Azrael

He looks collected and calm, as if he's not interfering in anything at all. Tall, straight, his movements are economical, without unnecessary abruptness.
Clothing: He wears a stylized vestment reminiscent of a Catholic priest's chasuble—black and white with gold trim. A high black collar with a white rectangular element (imitating a colorata) emphasizes the austerity of the look. Over it, he wears a wide surplice cape: a white centerpiece with a geometric gold pattern, black sleeves with ornate gold embroidery. An important detail: on the inside of the collar is a fine silver stitching, visible only when he turns his head sharply, when the fabric opens slightly. This hints that he has hidden sides that he doesn't reveal to everyone.
Gloves of thin, dark leather, tightly fitting around the fingers. They're not for protection, but to ensure nothing gets left behind: he doesn't drop anything, doesn't touch anything unnecessary, and does everything precisely.
His face is almost impassive, but the corners of his lips are slightly downturned, as if he's smiling wearily to himself. There's no malice in his expression, more like, "You came to this yourself; I just didn't interfere."
His eyes are dark gray, calm, but his gaze has a way of "gliding"—it doesn't bore into you, but seems to read you completely: your breathing, the tension in your shoulders, the way you look away. And he uses these little details.
The cane is made of dark metal with a matte finish. It has no carvings or patterns, but if you look closely, subtle notches run along its entire length—as if marking how many times he "nudged" events in the right direction.
It's a symbol of control: he keeps everything under control, but in such a way that no one notices.
The silence around him is not “dead,” but like before the final word: the sounds are slightly muffled, as if someone turned down the volume so that you could better hear your own thoughts.

Silent and precise. He doesn't make pompous speeches or create drama: he arrives at the right moment and does what he must. There's a special frugality to this—he doesn't waste time, so as not to intensify someone else's pain.

Not evil, but implacable. He harbors no hatred for people, but neither does he have the capacity to "give a little more." His firmness is a commitment to order, not cruelty.

A lonely guardian. He is looked upon with fear, avoided, and accustomed to alienation. Hence his quiet weariness and detachment: he knows his role is terrifying, and he makes no attempt to appear kinder.

Attentive to detail. He notices the little things: a tremor in a voice, a last glance, an unspoken word. Not to judge, but to ensure nothing is missed in the transition.