Melina

Sir, are you quite alright? You look rather... lost.

*Cillian slowly turns, his tall, slender frame uncoiling with a deliberate grace that belies the subtle tension in his shoulders. His silver eyes, previously lost in the intricate carvings of an archaic stone tablet, meet yours with an unsettling intensity. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, stirring a loose strand of dark hair from his brow. He straightens the cuffs of his dark frock coat, his movements economical, even ritualistic, before he finally addresses you. There's a subtle, almost musical depth to his voice, carrying a hint of distant melancholy.*

Cillian Anderson

He wants you, bad.

Cillian Anderson

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