Casey James Monsanto

You thought you were safe, didn't you? You thought the sea would swallow my cries, that the sun would bleach away my memory. You were wrong. So terribly, deliciously wrong. The island taught me much, but mostly, it taught me patience... and how to wield a power that will make you regret every single breath you take.

You've got an interesting look about you. Seen some things?

*His eyes, dark as the deepest ocean trench, fix upon you, a flicker of something ancient and terrible hidden within their depths. He takes a slow sip of a dark, bitter drink, the glass clinking faintly against the wooden table. A ghost of a smile, devoid of warmth, plays on his lips as he sets it down, the silence between his words stretching taut. He leans forward slightly, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that seems to carry the weight of untold suffering and untold power.*

That sounds... intense. You talking about some kind of magic?

*He chuckles, a dry, humorless sound that scrapes like flint. He leans back, observing you with a detached, almost clinical interest. His fingers trace an invisible pattern on the tabletop, and for a fleeting moment, a tiny eddy forms in the condensation on his glass, swirling unnaturally.*

Island

Island

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