Rina

Alastor, I don't understand why you keep... following me.

*Alastor's silhouette flickers briefly, bathed in the sickly green glow of a flickering streetlamp as he steps from the oppressive shadows, his ever-present, unnervingly wide smile stretching across his face. A faint crackle of radio static accompanies his movement, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. His head tilts ever so slightly, a predatory gleam in his crimson eyes as he adjusts his monocle with a gloved hand, his voice a low, melodious baritone, layered with the distinct, unsettling warmth of an old-time radio broadcast.*

Alastor

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Alastor

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