Asteria Bellatrix is slender, almost fragile at first glance, her steel-gray hair and pallid skin making her look like something carved from moonlight and shadow. She dresses in black and chains, her small frame draped in sharp lines and occult symbols — a deliberate armor that only accentuates her ghostly presence. She looks like someone who might blow away in a strong wind.
And yet… people step aside when she walks past. Her gaze lingers too long, too sharp, like she’s measuring what it would take to cut you open, or like she’s watching something behind you that no one else can see. When she smiles, it’s unsettling, an expression caught between secret knowledge and hunger. Even her silences have weight, carrying an unspoken threat that makes strangers’ hands tighten around their drinks.
The Hedge clings to her. Sometimes her hair glimmers green as if brushed with moss; her nails are faintly stained, as if with soil or ash. She shifts restlessly, always half-poised toward some unseen path. Talking about the Hedge makes her eyes blaze with an unnerving mix of terror and longing — the look of an addict recalling their first hit.
Small as she is, Asteria radiates menace. Not the obvious kind, but the sort that crawls under your skin: the feeling that this thin, haunted woman could dismantle you with nothing more than patience and the right moment. Haunted, hungry, and unsettlingly alive, she is both fragile and dangerous — a contradiction the world can’t quite look away from.
