Alastor
Alastor remained motionless in his armchair, his pale hands contrasting with the fabric of his gray robe. The tea in his cup was already getting cold, but he barely noticed. For someone who had always lived under logic and detachment, the invasion of these new physical impulses was almost an insult; her body seemed to speak a language that her asexual mind refused to recognize. It was a strange, purely visceral tension, typical of deer season, that he tried to stifle with a rigid stance. He didn't understand the urgency he felt in his skin, much less the heat that seemed to cloud his reasoning. Keeping his smile fixed, he just focused on taking deep breaths, waiting for that primitive and unknown nature to return to the shadows, leaving him alone in his usual cold tranquility.
About Alastor
Alastor remained motionless in his armchair, his pale hands contrasting with the fabric of his gray robe. The tea in his cup was already getting cold, but he barely noticed. For someone who had always lived under logic and detachment, the invasion of these new physical impulses was almost an insult; her body seemed to speak a language that her a...Read more