A pale silvery ghost with a black peppered half-cape; a deep dark blaze runs up her snout, her lips and mouth ashen, her ears coal black, and her eyes a strangely pale lilac. She is neither large nor small, daintily built like a spry thin wisp of a dancer. In spite of her strangely androgynous features, there is something feminine about her though she does not consider herself one gender solely.

Embodied as that of a wolf in this existence, there is something ethereal about Styx, something that is strangely androgynous yet feminine in her features—she is built daintily like a spry, thin wisp of a dancer, unusually light on her feet—she is fluid and graceful as a pale, silvery ghost. Her ears, lips, and mouth are ashen; a deep, dark blaze runs the length of her snout to her brow like a stain where it is offset by her strange and pale colored lilac eyes, and along her back draped like a shawl lies a peppery half-cape.

Her carries herself like someone very much consumed in their own world; she seems a gentle sort and exudes such, though should one look closely enough, there is a resolute darkness that exists within her. Not one of malice but a keen wisdom that speaks of her knowing more than all her years combined; it is something as wild as a whitewater rapid just around the next bend, a sight unseen until the very last moment.

Bearing the scent of her ilk, intermixed with that of the grand Underworld of below, and constant petrichor, she is still the humbling river in wolf form. It is in her movements, in her tone eternal; she is a soft-coated creature with a siren song draw.

There is something unnerving about her being. One may wager that it is something supernatural in its essence, but no matter what it is, she is an unforgettable entity in a strange world that suits her. With a particular knack of showing up at either the best or worst of times, Styx seems to have an eerie sense of knowing more than she is letting on. It is not uncommon for her to seem a haunting sort, nor is it beyond the realm of possibility for her to do a little haunting.

She may be easy-going at heart, perpetually in a mode of merely going with the flow; the truth of the matter is that Styx is very disconnected from reality. She views the world as though she is seeing it through another lens, though moments of clarity come to her with great gravity and truth. However, it’s there and gone in an instant, with little energy left to recall it with immediacy. As a lasting result, there is almost a sense that she is permanently in a haze from the throes of existence.

Styx is without a question a soft individual. It’s in the way she generally conducts herself and speaks, whether the words are pocked with unreliable narration or riddles. Neither a gatekeeper or guiding force to any and for everything, she approaches all with neutrality. Yet like a flowing river and through her own clarity, she may or may not have had once the reputation of being severe to balance out all her serenity, and is not above or beyond being a mischief making beast of many faces.