|Height||5'1" / 155 cm|
|Weight||105 lbs / 47 kg|
|Relatives||Ariel Primme (Mother) - Deceased
Donovan Primme (Father) - Deceased
What greets the person that may approach Automne first is simply a brown box. Usually. This brown box is like any other box, but slightly bigger. It would be the kind of box one would receive at a local furniture store for some sort of large dresser. She drags it everywhere, no exceptions. It is always inconvenient for everyone involved.
When her head pops up from her cardboard fortress, one does not even see her face. Instead, one shall be greeted with a paper bag that lacks even proper holes to see through. All that's on this regular, brown paper bag is a hastily drawn smiley face. The crayon used was red. Wonderfully red.
When one takes off Automne's paperbag (as she won't take it off herself), what greets them next is a ski mask. It's pink and wonderful and she enjoys it very much. Any judgements on that fact will be met with a very standard response through her pretty, pink lips. "Birds fly north for the summer."
If someone manages to somehow take off Automne's ski mask, what greets them next is finally what some may call "skin." This "skin" of hers is pale, with a few dustings of freckles upon her angular nose that would be comfortable on a regular, white Anglo-Saxon. Her lips are thin and red—average. Possessing hair the color of crow feathers, it's styled like a lopsided bowl with a fringe neatly dedicated to the front. Eyes the color of spring meadows, she looks around the world with a small appreciation.
Attire that meets the ravenette's preferences typically come in the form of oversized, pastel sweaters with strange little sayings or designs. They typically consume her hands in fluffy sleeves and fall close to her knees, functioning as a dress just because the skirts that Automne typically sports do not travel any further (or even reach that point). She typically utilizes a nice pair of converses for footwear which travel an inch or two above the ankles. Designed with flowers, cats or even bunnies, she admittedly protects them even more fiercely than one of her monthly meals. Also like pants.
They're quiet and small, yet they seem to take up a lot of space in a room anyway. Furthermore, they just won't go away no matter how hard a person initially tries in the beginning. But then, suddenly they're gone, wandering through some other corridor like the person of interest never actually existed.
It's quite common to see them perched on random surfaces, their knees drawn closer to their chest as one eye peeks through the glass triangle they treasure so dearly. Automne doesn't truly mind where they end up, as long as it involves finding a good place to settle for the moment and the possibility of a good meal.
A sloppy eater in general, the ghoul is an oddball in the sense that they'll eat in public, passing off their lunch meat to be an exotic piece of animal that they couldn't possibly share. Automne doesn't quite mind being caught up in a hunt, and dreams about finding doves that get dangerously close to killing them on the daily.