There is an empty place in my soul that was left void by treachery and tragedy. Tears and rage have done nothing to fill it so this emptiness has become an icy abyss with no solace in sight.

His hair is a sickly pale green, for whatever reason. That lovely face of his is ever so effeminate, soft and beautiful features with matching feel. His attitude belies that of a man who has seen much in his time, much of that dealing with shadow and darkness. Anyone familiar with illusions would notice the man has an almost palpable veil of illusory magics hanging around him at all times.  

His dress is formal but disheveled.  His expensive clothing look nice, but is rarely worn properly.  Often enough his shirt is not tucked in, ties are loose and hanging askew, collars upturned, and rarely ever is his cloak pressed. The man looks as if he's slept in his clothing most of the time.

Despite his lazy appearance and laid back attitude, his body looks as if he would be capable of moving very quickly if need be.  His form is lithe and toned, and that slender shape could easily have once lent favor to a dancer or fencer.  

Lights? I prefer darkness.