[][TLDR][]


Name: Fidget
Race: Cambion
Age: Early 20's
Sub/Dom Spectrum: 90% Switch/ 10% Bratty Submissive
Role: Power Bottom
Sex: Vagina
Pronoun: She/Her
Orientation: Unsure
Height: 163 cm
Hair: Black Spines
Eyes: Blood Red
Complexion: Ashes
Bust: 65B
Waist: 58cm
Hips: 122cm
Build: Athletic

[][Description][]

Her skin, impossibly smooth, shimmered with the waxen sheen of a porcelain doll; it bore the faint sheen of theatre grease and moonlight. Her attire clung to her frame like a second skin --tight, deliberate, and daring. The pale grey of her flesh held a cold glow, like starlight filtering through wintry fog -- the kind of grey you might find in an old stage curtain, moth-eaten and witness of comedies, of tragedies and all else in between.

Twin horns crowned her brow, curling delicately, and more importantly, hinted towards her infernal heritage. Her eyes -- those sly, flickering embers -- a crimson that glittered in the limelight. They gleamed with mischief, or maybe madness, or maybe both, and one couldn't help but wonder what stories they've already swallowed whole.

A razor-cut bob framed her elfin face, black as ink. Quite sharp, by the looks of it. Less like hair and more like quills. Her ears arched up like obsidian spearheads. Elegant, dangerous, ever thirsting for rumors, keen for whispers that promised power. Her tongue lolled playfully between serpentine fanged teeth, hinting at laughter sharp enough to draw blood.

She wore almost nothing, and what she did wear seemed less like clothing and more like a dare?leather straps that barely bothered to conceal, adorned with studs and buckles that seemed to smirk on their own. Her tail, long and whip-thin, danced behind her like a punctuation mark to every sultry step: an exclamation point, a question, a curled period at the end of something wicked.

Even her shoes envoked the theater -- black, dainty things tipped with pink bows, the kind a ballerina might wear if she performed pirouettes out on the stage.

Once, she made kings laugh and demons weep with envy. Now, she twirled through shadows with the grace of a ghost who'd forgotten how to stay dead.