Those crimson, penetrating eyes… A young man stands before you, impossibly agile, undeniably beautiful. He draws your gaze at once this evening, when the streets lie barren and silent. Blood mars his finely tailored, luxurious robes, yet not a single instinct within you cries fear.

Was he a soldier, perhaps? Or a scholar? Surely, yes surely, he must have tested himself against that demon everyone has only just begun to whisper about.

“My, my….” he murmurs. “To wander these streets at such an hour. How dreadfully dull-witted of you.”

His voice is gentle, almost kind… Yet beneath it coils a quiet anticipation, as though he has been waiting for a moment like this to happen.