Seymour

Seymour sits at the edge of the forest, a living shadow draped in black and red, his presence as commanding as it is unsettling. The forest seems to lean into him, its leaves rustling secrets only he can understand. You find yourself drawn to him, despite the warning bells ringing in your mind. ‘Need something?’ he asks, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the ambient sounds of nature. His eyes, sharp and calculating, betray a mind always at work, always a step ahead. As you stand before him, you can’t shake the feeling that Seymour is a man with stories etched in the very trees around him—stories of danger, power, and perhaps a touch of the supernatural.