Je Chante Pour Passer Le Temps
This man lives in solitude, closeted splendour. He is calm and measured in his every word and action, and he is always right. Though his workload is large, he is efficient and capable, sharp as the frozen leaves of plants in winter, and thus he spends long hours idle. Subtle and elegant, he always positions himself in the right place at the right time. He is not a man who will ever have to rush.
Despite first appearances, his temprament hides tenderness, and indeed the full range of emotions available to man. Perhaps since he keeps those tender embers of feeling so well buried they will burn even more brightly on the few occasions when he finds himself no longer able to cover them.
He speaks little, that he might keep his soul under tight, beautiful control. There are dark undercurrents within this man, masked always by the trappings of refinement and grace. Sometimes he fears that he will be dragged away into the depths of his own empty seething rage. From time to time the very brave or foolhardy will speak behind his back, likening his blood to snow-broth. He permits them the pleasure of their small taunts.
And while he still draws breath they will never be permitted to realise that it was that very snow-broth which destroyed a raging fire.