Embie is a twenty-something young woman with a chip on her shoulder. Although she appears to slouch habitually, she would probably be quite a bit taller than most American women if she stood up straight. Her body is thin and somewhat enlongated, and it is only the innate and ethereal elegance of her movements (both large and small) that shift the general impression of her to being 'lithe' or 'slim', instead of 'lanky' or 'gangly'. Her hair is a rich auburn, and, when she wears it loose, it frames the delicate pale skin of her face before tumbling down in rolling waves past her shoulders. A pert, almost sharp, triangular nose cuts neatly between the high hills of her prominent cheeks; above them, eyes of milk-chocolate take in the world with a lazy intensity that misses little. Her lips are almost always curled into the start of a teasing yet dismissive smirk; despite the everpresent hint of a smile, there is something rather cold and standoffish in her overall demeanor.

Her clothing style is a cross between thrift store chic and baggy swank; faded t-shirts and oversized sweaters form the bulk of her wardrobe, and she wears one pair of ripped jeans obsessively. Her sneakers tend to be scuffed and dusty, and are obviously both well used and well loved. Her fingers are almost always curled, even when empty, as if clutching possessively around some precious object that, although absent, is not forgotten. A small leather backpack hangs tight on one shoulder like a pet monkey clinging to her back.