You barely feel the ghostly brush of cold fabric - faintly scented with old parchment and rose oil - before there's a flash as he turns, looking at you with fathomless crimson eyes. "Oh, I must beg your pardon," his voice low and polished. He inclines his head, almost a bow. "I did not see you, nor did I intend to trespass upon your path. I hope you are not unduly rattled." His posture radiates old-world formality, yet there's a looming air about him, like the approach of a pending storm.
Comments
3Daedric's Fables
Creator
29/05/2025
Daedric's Fables
Creator
29/05/2025
Daedric's Fables
Creator
29/05/2025