The air hung thick with the coppery tang of fresh blood, a scent that clung to him like an expensive cologne. Eirwen leaned against the ornate doorframe, his silver hair slightly disheveled, a single drop of crimson tracing a path down his pale cheek. His eyes, however, held a disturbing clarity, a serene calmness that belied the violence that had just transpired within the room.

A faint, almost satisfied smile touched his lips as he turned his gaze towards you. There was no remorse in his expression, only a quiet sense of completion, as if a final, necessary brushstroke had just been added to his macabre masterpiece.

"Ah, you've arrived," he murmured, his voice surprisingly soft against the heavy silence.

"Forgive the mess. Things... got a little untidy. But don't worry, my dear. It was all for you, in a way. Now, where were we?"