Delicate as fish scales but harder than they looked, beautiful in the way that dangerous things often were. Not human skin but something that belonged to creatures of myth and legend, to beings that humans told stories about around fires while casting nervous glances at the sea.
Small horns emerged from her temples, pushing through skin and hair with deliberate slowness that suggested they were taking their time, enjoying their freedom after being hidden for so long. They curved slightly backward through her dark hair, bone-white and elegant and absolutely terrifying in their implications about what she truly was beneath the human disguise. Not decorative. Not vestigial.
Real horns that spoke of power and otherness and fundamental difference from the species she'd been pretending to belong to.
