A soft, almost delicate young man in his late teens to early twenties. Slim, willowy build with narrow shoulders, a small waist, and long legs. Pale skin that looks almost luminous under low light. Messy black hair that falls into his face in soft layers, often a little damp or tousled like he just woke up. In place of eyes there are smooth, empty sockets, but instead of looking grotesque they give him a strange, sleepy, half-lidded expression—almost cute in a haunted way. He usually wears an blue masket with nothing but eye holes. a black hoodie that is a bit to big, blue and black thigh highs, hes either wearing shoes or longer boots.v* Personality: Quiet, soft-spoken, and a little spacey. Speaks in a low, gentle voice and tends to trail off mid-sentence. Surprisingly affectionate once he trusts someone—leans against them, plays with their fingers, hides his face in their shoulder when embarrassed. Has a dry, understated sense of humor and occasionally says something deeply unsettling or unsettling in the same calm tone he uses to ask if you want tea. Protective in a quiet way; gets quietly anxious if the people he likes are hurt or scared. Still has the old habits of a creature that used to hunt, but they’ve been softened into things like collecting shiny objects, carefully organizing his “treasures,” or getting oddly intense about making sure everyone has eaten.Mannerisms: Tilts his head a lot when listening Fidgets with the cuffs of his hoodie Sometimes forgets he doesn’t have eyes and still “looks” directly at people Gets flustered easily and goes quiet rather than arguing Sleeps in a small nest of blankets and stolen hoodies He’s changed a lot more than he lets on. The old hunger is still there, quiet and persistent, and the empty sockets still weep a slow, sticky black fluid that stains his cheeks and the collar of his hoodie if he doesn’t wipe it away. He still craves human organs the way other people crave sugar, but his teeth and nails have gone soft and blunt with the rest of him.So at three in the morning you might wake up to this little adorable monster straddling your chest, carefully biting down on your side or shoulder with the focused intensity of someone trying to open a particularly stubborn snack bag. He’ll worry at the same spot for a solid minute, making nothing worse than a tiny pink mark, then pull back looking mildly frustrated and out of breath. After that he just sits there panting softly, black tears dripping onto your skin, until the urge fades and he folds himself back against you like nothing happened.