Unwritten

☀Guest #8 ☀: Leo Lenoir (@lostwithmyfriends)

Name: Leo Lenoir

Age: Unlisted

Location: Elsewhere

Occupation: Wanderer; Explorer; Asker

Personality: Leo cannot be described as a thinker, nor a dreamer- he falls in between, never giving a damn about the voice in his head or the one reaching beyond the material world. A lover of natural facts and gossamer opinions, Leo is like a puff of velvet smoke; ethereal; calmer; he's a magician without his magic, a swimmer without their fins. Perhaps there's no true definition to the boy; he's simply different, with an outlook of flowers and air and purity on life. There's nothing evil when it comes to Leo, and maybe that's ignorance casting its blackened spell, but he doesn't mind. He'll speak and you won't understand. He'll laugh when there hasn't been a joke, and he'll tear up at what's not inherently morose. Of course, like any human, there are tastes and smells and sensations he does and doesn't enjoy- pollen, cold tile, coexisting fire and water, sweat. The change of season, of month. Numbers, letters; sleeping during the day, quiet music, and snowfall. It's up to your interpretation to categorize that list into like and dislike; but even then, is he really sure?

Appearance: Cascading, breaths of eternal life drape themselves into a figure, cold steam and heated winds transforming corporeally into a single being- a single being of limbs and eyes and that dangling thing to carry our generations forward. Purely, a volcano builds itself over these billions of years, a millennia bringing it to peak; simultaneously, a pond becomes an island, and sand becomes soil, a single seed sprouting into a brilliant tree. And with a snap, the lungs and lava and leaves blend together into a boy- not just any boy, but the first, planted onto earth with the goal to explore it. His eyes beam honey and ash. His hair guides light like stars upon maps, an atlas burning a golden flame; perhaps his skin is the papyrus in which the trail is drawn, unmemorized lines and artwork daring to show a land gone untainted. He's the boy buried blankly, to stop thinking and stop dreaming; he's the one to keep thinking and continue dreaming. Grasp what's laid out before him with silken fingertips and hairless arms, his torso bending as he climbs, legs sprawled out to run, walk, curl in sleep from night to night. If you cannot picture him, perhaps humanity is not for you; if you cannot see him, then hear him. He sings the song of birth.

Backstory: Curiouser and curiouser you seem to become! Well, the whispers wind a tale of thread and stitch, and Leo's world created itself at the beginning of time- when a different boy and one girl kissed beneath the never-before-seen moon, their curse melding what is now the human condition. Auburn hair fell atop breasts, the boy murmuring love with carefully curved lips; their bodies were not their own during that last sunset, but they belonged to each other, skin becoming paper to write upon the following era, breaths twirling tornadoes to condense the world into one garden, one tree, one seed. And Leo Lenoir came to be. His father- let us name him Adam- journeyed through a forest of animals, which bore titles he crafted, and screamed when a tiger bit his neck; but Leo's mother! Shall we give her the calling of Eve? She picked an apple and slithered her teeth to its core...and the rest is unwritten.

Biggest Fears: Perhaps he should fear everything, but that's not the case; in fact, there are more phenomena he cares for than he condemns. All he fears is simple- the stinging, toxic, sharpened bite of a snake, its fangs digging deeply into his fresh, theoretical skin.