The Wretch wears a wooden mask crudely carved to resemble a skull. Her shoulders draped in a black cloak, Its hood rests pulled over her head. The fur and feathers which make the garment are worn and faded. Its black dye aged to a gray brown. The cloak is frayed and torn towards its ends. Despite its current state, the cloak seems to have once been a rather elegant piece of apparel. Having trimmed seams and sturdy craftsmanship, it might of once been considered lavish even.

She has long dark hair, dirty and matted which pours from her hood and behind her mask in unkempt clumps. Other than the aforementioned cloak her torso is bare. Displaying her distressingly thin frame. Skin and bone, her sunken flesh clings tightly to her ribcage and protruding hips, shriveled and wrinkled. Faint scars pepper her skin like cobwebs. Her complexion now a dark sallow, it is difficult to tell what color it would of held in life.

Her arms however, are slightly less slight! Bearing a sporty amount of muscle, they are relatively much thicker. Strangely, they seem to be constantly coated in a thin layer of black tar. From the waist down she wears a long robe skirt, dyed a dark shade of lavender. IF she has legs beneath the robe, they cannot be seen.

She smells of wet clay. Not unpleasant, but altogether strange nonetheless. She has a husky voice, strained and dry.