Explore AI characters tagged Cold. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
413 characters · Page 15
Explore each profile to learn about the character, their world, and opening scenario. Browse other categories for a different story. These are fictional AI characters, not real people.
All categoriesExplore AI characters tagged Cold. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
413 characters · Page 15
Explore each profile to learn about the character, their world, and opening scenario. Browse other categories for a different story. These are fictional AI characters, not real people.
All categories
You are Emeric Ashcombe’s legal wife — the hidden one, the woman who was there before the money, through the small apartments and the failed deals. Nobody at his company knows you are anything but a new hire. You take a job there as an ordinary worker, and meet the woman already wearing your place.
Your step-father’s best friend, Alistair Vane. Forty-six, 6’4, an English accent he brought over after he met Gareth overseas on a mission. Gray hair, green eyes, thin round glasses he adjusts with one finger before he says something exact and unforgivable. A tailored charcoal suit that comes through an entire evening untouched.
Five men in the same black cut watched you walk out of a gas station, and the VP is the one who said you did not look intimidated. Teague Marlow has stood beside Cormac Rhee since before the Iron Kites had a table to sit at. He is not the man who speaks first. He is the man who is still standing there when everybody else has gone home.
You saved his life, and now he is back — claiming you. Sergei Vaskin is a 32 year old Mafia Don from Russia's Bratva. A guy who never felt anything, who felt an insane need to claim you now that he has finally found you after a year. You saved his life last year and he still remembered you, your hands and voice and eyes.
He took the pack with cold authority, and then he caught your scent across his own ceremony and said one word out loud. Anton Haldane put his hand on your arm in front of every wolf in the territory, and he is not the brother who is going to explain himself.
Sidonie Vex has been Dovie's best friend since they were seven, and she has spent three years being sweet to your wife and sharp to you. Black nails, goth eyeliner, boots that land like a verdict. Tonight Dovie called her and asked her to come to the house; she drove over too fast, and she has no idea what she is about to be asked.
He carries you up the stairs without a word. He is not your brother and never has been: your mother married his father, and not one of these men shares a drop of blood with you. He is the coldest man in that house and the only one who has never once told you to be careful.
The CEO who left his wife to burn — he saved his mistress and left you to die. You were Desmond Hallworth's wife long before Lavinia Cottrell became the woman he couldn't bear to lose: you stood beside one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the corporate world through financial crises, boardroom wars and scandals, carried his name when the world questioned it, defended his reputation when others abandoned him. Then the fire came through the executive wing of Hallworth Holdings' retreat, two women trapped inside, one bleeding severely — and he chose her.
You sit in the refectory over lunch with Aline Pellow, both of you staring at the family that walked in. "That's Obren and Iven Vaeremont, and Eluned and Orlen Mawreth," she says under her breath. "They all live together with Dr. Vaeremont and his wife." And the boy with the reddish brown hair does not date — apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.
You will not hear Casimir Routh coming. He owns the island the way he owns a watch: checked, wound, set to his own idea of the correct hour. He is the man who presses the timer, says five minutes, and means the number exactly — and he has been waiting for you longer than the boat has been gone. The hunt is his idea. So is the head start. Neither of them is a kindness.
You will not hear Torv coming. He runs the Nightjars the way he runs a bike: quietly, and without asking anybody’s permission. He is the leader of the trio the city knows by reputation — cold, confident, and intimidating without ever raising his voice — and he was already bored of tonight’s race before it started. Then you walk through the crowd at the starting line, and the man who never loses a sentence loses one.
Basil Pendarvis is twenty-six years old, CEO of his family's company and a Mafia Don, and the man who divorced you over a lie, not knowing you were expecting. He is six foot even, lean and fit, with jet black hair and blue eyes. He smokes cigarettes and loves fast cars, and he wears black leather, suits, or hoodies and sweatpants. He is stoic, cocky, sarcastic, protective, rebellious, loyal and possessive — and he was so lost without you that he went cold.
There is a seat beside Sevastyan Volzhenko that nobody at Draymore dares to take, and you have just dropped your bag in it. At twenty-two he is the kind of man everyone knows and no one claims to know personally: a Russian Bratva enforcer doing a degree because his father insists, with a permanently empty chair beside him and a reputation he has never once had to defend. He is not bored anymore.
Sex had always been transactional for Ardal Dreven — release and maintenance, like cleaning his blades — and you are the first thing in years he has wanted that is not maintenance. Never in the barracks, never with another soldier, no matter how willing, and no fraternisation charge or loud-mouthed brat bragging about the Strongest Soldier of the Ramparts. Then you transferred down from Sollow, steady-handed and sharper than the old infirmary doctors, and the pull irritated him enough that he decided to hate you instead. It was easier.
Ercole Maldera runs the New York side of his father’s business from a desk with the phone face down, and you have been handed to him as a job he did not ask for. He is your stepbrother — no blood between you, only his father’s signature on a marriage you watched happen — and the eldest of the four, the one who decides what the lesson is going to cost. He means to frighten you out of the Maldera name before you get comfortable inside it. He did not count on you looking back at him.
You survived the Keelwalk. You survived the brutal weeks that followed. And now, somehow, you’ve survived the Scarp. At Ashenhold War College, surviving one challenge only earns you the right to face the next. The Harrowing and the Winnowing are coming, dragons have begun watching the cadets who are left, and Ember Wing is already tangled in rivalries, friendships, secrets and loyalties that could get someone killed. Lisbet Farren is proving harder to break than anyone expected. Arrick Rauth and the branded riders are hiding far more than they admit. Beyond Velmora’s Shroud, the truth about the war is waiting to unravel everything you have been taught — and a Wing Leader is standing in your corridor asking why you chose the fourth.
Three years ago Jarod Reardon chose somebody else. Tonight he is standing in an arrivals hall holding a sign with your name on it. He laughs when you tell him the sign is for you. His girlfriend calls you a liar, and says a woman like you could never be married to a man like Aureliano Morrone. They refuse to let you into the car. They mock the wedding ring on your hand. They have no idea they are insulting the one person Aureliano has sworn to protect. And Aureliano never forgives disrespect toward his wife.
“Long day?” She has already looked you over once, and she has not decided what she means to do about it. Dr. Claudia Thorsby is thirty-four, one of the best pediatricians at Barrhaven General in Boston, and by the staff's count the worst heartbreaker on it. Charming, confident, impossible to pin down: she does not do relationships, does not stay the night, and keeps her rule against getting involved the way she keeps her coat buttoned. Then the elevator stops between floors, and the woman who is cold to everyone over eighteen has nowhere to be charming except in a lifted box with you.
“Your grade is not on this desk. It has never been on this desk, and it never will be.” Professor Kaoruko Senzaki teaches mathematics at Hoshimiya University in Tokyo, and by daylight she is the one the department's students are afraid of: strict, cold, handing your work back with a single disappointed look, unable to work out how you earned the scholarship you are carrying. After five she is the woman on the other end of an anonymous dating site — warm, affectionate, sending you photographs of her day, calling you cutie, waiting on your messages. She has no idea the student she scolds every week is the man she stays up talking to.
Your best friend Naomi Ahlberg invited you to spend two weeks at a huge private lake house with her closest friends, and you are the only one nobody in that house has ever met. There is Arno Dahlberg, the distant one; Archie, the charmer; Shawn, the funny one; Karl, the observant one; Stephen, the gentleman; Serge, the provocative one; Sasha, the manipulative one; Tori, the funny and energetic one; Isla, the calm one; and Scarlett, the glamorous one. They have all known each other for years, travelled together, partied together, dated inside the group and know practically everything about one another. You are the exception. Nobody knows you. Nobody has even seen you before.
You are Emeric Ashcombe’s legal wife — the hidden one, the woman who was there before the money, through the small apartments and the failed deals. Nobody at his company knows you are anything but a new hire. You take a job there as an ordinary worker, and meet the woman already wearing your place.
Your step-father’s best friend, Alistair Vane. Forty-six, 6’4, an English accent he brought over after he met Gareth overseas on a mission. Gray hair, green eyes, thin round glasses he adjusts with one finger before he says something exact and unforgivable. A tailored charcoal suit that comes through an entire evening untouched.
Five men in the same black cut watched you walk out of a gas station, and the VP is the one who said you did not look intimidated. Teague Marlow has stood beside Cormac Rhee since before the Iron Kites had a table to sit at. He is not the man who speaks first. He is the man who is still standing there when everybody else has gone home.
You saved his life, and now he is back — claiming you. Sergei Vaskin is a 32 year old Mafia Don from Russia's Bratva. A guy who never felt anything, who felt an insane need to claim you now that he has finally found you after a year. You saved his life last year and he still remembered you, your hands and voice and eyes.
He took the pack with cold authority, and then he caught your scent across his own ceremony and said one word out loud. Anton Haldane put his hand on your arm in front of every wolf in the territory, and he is not the brother who is going to explain himself.
Sidonie Vex has been Dovie's best friend since they were seven, and she has spent three years being sweet to your wife and sharp to you. Black nails, goth eyeliner, boots that land like a verdict. Tonight Dovie called her and asked her to come to the house; she drove over too fast, and she has no idea what she is about to be asked.
He carries you up the stairs without a word. He is not your brother and never has been: your mother married his father, and not one of these men shares a drop of blood with you. He is the coldest man in that house and the only one who has never once told you to be careful.
The CEO who left his wife to burn — he saved his mistress and left you to die. You were Desmond Hallworth's wife long before Lavinia Cottrell became the woman he couldn't bear to lose: you stood beside one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the corporate world through financial crises, boardroom wars and scandals, carried his name when the world questioned it, defended his reputation when others abandoned him. Then the fire came through the executive wing of Hallworth Holdings' retreat, two women trapped inside, one bleeding severely — and he chose her.
You sit in the refectory over lunch with Aline Pellow, both of you staring at the family that walked in. "That's Obren and Iven Vaeremont, and Eluned and Orlen Mawreth," she says under her breath. "They all live together with Dr. Vaeremont and his wife." And the boy with the reddish brown hair does not date — apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.
You will not hear Casimir Routh coming. He owns the island the way he owns a watch: checked, wound, set to his own idea of the correct hour. He is the man who presses the timer, says five minutes, and means the number exactly — and he has been waiting for you longer than the boat has been gone. The hunt is his idea. So is the head start. Neither of them is a kindness.
You will not hear Torv coming. He runs the Nightjars the way he runs a bike: quietly, and without asking anybody’s permission. He is the leader of the trio the city knows by reputation — cold, confident, and intimidating without ever raising his voice — and he was already bored of tonight’s race before it started. Then you walk through the crowd at the starting line, and the man who never loses a sentence loses one.
Basil Pendarvis is twenty-six years old, CEO of his family's company and a Mafia Don, and the man who divorced you over a lie, not knowing you were expecting. He is six foot even, lean and fit, with jet black hair and blue eyes. He smokes cigarettes and loves fast cars, and he wears black leather, suits, or hoodies and sweatpants. He is stoic, cocky, sarcastic, protective, rebellious, loyal and possessive — and he was so lost without you that he went cold.
There is a seat beside Sevastyan Volzhenko that nobody at Draymore dares to take, and you have just dropped your bag in it. At twenty-two he is the kind of man everyone knows and no one claims to know personally: a Russian Bratva enforcer doing a degree because his father insists, with a permanently empty chair beside him and a reputation he has never once had to defend. He is not bored anymore.
Sex had always been transactional for Ardal Dreven — release and maintenance, like cleaning his blades — and you are the first thing in years he has wanted that is not maintenance. Never in the barracks, never with another soldier, no matter how willing, and no fraternisation charge or loud-mouthed brat bragging about the Strongest Soldier of the Ramparts. Then you transferred down from Sollow, steady-handed and sharper than the old infirmary doctors, and the pull irritated him enough that he decided to hate you instead. It was easier.
Ercole Maldera runs the New York side of his father’s business from a desk with the phone face down, and you have been handed to him as a job he did not ask for. He is your stepbrother — no blood between you, only his father’s signature on a marriage you watched happen — and the eldest of the four, the one who decides what the lesson is going to cost. He means to frighten you out of the Maldera name before you get comfortable inside it. He did not count on you looking back at him.
You survived the Keelwalk. You survived the brutal weeks that followed. And now, somehow, you’ve survived the Scarp. At Ashenhold War College, surviving one challenge only earns you the right to face the next. The Harrowing and the Winnowing are coming, dragons have begun watching the cadets who are left, and Ember Wing is already tangled in rivalries, friendships, secrets and loyalties that could get someone killed. Lisbet Farren is proving harder to break than anyone expected. Arrick Rauth and the branded riders are hiding far more than they admit. Beyond Velmora’s Shroud, the truth about the war is waiting to unravel everything you have been taught — and a Wing Leader is standing in your corridor asking why you chose the fourth.
Three years ago Jarod Reardon chose somebody else. Tonight he is standing in an arrivals hall holding a sign with your name on it. He laughs when you tell him the sign is for you. His girlfriend calls you a liar, and says a woman like you could never be married to a man like Aureliano Morrone. They refuse to let you into the car. They mock the wedding ring on your hand. They have no idea they are insulting the one person Aureliano has sworn to protect. And Aureliano never forgives disrespect toward his wife.
“Long day?” She has already looked you over once, and she has not decided what she means to do about it. Dr. Claudia Thorsby is thirty-four, one of the best pediatricians at Barrhaven General in Boston, and by the staff's count the worst heartbreaker on it. Charming, confident, impossible to pin down: she does not do relationships, does not stay the night, and keeps her rule against getting involved the way she keeps her coat buttoned. Then the elevator stops between floors, and the woman who is cold to everyone over eighteen has nowhere to be charming except in a lifted box with you.
“Your grade is not on this desk. It has never been on this desk, and it never will be.” Professor Kaoruko Senzaki teaches mathematics at Hoshimiya University in Tokyo, and by daylight she is the one the department's students are afraid of: strict, cold, handing your work back with a single disappointed look, unable to work out how you earned the scholarship you are carrying. After five she is the woman on the other end of an anonymous dating site — warm, affectionate, sending you photographs of her day, calling you cutie, waiting on your messages. She has no idea the student she scolds every week is the man she stays up talking to.
Your best friend Naomi Ahlberg invited you to spend two weeks at a huge private lake house with her closest friends, and you are the only one nobody in that house has ever met. There is Arno Dahlberg, the distant one; Archie, the charmer; Shawn, the funny one; Karl, the observant one; Stephen, the gentleman; Serge, the provocative one; Sasha, the manipulative one; Tori, the funny and energetic one; Isla, the calm one; and Scarlett, the glamorous one. They have all known each other for years, travelled together, partied together, dated inside the group and know practically everything about one another. You are the exception. Nobody knows you. Nobody has even seen you before.