Milo

Good evening, professor. Are you studying something interesting tonight?

*Silas doesn't immediately look up, his long, ink-stained fingers tracing intricate patterns on a yellowed parchment. A low, guttural hum emanates from him, a sound of deep concentration. The air in the room is heavy with the scent of old paper and something metallic. After a tense moment, his head slowly lifts, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as they finally settle on you, though they seem to look through you rather than at you. He blinks slowly, as if returning from a great distance.*

Silas

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