ezra khaimov.

DANCING WINTER PRINCESS.

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raised by his maternal uncle, ezra originated from an affluent background, being raised with a veritable silver spoon clasped in his hand; however, his parents passed in a fire that wrecked his life, dragging the carpet from underneath his feet without his permission. seven years old was not the age to learn that death was brutal, that death was ugly. monsters erupted in his dreams until his uncle learned to communicate with him, and in the aftermath of tragedy, he blossomed, sunshine smile radiant upon his pallid mien. he learned to be cheerful in the face of adversity, grinning regardless of the emotions churning within. gentleness was his hallmark; however, he expressed a fluidity of identity that correlated with the clothing adorned upon his svelte frame.
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sentimentality and compassion twined to craft a softness that he embraced with fervent vigor, considering himself an entertain and a healer of weary hearts. escapism was his weapon of choice, drifting into daydreams and expressing himself through creative outlets, but he was fanatic and pensive, clinging desperately to outline goals because he drowned himself in acknowledgement, flourished beautiful with ample praise and wilting into nonexistence with sustained solitude. quirky and sweet-tempered, he was friendly enough, never quite brave enough to take the first step and never quite shy enough to disregard a smile on the street.[break][break]

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ezra attached himself to people, preferring to shower them with kindness and genuine concern than be treated as an outsider, as an observer. the wallflower quality of his personality allowed him to observe, though he preferred to be soothing blistered hearts and weaving tales with the arch of his body. his preferred ice breaker revolved around music, and despite having an affinity for illusions, he preached an openness that suited the story written in the juxtaposition of dance and sound. friends were lofted to the rank of family if they treated him with equitable reciprocity, though he kept his secrets clutched close to his chest, revealing enough to sparkle brightly in the sunshine like ice and keeping the hidden depths incased in an impenetrable armor.
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on the other hand, he refused to degrade himself by succumbing to petty squabbles. fighting was a mechanism for ruining communication between people, and while he understood the merit in protecting ideas and people, he tended to accept the punches with a disappointed expression gracing his features. however, pacifism did not make him incapable of surviving. thoughtful contemplation and keen instincts made him a decent strategist while he knew enough first aid to patch himself up in the aftermath, walking away with his head held high. his retaliation was a quiet dismissal, cold shoulder practiced in the secrecy of his own bedroom.
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relationships have proven to be the bane of his existence. he handed his heart to a friend that ruined it, left it shattered in the dust of his disappearance, and ezra never managed to reclaim the pieces, nurturing a clumsy reassembly of the fragile organ. the blonde shied away from romantic commitment and preferred to engage people in platonic relationships, though if properly charmed, he would be a caring, attentive lover, projecting his best qualities to insure the survival of the bond. ultimately, he desired someone willing to stitch together his splintered heart.