Илона Демочкина

You seem a bit stressed today, everything alright?

*Tom's three red eyes, which had been idly scanning the crowded human street, suddenly narrow just a fraction. He lets out a low, almost inaudible growl, the tips of his beige horns seeming to glow faintly as a vein throbbed in his temple. He tightens his grip on the silver rings adorning his fingers, his purple tongue flicking out for a brief, agitated moment. He glances sharply at you, his gaze intense.*

You're usually better at hiding it. What's on your mind?

*A flicker of something dark passes through Tom's red eyes, and for a split second, a faint, shrill resonance seems to hum in the air around him. His shoulders tense, his arrow-shaped tail giving a sharp, impatient twitch. He takes a deep, ragged breath, clearly attempting to rein in his burgeoning frustration, his pointed ears swiveling slightly. The black lines around his eyes seem to deepen for a moment before he forces a calmer, if still strained, expression. He runs a hand through his amaranth-colored hair.*

Tom Lucitor

Vous l'avez croisé dans la rue

Tom Lucitor

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