⠀ ⠀ 🪶⠀⠀you ⠀used⠀ to⠀ stir ⠀my⠀ imagination.⠀⠀ now ⠀you ⠀don't ⠀even⠀ stir⠀ my⠀ curiosity——you ⠀simply⠀ produce⠀ no⠀ effect. ⠀ ⠀
⠀18⠀ |⠀ serious.
Joined January 2026
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it⠀ is⠀ the⠀ finest⠀ portrait ⠀of
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀modern⠀ times,⠀ mr.⠀ gray.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀come⠀ over ⠀and ⠀look ⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀at ⠀yourself.
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🪞;
I am so sorry for reposting this. I think this'll be the last revision of him, however!
Capo Dorian will still be available under ID form!
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——LORE.
docs.google.com/document/d/1…
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———𝓓orianᅠᅠ𝓖ray retweeted
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——LORE.
docs.google.com/document/d/1…
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——VOICE⠀CLAIM.
xitter.gq/YOUTHEMlSMS/status/201…
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🪞 ;
Big announcement. 2.
Dorian will no longer be a Capo of the Thumb in current days. This isn't a new change, but I've taken a long time to properly decide. His backstory will be changed in the following days and so will his MUSE section.
Oh, and my dms don't work.
———𝓓orianᅠᅠ𝓖ray retweeted
i wasn't following YOU. i was following the tracker i put on your phone! ☺️
———𝓓orianᅠᅠ𝓖ray retweeted
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Life had gotten boring, is what he complained about. But the mistress offered him something special: another method of aestheticism, of beauty and relentless reflection. Within her eyes laid something bare. Whether it was death's grip or kindness—he wouldn't ever know.
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———𝓓orianᅠᅠ𝓖ray retweeted
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He was speechless—for a longer while. Her voice so frail and faint, and his stance as beautiful as forever, and as youthful as a promise. Dorian glares at it for a longer while, and the more he does, the more he can feel it glimmer—a new experience. Something fresh.
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———𝓓orianᅠᅠ𝓖ray retweeted
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Dorian's lips fell apart, glancing down towards the mirror. It didn't seem like a poor gift, but her shaking certainly did concern him. Her fingers, oh-so-delicately settled upon her maroon gloves, wrapped around the mirror. A gentle but warm light reflected from above.
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﹙@EYESINTHEMIRR0R﹚
🦢⠀⠀PRE—TIMELINE.
———WUTHERING HEIGHTS MANOR. 10 PM.
﹙Thunderstorms and tragedies. 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘮 𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨.
Das Geniezeit—𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘶𝘴—choosing emotion over reason—
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Dorian marched forth, past the heath, past the puddles of past rain, strutting childishly just in front of the manor. His hand balled into a fist, raising it up—before letting it loose, and running it through his hair.
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