackwork tattoos scattered all over her body - dots upon her fingers, an alchemical symbol there – an ancient sigil of protection there. Her long and painstakingly cared for hair falls down in thin dreadlocks of pitch right down to her svelte hips. They are usually decorated with beads of bone, precious stone or silver, and ochre feathers. Through this, the tips of elongated ears can be seen that fade to black toward the tips.
Morgaine's face is characterized by great round pitch orbs filled with the twinkling of stars and distant swirling nebulae as well as a pair of full cherub's lips that feature a delicate cupid's bow. Her makeup punctuates these two features, her eyes accentuated by dramatically dark smoky hues and wreathed by jet eyelashes that give her eyes a mysterious stare. A light dusting of tiny feathers upon her noble cheekbones and up her temple further frame her face (and likewise may be found other places where bone meets flesh, like her collarbone). Her succulent lips are always painted with hues of black or scarlet and almost always show amusement tugging right at the corners.
Any light that hits her is always reflected back as silvery moonlight, giving her a strange nightly aura that can set one on edge, as if always feeling as if they are watched. Her nails, already long and pointed seem to grow into thick talons and her primary knuckles swell giving her hands raptor-like qualities. To the nose, the air is permiated with the smell of ink and old musty books.
Her attire is almost always layered and eccentric, favoring rich fabrics such as leather, fur, lace, velvet and silk and she wears a cacophony of silver jewelry from head to toe – rings, bracelets, armbands, anklets, noserings, ear rings – she simply drips with them. Her shoes are often her favorite pair of rather witchy-looking black knee-high stiletto boots with narrow toes.
