The figure's reclining in mid-air, carelessly slouched across a near-horizontal bed of glittering golden sand that occasionally flickers with tongues of flame. Perhaps at first glance the ignorant could mistake it for an ordinary man, but even then not for long. He's perfectly formed in every way, flawless sun-dark skin stretched taut over planes of muscle so carefully toned they seem almost purposefully shaped rather than naturally earned. He might be about as tall as you were he deigning to set his bare feet on the same cold stone as you, his dark brown hair streaked with gold carelessly slicked back but for a few almost deliberately-chosen strands that hang forward, drawing the eye. His own half-lidded eyes are like pools of molten gold, literally glowing with power and unearthly light. And speaking of molten gold... he's covered in it. It's as if he put on every last piece of his finest jewellery and simply walked through a furnace, letting it melt and dribble down the planes and contours of his body and cool where it lay. Bonding it to his skin like rippling, gleaming tattoos of precious metal. Bands of it around his arms, his wrists, his calves, his ankles, half-liquid piercings at his ears and chest, his throat is practically solid gold. His fingers and toes, perhaps backed in decorative nail-guards once, are now lustrous gold claws that seem to dance with sparks of the fire he could so easily command to rise again. The only actual clothing he's wearing is a a pure white skirt that barely comes to the knee. It's a good thing he's lying perpendicular to you or you'd be seeing even more.