&Name;; Kim Daze Rouge
[It is supposed be quite a cacophony of a name- Sound strange and awkward]
&Name Meaning;;
Kim: Bold kin
Daze: Unable to think or react properly; Bewildered and stupefied
Rouge: Denoting the colour red
Though he prefers being referred to by his middle name
&Where does he Live?;;
Daze lives in a dark castle in which he only inhabits a small embankment of, following certain quiet and hidden routes, that draw away from the openness of the building, it comes with many secret paths and shadowed and strange, dusty rooms. A very old building passed down through generations, including those of wars, the narrow walls bring him comfort, and it's thick material make it so that barely a noise gets in or out.
&What is he Afraid of?;;
Agoraphobia-
Fear of vast openness or crowdedness
Daze gets the most uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, and peircings through his fleshing, when the world goes on.
He is lucky for the castle he lives in, a creepy seaming person in a creepy house, cliche-- But his appearance is all particular genetics, selective choices for lovers from his family. But that castle of his, even with it's open ends and overall largeness has such confining perimeters, like a mile long maze with high held ceilings, that in which he feels comforted.
He likes his home, the closed walls make him feel safe, rather than the expanse of the open world. He has rarely ever been outside, not at this age. And to his relief a riddle of tall black trees weed their way far around his home, making more comfort out of air, where normality mite find oddness.
Fear of vast openness or crowdedness
Daze gets the most uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, and peircings through his fleshing, when the world goes on.
He is lucky for the castle he lives in, a creepy seaming person in a creepy house, cliche-- But his appearance is all particular genetics, selective choices for lovers from his family. But that castle of his, even with it's open ends and overall largeness has such confining perimeters, like a mile long maze with high held ceilings, that in which he feels comforted.
He likes his home, the closed walls make him feel safe, rather than the expanse of the open world. He has rarely ever been outside, not at this age. And to his relief a riddle of tall black trees weed their way far around his home, making more comfort out of air, where normality mite find oddness.
&Written Extras;;
The lamplight caught his face the wrong way, creating shadowed crescent shapes on his cheeks. The rings around his eyes made it easy to tell that sleep wasn't the biggest issue on his mind, though the creaking floors mite have been, with the way he jumped every time he hit one.
It was an eerie evening, a dark Friday night just as any, in the old Romanion castle, and in no way was he used to it's creepiness, or the way random breathes of wind gusted out of nowhere and blew away the light in his hand. The golden hue would flitter and scatter away in mere seconds, and there he'd stand, left to his own devices.
At the same time every night the old clock in the sitting room would chime, a half-hour before twelve. He found himself not able to fall into sleep until it's bent and tone-deaf tune came to a dead-pan halt, half way through the center note, as it always did. Not because it brought him some sort of comfort, heavens forbid that something so vaguely malice could do such a thing, but because it's dreary, minute long, chime would almost put a stake through anyones heart were they peacefully asleep one dark night.
Finally, he had made it to the center rail of the upper vicinity, overlooking the sitting room almost perfectly. With the one exception of the back wall, where the clock sat. Just in time to imagine the wooden figurines crookedly dance.
It was an eerie evening, a dark Friday night just as any, in the old Romanion castle, and in no way was he used to it's creepiness, or the way random breathes of wind gusted out of nowhere and blew away the light in his hand. The golden hue would flitter and scatter away in mere seconds, and there he'd stand, left to his own devices.
At the same time every night the old clock in the sitting room would chime, a half-hour before twelve. He found himself not able to fall into sleep until it's bent and tone-deaf tune came to a dead-pan halt, half way through the center note, as it always did. Not because it brought him some sort of comfort, heavens forbid that something so vaguely malice could do such a thing, but because it's dreary, minute long, chime would almost put a stake through anyones heart were they peacefully asleep one dark night.
Finally, he had made it to the center rail of the upper vicinity, overlooking the sitting room almost perfectly. With the one exception of the back wall, where the clock sat. Just in time to imagine the wooden figurines crookedly dance.
&Art;;
First pice- Header, a small cube like statue of him made for his family. It is his favourite item, though only because such a thing should be for someone of his blood and origin.
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