This is taken from Within This Dark A Single Flame Chapter 1: (VERY out of date!)

From a distance, Thelmos appeared to be a small and completely unremarkable woman. That was something she played upon, because being unremarkable suited her perfectly. She wore a white robe, that wasn’t quite a robe, wasn’t quite a dress, and wasn’t quite... anything anyone could truly define? Despite being utterly plain and boring, her robe seemed a little ‘odd’ to some people. That was mostly because they couldn’t work out why it didn’t look ‘odd’?

At the same time, although her robe was neither ‘odd’ nor ‘not odd’, it wasn’t quite enough of either to warrant any further attention. It was..?

Sorry, what were we talking about again?

Ah yes, Thelmos’s attire was somehow neither formal nor casual. Her robe flowed almost to her ankles, yet despite the fact it flowed, it somehow didn’t flow? Although it accentuated her lean curves, it didn’t accentuate them enough that anyone might take an unwanted interest in those curves.

It was an outfit that would fit in equally well in pretty much any situation. It worked whether she was strolling through the slums, at a wedding, drinking in a port tavern, eating in a fine restaurant, or meeting with royalty. So it likewise looked perfectly at home in a library.

Nobody bothered Thelmos in the streets, which was a trick most would love to understand. In a lot of cases (and mostly the right cases), people actively avoided her. Some presumed she was an acolyte, or she’d try to convert them to yet another new religion. Nobody tried to rob her, and beggars dismissed her. She neither looked wealthy, nor worth the effort. Militia and port authorities waved her through without question, because the thought of searching her for illegal goods somehow seemed abhorrent?

She danced the fine line between timid and rabid, harmless and deadly, cuddly soft and razor sharp, pathetically weak and all powerful?

Thinking on that, none of those are particularly fine lines? In fact they’re pretty much the broadest lines you could get?

The only line Thelmos didn’t dance across was black and white. There was no line (fine or otherwise) to dance across when it came to her robe. Thelmos wore white! It wasn’t because she considered white pure, a symbol of good, heavenly or angelic. No matter how broad the lines she danced across might be, they weren’t broad enough to cover pure, good, heavenly or angelic? Those were lines distancing themselves from Thelmos’s by some considerable margin.

Anyway, Thelmos wore white!

Thelmos was a paradox. An anomaly. She was noticeable, and most definitely remarkable. And yet few remarked on her, because she was also somehow inconspicuous?

Her night black hair was held perfectly in place by two simple orange sticks in a cross at the back of her head. That had been noted on occasion, and caused some confusion. Some had tried to copy it, but what they couldn’t work out was whether the sticks held her hair in place, or her hair held the sticks in place? It was obviously a combination of the two, and yet despite being so simple, nobody could quite work it out?

How could she possibly still have perfect hair at the end of the day? Especially after she’d been dancing for three hours, in severe winds, when it rained, or in particular… when she was doing all of the above at the same time?

Her cross sticks were an obvious clash against the white of her robe, and yet despite the fact they glowed orange, they somehow remained subtle? They were in fact, boring! Her robe stopped just short of her wrists, revealing a simple watch. Her watch glowed the same orange, and although it was bizarre, it was obviously cheap! It most definitely wasn’t worth the bother of stealing, and it was probably broken!

Thelmos glanced down at her watch with piercing silver eyes, then shook her head in confusion.

My watch is broken? That’s impossible! I’m in serious trouble!

No kidding! Wake up!

Despite appearing unremarkable, there wasn't a person in the library that hadn't noted Thelmos, not only for her incredible beauty, but for her striking silver eyes. At first glance, anyone might guess Thelmos was in her early twenties? After meeting her eyes, they might adjust that estimate, and guess she was in her early thirties? Watching as she placed her silver rimmed glasses over the bridge of her nose, they might adjust that estimate yet again?

Might she be in her forties? Or older again still?

Whatever guess they finally decided on, they’d still be short of the truth by several centuries, and Thelmos was feeling those centuries today. She’d been so thoroughly absorbed in her book (or her mind? or magnets? or spinning plates?) that she was having difficulty disengaging her brain. She cursed herself for not picking up on the obvious warning signs indicating something was amiss.

Like the first and most important sign? The cessation of bird song?

Shut up!