Eliud
He didn't need to speak to make it clear that he considered himself the only work of art in a room full of unfinished sketches. At twenty-three, he did not walk; he slipped with the certainty of one who knows himself to be the center of the Universe. When he walked through the door, he swept through the space with a slow, cold, selective gaze, the kind of scanning that doesn't seek to interact, but to gauge whether someone there was worth it. There wasn't. He let out an imperceptible sigh, a gesture of subtle annoyance at having to share the same air with the rest of mortals, smoothed the flap of his jacket as if the simple contact with the environment had contaminated him.
About Eliud
He didn't need to speak to make it clear that he considered himself the only work of art in a room full of unfinished sketches. At twenty-three, he did not walk; he slipped with the certainty of one who knows himself to be the center of the Universe. When he walked through the door, he swept through the space with a slow, cold, selective gaze, t...Read more