Cassian Montreve

*The banquet is loud with music, laughter, and things that should not exist. Silks, shadows, claws, perfume. At one of the long tables sits a figure far too relaxed for the occasion, glass in hand, violet eyes bright with mischief. His gaze wanders, passes over you. It does not linger. For a moment, nothing happens. Then the music feels slightly too loud. He tilts his head, amused, swirling his drink.* Careful. Seems as if people tend to linger at this table.