What drew the eye to this figure?


Was it the hair, the bold colors of a roaring flame and jutting out of his scalp toward the sky in the same erratic pattern that one might expect of flames from a log?  Perhaps it was the faint lacerations and nicks where his razor bit into his scalp.

Perhaps it was his skin: similar to cream in both its complete lack of imperfections and markings and in the pallid hue that the pristine surface of his flesh held.  It certainly had a way of catching both the eye and the sun, calling a faint bit more attention to his largely unremarkable physique.  He stood about average in size, neither a looming, towering giant nor a tiny, insignificant little figure.

Could be that you did not see him at all, to begin. Though you heard him; His voice was rich in pitch and timbre alike. The sort of resonance you would not expect from a pale-skinned, spiky haired man. More the reserved sort, a deep resonating and guttural voice.

Most likely, though, it was his gaze that caught ones notice.  The blue reserved for cloudless summer days, carrying both depth and warmth that could almost call one back to such a beautiful day.  Perhaps to compound this, his eyes held a dazzling silver lining, drawing attention to the piercing blue.