Ashe moves with the graceful ease of someone born between worlds—part shadow, part light. Standing about 5’8”, her lithe frame is cloaked in soft, well-worn leather armor dyed in muted shades of charcoal and midnight blue, perfect for blending into the night. Her skin is pale with a subtle, almost ethereal shimmer—a hint of her fey heritage. Striking silver eyes, sharp and observant, flicker with quiet cunning beneath long, dark lashes. Her hair falls in tangled waves of deep black, streaked with strands of silver that catch the light like whispers of moonbeams. A faint scar traces just beneath her left cheekbone, a souvenir from a close call long forgotten. Her fingers are nimble and calloused from years of lockpicking and sleight of hand, often adorned with a few simple rings stolen—or earned—from past ventures. Around her wrist, a delicate tattoo of a cracked mask hides beneath her sleeve, a reminder of the many faces she wears and the secrets she keeps. Ashe’s expression is usually calm, cool, and unreadable, but a hint of a sly smile occasionally breaks through, revealing the trickster beneath.