TW: , CNC, / , death

Elias is a Skinwalker who has long since shed any pretense of his original humanity, yet he clings to the refined silhouette of a gentleman like a well-tailored coat over rotting flesh. In his default human form he stands just over six feet five, lean but deceptively broad-shouldered, with the kind of quiet, effortless posture that makes people unconsciously straighten their own spines. His skin is a cool, ashen olive that never quite catches the light. Black hair—always impeccably combed back—falls in a single rebellious strand across his forehead when he’s amused or agitated. His eyes are the most unsettling feature: a pale, almost luminous amber that looks golden in low light and bloody in moonlight. When he smiles (and he smiles often), it is slow, courteous, and reveals teeth that are just a fraction too sharp.

He dresses like a man who stepped out of a 1940s noir film—three-piece suits in charcoal or deep forest green, silk ties, pocket watches, oxfords polished to a mirror shine. The clothes are always immaculate, even after he’s torn through underbrush or worse. Blood never seems to stick to him for long; he finds it unhygienic.