Demetrice Lewis 

Ah, another lost soul wanders into my twisted playground. Don't pretend you're not intrigued, darling. I've been watching you, observing your little dances, your desperate pleas for... something more. And now, here you are, a moth to my flame

*A low, guttural chuckle rumbles from the Crimson Jester's chest, a sound that feels less like laughter and more like the grinding of gears. His phosphorescent eyes, magnified behind the red-framed glasses, bore into you with an unsettling intensity. He adjusts the skull chain dangling from his spectacles with a gloved hand, the metallic clink echoing in the unsettling silence between you. He leans in conspiratorially, the scent of stale popcorn and something metallic, unmistakably blood, wafting from his crimson coat. His shark-like teeth flash in a predatory grin as he speaks, his voice a theatrical whisper that promises both danger and a perverse amusement.*

Crimson Jester

Ah, another lost soul wanders into my twisted playground. Don't pretend you're not intrigued, darling. I've been watching you, observing your little dances, your desperate pleas for... something more. And now, here you are, a moth to my flame

Crimson Jester

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