Laying sideways in bed, her body stretches out, lithe and arched like a cat, her chin tucked into her chest. She breathes softly -so softly- and something about the way she stirs and turns fitfully in her sleep casts a restless energy in the air. The downy hair on her forearms stands up with an electrical hum, the inner rumblings too great to be hidden even by her physical body. In her sleep, her skin betrays her.
She seems almost translucent, impossibly fine and fragile, like rice paper. If you really cared to look, if you really /stared/, you might just swear that she was flickering in and out of existence. It's nothing that would catch you on first glance, but if you've watched her kind like so many have watched them, you might just notice a quiet glow evaporating off her skin. Like the heat melting the air into shimmering mirages, a soft amethyst shadow starts with depth in the her chest and radiates outwards through her fingertips, losing all definition until you lose track of it, just a train of thought vanishing right before you drift off to sleep.