The click-click-click of her heels announces her long before her presence can be seen, but even then, Aethril is a figure that demands to be looked at. Her posture is almost statuesque-- ethereal and beautiful, like something you'd see in a book rather than standing right there in front of you. At some six feet tall (without heels on) her height is far from the most intimidating in the caves; but the thick muscle lining her arms, legs, and torso hidden underneath a layer of soft fat gives some indication to the power Aethril so clearly likes to carry herself with.
Every movement is pinpoint precise; carefully calculated in the way that she talks, or right down to the very subtle brush of her fingertips against hair. Even the tone of her voice is very calculated; often quite placid and dream-like, as though she were quietly laughing at some private joke, can sharpen to a deadly point, dripping venom with each syllable. Despite the brutal magic that the Valkhand likes to arm herself with, there's something oddly gently elegant about her. A soft, kind-looking face kissed with freckling and warm doe-y almost seem hand-sculpted to trick observers into dismissing her as a creature that means no harm. While Aethril doesn't go slaughtering gembound by the masses, there certainly must be a reason why she trains herself so harshly.
Underneath pristine, iridescent clothing, warm blue-hued skin doesn't contain any scars to note that might indicate a reason for her paranoia. There are mysterious, almost neon-azure markings that carefully line her torso and arms, circling an out-of-place Oilstone on her sternum that sits just a little too neatly for comfort.
In fact, everything seems just a little too neat. A glittering (outfit-appropriate, of course) ribbon keeps a blue mane from draping over her face, but it doesn't seem as though the Hand particularly needs it. From the thick swathe of hair, not even a stray hair is out of place; every little fold of her dress seems somehow intentional, and even the way her cloak flutters behind her in a breeze seems as though she's commanding that wind with her own hands.
Such clothes, incidentally, seem vital in keeping Aethril identifiable from the other rabble in the caves. They're finely-tailored silks threaded with intricate details too little and precise for the thick furs and rags other humanoids tend to wear. These are often matched with makeup; pale, light-like powder dappling her cheeks to make them shine, dark colours around her eyes, and a dark colour painted on her lips which highlight long fangs behind them when the Hand speaks.
Curiously, on occasion, Aethril wears jewelry. These often take up estate along long, elegantly pointed ears, studded or hanging neatly from a delicate chain. The gemstones of these are noteworthy both for their beauty and their cut; elegantly whittled away to reveal their best sides. Clear, sparkling rubies and diamonds and the like make their way very comfortably on Aethril's similarly sparkly, elegantly clothing.
What is particularly important to note of these gemstones, however, is how the magic of their past lives still clings to them.

It should be noted that Aethril is, first and foremost, aggressive. Such little niceties and politeness she displays is likely nothing more than a mask that barely holds back the full brunt of raw chaos soaring through her veins. Secondly, as is with most aggresive, chaos-addled creatures, Aethril is unpredictable. The probability of Aethril being in a good mood or a foul one is nothing more than a coin flipped by the hand of fate.
In her more vile moods, she can be ceaselessly destructive both to herself, other people, and whatever environment might be in her way. Although she, as Valkhands often do, has considerably more control over her outbursts then your average oil-spitting Valkhound, she's obviously not immune to certain traits that are common throughout corrupted members of the Nest.
Knowing this, knowing that she likely has little to no remorse for the no-doubt genuinely terrible shit she has done to people in the past, might make it all the stranger when something resembling humanity shows itself.
Aethril suffers from debilitating nightmares. The cause-- pure Chaos or trauma, or perhaps both --quite unclear. Knowing this might put much of her actions into new light: she lives with her gaze cast over her shoulder, paranoid and expecting betrayal at every corner. Aethril does not like to take risks, not really -- behind a confident shell and pretty dresses is a mind that is constantly searching for the exit door.
Which is difficult to find. The Caves have none.
For how rare it seems that Aethril genuinely lets her guard down and takes a moment to enjoy the company around her, she has at least, managed to find some genuine friends (or whatever closest she defines them as such) throughout the new generation in the nest, as well as keeping a few old ones within the Palace.
Perhaps one day, she will actually let herself relax.