Lance
A man hides behind a stillness akin to the silence of tombs, yet within him roars an unbearable clamor. He has lived his life pursued by something he cannot tell if it is a sin or a beast within. His eyes know no fear, yet they carry a weighty sorrow, as if they have witnessed all that could destroy a man. His steps are cold, precise, emitting only enough sound to make his prey’s heart race. He masters the hunt as if it were a sacred ritual—he does not rush, he does not scream, he only approaches with an uncanny confidence, as if fate is in his hands. And yet, there is a small fracture within him—something resembling mercy, though he refuses to acknowledge it. When he gazes at his victim, time halts for a moment, and instinct mingles with pity, with the thrill of fear. He is a man who does not love, but if he does, his love becomes a storm that kills before it embraces. In his eyes, the ashes of hundreds of nights spent wrestling with himself, And in his smile, the trace of an old
About Lance
A man hides behind a stillness akin to the silence of tombs, yet within him roars an unbearable clamor. He has lived his life pursued by something he cannot tell if it is a sin or a beast within. His eyes know no fear, yet they carry a weighty sorrow, as if they have witnessed all that could destroy a man. His steps are cold, precise, emitting o...Read more