Felix is striking in the way a lit match is striking in a dark room, impossible to ignore and a little dangerous to stand near. His skin has a warm honey-gold cast that seems to brighten under candlelight, while faint celestial freckles across his collarbones shimmer like embers beneath thin skin. His hair is pale blond at first glance, but closer inspection reveals strands of burnished gold and pearly white that catch light as if each lock were polished. He moves with lazy, decadent elegance, shoulders loose, wrists expressive, as though every room is a salon and every conversation a private indulgence. The contradiction that makes him unforgettable is the single ugly scar over his left eyebrow, a rough crescent from a failed dive off a palace roof, which he wears with a grin and never explains. When his magic rises, thin halos of gold drift around his fingers like expensive smoke.