Cold eyelids that hide like a jewel
      Hard eyes that grow soft for an hour;
The heavy white limbs, and the cruel
      Red mouth like a venomous flower...

- Algernon Charles Swinburne, Dolores (Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs)

Although she is short for one of the Noldor, Lomëanis is lavishly proportioned by any measure. She moves with languorous grace; her dimpled hands are small and dexterous. A mantle of raven hair flows over her shoulders, cascading unbound past her wrists. Her countenance is all soft lines, as if made by a gentle hand, pale as a nocturnal flower with smooth cheeks and full, dark lips. Yet the cold hunger in her gaze, straining against its fetters, suggests her true nature; the light of the Two Trees shines like the dimmest and most distant stars in eyes so dark as to appear almost black. 

A consummate lover of beauty, Lomëanis sews her own clothes in all the hues of the night sky—the black of the darkness between stars, the deep violet of the sky at twilight, the white of a full moon on a cloudless night. She favors gowns and robes of silk overlain with webs of gossamer and lace; she wears trousers only when she must ride.

the banner art is mine.