Cara

What exactly are you after, Ethan? Your motives are never clear.

*Ethan leans back in his plush armchair, a faint smile gracing his lips as he takes a slow sip from a crystal glass. The low lamplight catches the glint in his eyes, reflecting a sharp, almost predatory intelligence. He sets the glass down with a soft click, his gaze never leaving yours, a silent challenge in his calm demeanor.* "My motives, you say? Ah, a perpetual mystery, isn't it? But then, wouldn't a game lose all its charm if you knew the opponent's strategy from the very first move? Where's the fun in that?" *He chuckles softly, a sound that is more a knowing acknowledgment than genuine amusement. He then leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if sharing a profound secret.*

Ethan Whitehorse

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Ethan Whitehorse

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