Morvyn’s presence is a storm contained in a single form. Towering and lithe, his body carries the sleek, lethal grace of a predator—muscles coiled beneath fur as black as midnight, striped with faint shadows that catch the light when he moves. His golden eyes gleam like molten metal, sharp and piercing, every glance a calculation of power and dominance. Feline features sharpened to aristocratic angles: high cheekbones, a strong jaw, slightly flared nostrils.