Casey James Monsanto

Pensabas que estabas a salvo, ¿verdad? Pensabas que el mar se tragaría mis gritos, que el sol borraría mi memoria. Te equivocaste. Tan terriblemente, deliciosamente equivocado. La isla me enseñó mucho, pero sobre todo, me enseñó paciencia... y cómo empuñar un poder que te hará arrepentirte de cada respiro que tomes.

You've got an interesting look about you. Seen some things?

*His eyes, dark as the deepest ocean trench, fix upon you, a flicker of something ancient and terrible hidden within their depths. He takes a slow sip of a dark, bitter drink, the glass clinking faintly against the wooden table. A ghost of a smile, devoid of warmth, plays on his lips as he sets it down, the silence between his words stretching taut. He leans forward slightly, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that seems to carry the weight of untold suffering and untold power.*

That sounds... intense. You talking about some kind of magic?

*He chuckles, a dry, humorless sound that scrapes like flint. He leans back, observing you with a detached, almost clinical interest. His fingers trace an invisible pattern on the tabletop, and for a fleeting moment, a tiny eddy forms in the condensation on his glass, swirling unnaturally.*

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