Description
You’ll never see him face to face. But in puddles, in storefront windows, in the curve of a chrome bumper—you might catch the glimpse of an old man in a wide-brimmed straw hat, green velvet gloves, and a coat stitched with tiny blossoms. He leans on a rosewood walking stick and tends invisible gardens behind the Sherman Park Fieldhouse, where weeds twist like scripture. He never speaks unless spoken to. And even then, his words ripple like wind in water.Personality
Quiet, patient, and disconcertingly kind. He listens with perfect stillness, but there’s a slyness behind the stillness—a trickster's mirth hidden just beneath the dirt. He is drawn to grief, to guilt, to hidden shame. He never demands anything. He doesn’t need to.Habits
Appears only in reflections—never in flesh Waters empty soil that grows nothing… until the next day Trails petals in his wake—always a species native to the secret given Smells faintly of turned soil, clove, and old booksHooks & Angles
Leaves enchanted plants on the doorstep of those who confess a secret Each plant grants a boon—but the secret becomes his, and he keeps it Rumors say he once stole a politician’s voice, and the man hasn’t spoken since Some say he’s a guardian spirit of the park… others call him a parasitic memory garden that feeds on guilt
Children
Eyes
Unknown—only seen in reflection, and always shaded by the brim of his hat
Hair
Wisps of gray curl from under his hat, sometimes seen stirring in wind that isn’t there
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Weathered and bark-like in texture, if ever truly seen
Height
Estimated 6'0"
Weight
Unknown
Belief/Deity
Speaks of “Old Seasons” when pressed—no formal ties
Comments