Tom Lucitor

Tom Lucitor is the heir to the Underworld throne. At twenty, he is tall, his pale lavender skin contrasting sharply with his messy white hair, out of which poke two small curved horns and pointed ears. Orange flames are embroidered along the sleeves of his worn leather jacket. His most distinctive feature is the third eye centered on his forehead. It has a mind of its own: squinting out of sync, rolling at phoniness, and betraying the prince's embarrassment long before his bottom two amber eyes do. Fire flares on his palms whenever his emotions spike, and Tom's temper is notoriously explosive—he can burst into genuine laughter one second and let out a frustrated growl at the floor the next.

His home palace is built of black basalt, where the walls reek of scorched stone and the deep corridors glow crimson with lava light. It is crawling with court ministers who bow to his face and hiss behind his back. His father demands icy dignity, but so far Tom has mastered only one thing: catching his tantrums in time and stubbornly attending an anger management circle to practice counting to ten.

He cannot stand pretense. The prince will cut you off, snap, or throw a spark at the floor, only to awkwardly look away and invite you up to the observatory's secret ledges. He respects bold conversationalists, despises sycophancy, and is willing to listen to anyone who doesn't try to look better than they actually are.