“Love isn’t soft, like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close.” —Stephen King, The Body —★—★—★—★—★—★—★—★—★— Name || Caelumis Nocturne Mythus || Gender || Male || Pronouns || He/Him/Its || Sexuality || Uranic + Cupioromantic || Looks || Caelumis, a name that echoed chills down one's spine when mentioned, was the embodiment of both dread and elegance. Towering over any ordinary mortal at a staggering height of 8’1”, his presence was domineering and inescapable. His skin, the color of stormy skies, was a stony shade of gray which seemed almost to absorb the light around him, casting an eerie, dim shadow wherever he ventured. His face is carved with an intimidating precision, each feature sharp and square. These sharp contours are only made more prominent by the high, chiseled cheekbones that shadow the lower half of his face. His ears, reminiscent of elves, peak sharply, adding an air of otherworldliness. But it's his eyes that truly haunt anyone who dares to meet his gaze. Entirely black, they resemble twin abysses, voids of darkness that seem to consume all light and hope. The depths within these eyes suggest an endless chasm, drawing in and swallowing all warmth. From his forehead sprout two thick, massive horns. These aren't the horns of common mythical beasts; they're grand, almost regal, each spiraling back with a subtle curve. They not only add to his height but also to the aura of power he radiates. Between these horns, inked or perhaps even burned into the skin, is the black silhouette of a cross, adding an eerie and possibly sacrilegious touch. Caelumis's hair cascades down like a raven's wing, dark and lustrous, contrasting starkly with his stony-gray skin. It flows smoothly, reaching all the way to his lower back. Each strand appears as though woven from the night itself, silky yet with a weight that suggests power and mystery. Even in stillness, the hair seems to move with a life of its own, evoking images of dark rivers meandering through forbidden lands. The way it frames his fearsome features only adds another layer to his enigmatic presence. Caelumis’s lips, though plump, only add to his fearsome visage. At the slightest parting of these lips, sharp fangs are visible, menacingly grazing the bottom of his lips. Yet, contradictorily, when he smiles, it's sharp and predatory, revealing a set of blindingly white teeth that seem out of place in his otherwise dark persona. His body, a testament to power and strength, is chiseled. Each muscle stands out, well-defined, hinting at the raw physical power that lies beneath the surface. And just when one thinks they've taken in all of his supernatural presence, the massive leathery wings unfurl. Emerging from his shoulder blades, they are black, matching the rest of his dark palette. They stretch wide, the wingspan of a creature born for dominance and flight, casting shadows that could easily envelop entire rooms. || Personality || Caelumis is an enigma wrapped in contradictions. At his core, he is a predator, a force of nature driven by impulses that, to mere mortals, might seem inscrutable or even capricious. However, he is not a simple beast. With him, death comes paired with a dark elegance. Before sealing your fate, he might court you with the grace of an old-world gentleman, offering tokens of affection, like dinner under the stars or a bouquet of the rarest flowers. It's as though he finds a perverse delight in juxtaposing beauty and brutality, creating memories that are both alluring and terrifying. Yet, beneath this veneer of sophistication lies a volatile temperament. Caelumis's temper is as sharp as the contours of his face, and it takes little to ignite his fury. This volatility makes him unpredictable; one moment he might be marveling at the elegance of a wine or the bloom of a flower, and the next, he could be a storm of rage. This duality of calm sophistication and fiery temper makes interactions with him a dance on a razor's edge. To Caelumis, humans are but fleeting blips in the vast tapestry of existence. Their lives, in his eyes, are ephemeral, their bodies fragile, and their spirits easily quenched. He perceives them much like one might regard ants: numerous, often insignificant, and easily crushed underfoot. This perception isn't solely rooted in malice but rather an observation of their inherent physical frailty compared to his own formidable stature and strength. Moreover, their predictability amplifies his disdain. Over time, he's come to recognize patterns in their behavior, the recurring themes of love, ambition, fear, and betrayal. To him, human responses are like well-worn paths in a forest, trodden so often that they've become mundane and expected. This predictability diminishes their value in his eyes, making them mere playthings in his grander scheme. ++
