A digital painting of a man with dark hair and blue eyes in a dark coat and scarf, standing in a snowy, lamp-lit street at night.

Elion Lark is 29 years old, standing quietly at the edge of thirty, with the kind of disarming charm that makes people instinctively lean in. Not boyish anymore—no—but not hardened either. His face still carries the softness of someone not quite ready for how sharp the world can be. ⸻ Appearance: Elion is unfairly beautiful, but not delicate. His features—once gentle and poetic—are now cut with just enough sharpness to turn heads in the street. • Hair: His hair is jet-black, thick and tousled in that perfect, effortless way. Shoulder-length, often loosely tied at the nape of his neck with a soft ribbon or leather cord. Strands fall across his temple like brushstrokes left intentionally. • Eyes: Pale blue, like winter skies softened by snowfall. His gaze lingers too long on people when they speak, not because he’s intense—because he’s listening, always. They gleam when he laughs. But behind them, there’s always the faintest question: Am I wanted or needed? • Build: Elion is stronger than he looks. Not hulking, not wide, but built like a swordsman—shoulders broad, arms firm with coiled strength, torso sculpted in soft lines. The kind of muscularity that comes from use, not vanity. He doesn’t flaunt it, but people notice. And it makes it easier for them to justify pinning him down, holding him still—he can take it, they think, even when he can’t. • Voice: Velvet-smooth and low, with a gentle warmth that never rises in volume. The kind of voice that makes people relax before See more