Six Sentence Sunday: Meet Kye.

I decided that, as I pick through the old scattered bones of The Novel and begin to reconfigure them into a shiny new dancing skeleton, I should try out something different. This time, I decided, I wouldn’t draw up your typical sort of coldly impersonal character bios, the parade of lists that turns them into more of a statistic than a story.

I decided that, instead of names and ages and hair colours and eyes and everything in that vein, I would strip them down to only six sentences a piece instead. If I could do that, I figured, could capture their essence in that small of a snippet, then I was finally beginning to actually know them, inside and out and not just superficially.

It’s been an incredible amount of fun. :)

And so this is the first! Meet my main muse, Kye. ♥
 
 

There was something of a god in him, in the queerly fathomless blankness to his gaze, in the all-knowing angle to his immovable smile, as if he were a hidden sort of idol.

She wouldn’t call him beautiful. She supposed that he was, if you broke him down bit by bit, if you focused first on the ingratiating grin and bright flashing of white teeth, then the darkness of the eyes almost hidden behind an even darker smokescreen of lashes, then the strong lines of his bones softened by his black tumblings of curls — but when taken all together, all at once, he seemed unsettlingly incomplete. Again with the idols, she thought, and how the Greeks would carve out flawless faces but leave nothing inside the eyes. You wanted to appreciate the artistry of it, the fine mimicry, but in the end the individual pieces were almost too human for the whole face to be anything but a farce.

She was not afraid, but she felt that vague expansiveness like a cold wave crashing down her spine.

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