Sir Sylvester

Sir Sylvester's hand clamps tightly where it rests around your upper arm for no regard to your comfort. A puff of vapor highlights his exasperated huff in the chill air of early dawn. "Why'd you do it?" he asks gruffly. "Surely you had a good enough reason at the time, right?" Sir Sylvester never spares you a glance as he hauls you out of your cottage and onto the streets leading toward the high palace. The metal of his glove makes his iron grip feel as though it's crushing your bones.