His smile seems like it's lying to you, but you know that it's not.

He is almost ethereal - A man with a distinctively otherworldly feel to him, feeling and looking like peering through silvery morning mist and seeing something you only just now realized was there. Hair of a warm pearlescence is woven into a long braid, sweet-smelling flowers oft tucked between the strands and thrown over a shoulder. In contrast of the soft white of his hair, his eyes burn with a bright, shocking violet- hued with magenta and nowhere near as expressive as he would like them to be. While his pale skin seems soft and perfect, upon closer inspection it's evident that it's marred with pink scars. Old, new -- It's hard to tell, beneath flowy robes. Several peircings run up the pointed ears that mark him as a Faerlan, the silver jewelery of the cuffs and industrial bar nothing too exciting in the world of adorning oneself.

Perhaps it feels wrong, to be near him. ... No, perhaps it feels right. The energies of the Faewyld twist and poison him to the very core, they use his body and his mind and his soul as a conduit and gate to this world. It's too easy to listen to him and believe what he's saying- It's too easy to look at him and see perfection. ...Ah, but, it's fine. He's probably not doing it on purpose.

Right?