His smile seems like it's lying to you, but you know that it's not.
He is almost ethereal - A man with a distinctively otherworldly feel to him, feeling and looking like peering through silvery morning mist and seeing something you only just now realized was there. As with any Faerla, it's difficult to discern his age -- Seeming to be in his early thirties, even though you know that that's a lie.
Hair of a warm pearlescence is worn loose, kissing down in an inconvenient length to the back of his knees. In contrast of the soft white of his hair, his eyes burn with a bright, shocking violet- hued with magenta and nowhere near as expressive as he would like them to be. While his pale skin seems soft and perfect, upon closer inspection it's evident that beneath layers of dark clothing, it's marred with old, harsh scars. Several peircings run up his pointed ears, and an old and worn black scarf is always seen snugly at his neck.
Perhaps it feels wrong, to be near him. ... No, perhaps it feels right. The energies of the Faewyld twist and poison him to the very core, they use his body and his mind and his soul as a conduit and gate to this world. It's too easy to listen to him and believe what he's saying- It's too easy to look at him and see perfection. ...Ah, but, it's fine. He's probably not doing it on purpose.
Right?
He is almost ethereal - A man with a distinctively otherworldly feel to him, feeling and looking like peering through silvery morning mist and seeing something you only just now realized was there. As with any Faerla, it's difficult to discern his age -- Seeming to be in his early thirties, even though you know that that's a lie.
Hair of a warm pearlescence is worn loose, kissing down in an inconvenient length to the back of his knees. In contrast of the soft white of his hair, his eyes burn with a bright, shocking violet- hued with magenta and nowhere near as expressive as he would like them to be. While his pale skin seems soft and perfect, upon closer inspection it's evident that beneath layers of dark clothing, it's marred with old, harsh scars. Several peircings run up his pointed ears, and an old and worn black scarf is always seen snugly at his neck.
Perhaps it feels wrong, to be near him. ... No, perhaps it feels right. The energies of the Faewyld twist and poison him to the very core, they use his body and his mind and his soul as a conduit and gate to this world. It's too easy to listen to him and believe what he's saying- It's too easy to look at him and see perfection. ...Ah, but, it's fine. He's probably not doing it on purpose.
Right?