The Choir Mistress is something of a subject of debate among the ship as she stands at incredible odds with the lesser members of her choir. Rumors, theories, and most unseemly questions seem to linger with variety about her proclivities, her inclinations, and even the very details of her relationship with one person or another but all can agree, again, that she is so very contrary to the sickly, crooked, and devastated forms that had defined her predecessors. Most describe that quality as some great and jealous fire that burns in her, ever fueled by the fierce and steely will that allowed her to thrive as an Astropath where so many of those she had known burned out from within and were cast aside like one might cast aside an expired charge pack. Regardless the only true hint as to just what she may be seems to come not from the absence of eyes but the rippling of flesh that hints at burn scars only now upon the mend. Those empty sockets filled with masterful prosthetics that amount to no more than precious stones in the guise of portals to the soul. Her features otherwise seem to mock those past hardships with the fullness of cheek and the handsome lines that remained, framed by curling and flowing hair the hue of the starless void. Augmented only further by careful, thoughtful touches of makeup to only further underline a strange and enduring impression of youth and vitality that by the measures of many has no place existing in the form or face of an Astropath.

The figure she cuts is no less memorable for the thought, and immodesty, that is often shown in her attire with gowns and robes more suited to some socialite or noble aspirant rather than the iron willed master of a choir. The scents of perfume and smoke always flowing in her wake. Her form full in it's dimensions with a certain flair of posture and poise that seems invitation yet it seems... almost a shadow of some past glory; as if she has not yet fully shaken the yoke of those hardships, tribulations and travails that have seen her from the heart of the Imperium, at the very throne of the God Emperor, to the distant domains of the Severan Dominate. Yet still there is the unmistakable note of confidence, of that jealous fire, enduring fire of spirit, and every impression of a mind that whilst once bound refuses bondage evermore.

If one had the mind to, however, a litany of scars might be witnessed here and there along spine, shoulder, and ribs... Hidden beneath clothes or powders to hide yet more of that past and the mistreatments, risks, and perils that so plague those blessed and cursed by their powers endowed by fate and office. Of course, to get so close runs the risk of an altogether different altercation as her psyber-familiar is seemingly both always and never far from her person. It's winged and reptilian form often curled companionably about her shoulders as it's twin heads twist and turn upon sinuous necks to watch with predatory curiosity. It's genus easily recognized as a mutant off shoot of the Cuyaylian Amphisbaena; a wicked aerial predator known for hounding down bigger prey in flocks of a dozen or more members. It's scales glossy and dark with patterns of orange and yellow that speak to a endless grooming and a diet well balanced. The image almost like some ancient dragon of myth yet no larger than an ancient terran raptor.