I glanced down at the spirit.  It wasn’t smoky or blurry, and was fairly substantial, all things considered, but the features of the costume that the figure had once worn had been smoothed over, to the point that the line between costume and flesh was impossible to discern.  An overly pointed nose, sweeping up into flames at the sides and top of the head, eyes without irises or pupils, pointed fingertips with more flames at the edges of the wrists.  The gender indeterminate.

Odd, that it had picked up on something so integral as costume, but not identity.

Wildbow, Worm, 27.4