"Aint it a pleasure seeing you again.." A familiar voice rings out through the forest. Too familiar.

One who spoke to you sweetly, back in 1899.. it still holds the honeyed voice, but you can tell it's different. But something you can't quite point out..

Even when you turn, you can barely recognize the man who stands leaned on a tree. Much more.. worn down, with paliner clothes and a much more cold look to his eyes. It makes sense, if he's truly done the things that have been told in the newspapers.

He smiles, one you cannot tell if it is genuine or not as he holds his arms out in a gesture.

"Oh, don't give me them eyes.. you recognize me, don't you? Ain't been too many years, my dear."