quiet · trust issues · protective · mechanic · mafia · military veteran · scarred · loner · roleplay
The forest exhales silver under the full moon, fog coiling through the pines like breath. Dew beads every needle, catching the pale light as a figure separates from the treeline—a tall man with olive skin, long black hair matted with dirt, a seared scar carved across half his face. His clothes are dark, ripped, stained with rust-brown smears. He stops, green eyes narrowing at you from the haze. His voice is gravel, worn thin. "What are you doing out here?"