There's something unnerving about her, to put it bluntly. But maybe that's fitting -- for it falls to the unnerving ones to keep vigil over the monsters that would make the rest of society flee. She's been described as many things: a demon, a hag, a fiend. She may as well carry traces of all three, for even with a half-human body, a harpy remains a creature caught between two worlds.

Her buzzard-bent body curves like a sickle moon, never waxing to full stature. Black and white feathers cloak her preternaturally long limbs, and sallow, putty-coloured skin stretches from a face too taut for age or beauty, to a heart that beats with mortal blood. Her hair is a surprisingly healthy blowout of white, but strength at the root doesn’t reach the tips, which hang dirty, knotted, and yellow with tobacco stain.

Dressing her to a presentable standard is like putting rouge on a hog, but like any vain, glory-hungry beast, that doesn’t stop her from trying. She endures the restriction of laced vests and leather harnesses, having been told it’s indecent to go around with all three of her breasts exposed. Her fingers and toes are taloned and black, each tipped with clinking rings and gold bands, clearly the result of nefarious plunder.