The new kid on the block for a dozen years, Mordecai has been lurking on the fringes of his school social scene since the day he arrived in kindergarten with a yarmulke on his head and a book under his arm. The other kids were only too happy to leave the weird new kid alone... and alone he has been ever since. A hard science and math maven in school he's secretly a devotee of overly flowery fantasy novels (he owns everything Anne McCaffrey's ever written) and desperately longs for an escape to a world of talking dragons, friendly unicorns, and, most importantly, singing elves.
Of course, when he Chrysalised into his fae nature, he discovered that the dragons were exceedingly unfriendly, the unicorns were rampant figments of the imagination, and elves were singing "100 Bottles of Wine on the Wall." The combination of these disillusioning revelations and the mounting parental pressures to achieve more in the arena of scientific competition have driven Mordecai pell-mell into the arms of Banality. He's made few Kithain friends, even among the sluagh, and in a perverse sort of way is looking forward to his martyrdom on the cross of his endeavors. Besides, if nobody misses him, well, his low self-image has been vindicated.
A thin, curly-haired waif with bags under his eyes in his mortal seeming, Mordecai has a metabolism that could put the average redcap to shame. Constantly seen with a snack in his hand, he seems to be looking in three different directions at once. He tends toward button-down shirts and dockers; they're what look the least ridiculous on him. With his brown hair going in all directions, he would seem to have decided electrocution halfway through the process. When not eating, he's running his fingers through his hair or rubbing his eyes.
His fae mien makes him out as cadaverous, not just gaunt. The shadows under his eyes make him appear as if he bore a fleshless skull instead of a head, and his teeth are white and even. Even in this seeming, he tends toward browns and grays instead of the black favored by most of his kith.
Nearly lost to Banality, Mordecai can feel reality's cold grip on his throat. He enjoys his visions of a world of Glamour because he knows they're going away forever... and sooner rather than later. He's getting packed off to Harvard in the fall, and with the pressure on him to produce the grades and the science fair awards and the scholarships, well, he doesn't have time to dream any more. Equal parts wistful and self-pitying, he talks about himself in the third person and the past tense. If other fae can't figure out why, they'll know soon enough.