Like a delicate orchid weaved by glass, Ilharae seems fragile with the tender suggestion of a placid beauty. With a graceful melancholy one may see her quiescent her slender frame against a bridge, or staring into oblivion with her silvery-hues; one perhaps may note her right arm. Ilharae’s body moves with lax grace, typical with kaldorei youth, time has not graced her with elegance just yet, but nevertheless her right hand from her shoulder down to each fingertip moves seldom. Perchance something may be of fault with it? With no exception regardless of what ever attire hosts her stature the arm is covered by either a loose glove or thick bandage.

A lingering sweet scent of vanilla and honey bathes her, either guided by a zephyr or the swift winds that chase after her when Ilharae walks; it is always there. Acquaintances will recognise the lingering scent whenever she is close by; it really is that potent of a smell, like a meadow of wildflower in early spring. Though potent, the sweet perfume entices a gentle aroma; not overwhelming.

Some describe Ilharae as a ‘weeping willow lost within the winds’, others ‘raspberry’ whatever her nickname or titles one thing is quite clear; her hue of bright colours. From her skin; a soft pink with a dusted purple with a few tiny freckles dotted along her cheeks, to her eyes; a misty blue with a smudge of white, a beckoning void, she seems partly blind. Even her yielding purple hair which teases each kiss from the gentle breezes with an eager flick is brightly hued with the hint of youth.

Her attire tends to be of ebon shade, not exactly a bright and colourful way to exploit her looks one might think? With either fine kaldorei silk or common human linen each garb has been crafted by a sleight hand.

Ilharae’s touch is as gentle as placid waves that offer kisses to the shore during the morning; lax yet tender and her voice beckons quietly even when she lifts her tone one would never grimace at its volume. Can any find this timid kaldorei intimidating? Perhaps not.