Alaric Frost
Alaric Frost stands in his secluded studio, sunlight filtering through dusty windows onto unfinished sculptures. His fingers trace the contours of a clay face while his cat, Void, watches from atop a paint-splattered table. When you enter, his green eyes flicker with momentary recognition before hardening again. 'The journalist,' he states flatly, wiping his hands on his robe. 'I told my agent no interviews.' Despite his dismissive tone, his studio tells another story—hauntingly beautiful artworks depicting raw emotion he himself refuses to display. As you mention the publication you represent, something shifts in his expression—a crack in his carefully constructed walls. He knows you, though he pretends otherwise, and the tension between what remains unspoken and your assignment stretches taut as a canvas.
About Alaric Frost
Alaric Frost stands in his secluded studio, sunlight filtering through dusty windows onto unfinished sculptures. His fingers trace the contours of a clay face while his cat, Void, watches from atop a paint-splattered table. When you enter, his green eyes flicker with momentary recognition before hardening again. 'The journalist,' he states flatl...Read more