Placeholder for me as well till I get home and pick out descriptions for her. I will be doing Phèdre from the Kushiel's Legacy Series by Jacqueline Carey.
Ok I am going to give several examples of what she looks like on the Longest Night. Actual quotes from the book
1. I luxuriated in the bath, while one of Melisandre's attendants rubbed fragrant oil into my skin and another tended to my hair, brushing it out at length, merely twining a few sprays of white ribbons in my dark curls. I am used to fine clothing and not easily impressed, but the overgarment took even me aback. It was a loose-fitting gown of transparent white gauze with trailing sleeves--and it was spangled all about with tiny diamonds, sewn with exquisite cae onto the sheer fabric. The maidservant fussed with a half-mask, a white-and-brown osprey with the eye-holes trimmed in black velvet piping. In the candlelight, I could see right through gauze. She held out one other item, a velvet slip-collar, with a diamond teardrop suspended from it, and a lead attached.
2. Finespun as a whispered prayer, the scarlet jersey slithered over my head and fell like water about me, fitted close to the hips and then falling in immaculate folds to sweep the floor. It had a high neckline, rising like a crimson flame to clasp around my throat, belying the daring nature of the low back; and low it was, skimming the very base of my marque. As it happens, Remy did a neat job of it, and when he had finished, the scarlet gown clung to my upper body like it was painted there. A hint of kohl to accentuate my eyes, which would be mostly hidden behind the veil, and carmine for my lips. When that was done, I set about styling my hair. It took some time, recreating the elaborate coif I'd seen in Favrielle's illustration of Mara, but I was well satisfied when I was done. The half-veil, I secured with hairpins topped with glittering black jet, and when it was in place, a stranger's face gazed back at me from the mirror. My veiled gaze was lustrous and mysterious, for once not betrayed by th scarlet mote in my left eye. The elaborate coif of my dark hair added an archaic elegance, and my fair skin glowed against the black gauze of the veil. And the gown--I rose, and it swirled around my hips in a crimson glissade. I had forgotten, that was the final touch to the costume of Mara; silk ribbons bound about the wrists, hanging gracefully and fluttering. I turned, ribbons trailing, surveying my reflection one last time. From the rear, the entire expanse of my back was bare, ivory skin framed in scarlet silk and bisected by the dramatic black lines and crimson accents of my marque.
3. She scintillated from every angle. Her gown was made of ivory satin, and it clung to her waist and torso as though it had grown there, leaving her shoulders and arms bare. It was adorned with ornate beadwork, refracting light. Below the waist, it flared and frothed, breaking like the crest of a wave upon the stairs. Her dark hair was loose, but a hundred small brillants were fastened in it, looking like a net of stars. An intricate necklace of silver links and pale gems circled her throat. Unlike the three of us, she wore a small mask; a simple white domino that lent mystery to her eyes and hid none of her beauty. (She is supposed to be dressed as the Skaldic Goddess Freya)
This how Phedre is described in the beginning. It is not, of course, that I lack beauty, even as a babe. I am a D'Angeline, after all, and ever since Blessed Elua set foot on the soil of our fair nation and called it home, the world has known what it means to be D'Angeline. My soft features echoed my mother's, carved in miniature perfection. My skin, too fair for the canon of Jasmine House, was nonetheless a perfectly acceptable shade of ivory. My hair, which grew to curl in charming profusion, was the color of sable-in-shadows, reckoned a coup in some of the Houses. My limbs were straight and supple, my bones a marvel of delicate strength. No, the problem was elsewhere. To be sure, it was my eyes; and not even the pair of them, but merely the one.
Such a small thing on which to hinge such a fate. Nothing more than a mote, a fleck, a mere speck of color. If it ha been any other hue, perhaps, it would have been a different story. My eyes, when they settled, were that color that poets call bistre, a deep and lustrous darkness, like a forest pool under the shade of ancient oaks. Outside Terre d'Ange, perhaps, one might call it brown, but the language spoke outside our nation's bound is a pitiful thing when it comes to describing beauty. Bistre, then, rich and liquid-dark; save for the left eye, where in the iris that ringed the black pupil, a fleck of color shone.
And it shone red, and indeed, red is a poor word for the color it shone. Scarlet, call it, or crimson; redder than a rooster's wattles or the glazed apple in a pig's mouth.
This mote has marked her an anguissette. He delineates Phèdre as Kushiel’s chosen and an anguisette, meaning that she will always find pleasure in pain (she is a masochist). (From wikipedia.)
Below is several links that should help you out.
http://www.jacquelinecarey.com/gallery_tats.htm This is fans tattoo's of Phedre's Marque.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kushiel's_Dart
http://www.jacquelinecarey.com/ Official author's site.
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Any rating....You can even have her as an anguissette with any of her patrons. She has had both female and male patrons. Even brother and sister and Melisandre is the only one that has truly had a love/hate relationship with her that she would do anything for her.