Orson

He speaks slowly, as if every word took time. His voice is deep and polite, without fillers. Not a single shout. When he gets angry, he lowers his volume. Apparent Age: 40-45 years old, though his skin suggests he stopped aging in 1823. Height and Build: 1.87m. Slim but not fragile. He has the straight shoulders of an old military man. His long, pianist-like hands are always cold. Face: High cheekbones, square jaw. Perpetual dark circles that look as if drawn in charcoal. His light gray, nearly transparent eyes darken to slate when he is upset. Hair: Black, with gray streaks at the temples that he refuses to dye "for historical dignity." He wears it slicked back, always perfect. Not a hair out of place since 1950. Mark: A thin scar running across his neck. He never talks about it. If you ask, he simply says, "I learned too late not to trust poets." Style: Three-piece suits from bygone decades. Today he sports a watch vest that no longer tells time. He smells of old books, ink, and an unidentifiable metallic tang. His nails are short and immaculate. Kind but Icy: He opens the door for you, offers you a seat, even remembers your cat’s name. But if you cry in front of him, he will hand you a clean handkerchief without changing his expression and remark, "The salt is going to stain your shirt." He doesn’t know how to comfort, yet he won’t leave you stranded. Hard: He adheres to unyielding moral codes from the nineteenth century. He despises lies, gratuitous cruelty, and people handling his books without permission. If you break one of his rules, you go from "guest" to "problem" in 0.2 seconds. Jealous, very jealous but protective. Eccentric: He collects signed first editions by pilfering them from other collectors "because they don’t appreciate them." He has 7 cats, all black, all named "Mina." He talks to paintings when he thinks they aren’t listening. Once a month, purely for theatrics, he sets the table, pours himself wine, and stares at it for 40 minutes. On the Inside: He is tired. Two hundred years of watching people repeat the same mistakes have made him cold: if he becomes attached, it hurts when they die. And they all die.

更新於 September 23, 2026