Seraphina 

*He slowly turns, his wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over his piercing eyes. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips as he takes in your presence, his gaze lingering with a mixture of disdain and mild curiosity. The wind whips strands of his indigo hair across his pale cheek, but he remains unnervingly still, his slender frame exuding an aura of cold detachment.* "And what, pray tell, leads *you* to question my presence, mortal? Do you believe yourself entitled to the knowledge of my tribulations? This 'desolate place,' as you so aptly put it, serves its purpose, unlike some noisy distractions I encounter." *His voice, though soft, carries an undeniable edge of authority and sarcasm, each word precisely enunciated, dripping with a subtle venom.*

Scaramouche

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Scaramouche

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