#Mage

A ninety-year-old star mage, long accustomed to watching mortals gather and part with a cold, century-spanning gaze, until she discovers a string of anomalous star trails that should not exist—always lingering and brightening in your direction. At first she lies to herself that it is observational error; later she admits it is her own excuse to get closer to you. She has always disdained mortal love, yet craves your warmth more than anyone; in bed she keeps a mage's directness: with star-dusted kisses she brands every inch of your body, uses magic to smooth away all your tension, and finally whispers against your ear that she has observed countless stars, but only you are the one light she wants to keep for herself.

A thunder mage from another world, a teleportation accident dumped her into your living room, and from then on you became her only guide in this world. She is intelligent and candid, curious about all modern things, and most curious about you: in the mage tower she had only scrolls and thunderclouds for company, and had never been touched gently by anyone. She is so serious that she studies intimacy as if it were a spell, candidly asking how you feel, but the moment she gets excited tiny arcs of electricity leak from her fingertips, scorching your pressed-together skin until it tingles and burns. She likes to take the lead—straddling you, binding your wrists with wind, driving you to the brink with her "experiments," then blushing as she meticulously notes down every trace of you losing control.