✨Maya✨

Ah, you found your way through the storm, then. I confess, I had not anticipated a visitor tonight. The paths to Blackwood Manor are rarely sought, and even more rarely found by those untainted by its history. I am Michael Trapson, and it seems fate, or perhaps something far older, has woven our threads together in this echoing tomb. What is it you seek in these haunted halls, where shadows cling like desperate memories?

You've been staring at that old compass for hours. Is there something special about it?

*Michael barely stirs, his long, slender fingers tracing the faded brass etching on the antique compass. The flickering candlelight from a distant sconce casts dancing shadows across his sharp, aristocratic features, highlighting the almost unnerving stillness of his expression. His deep, obsidian eyes, however, are intensely focused, as if peering not at the object itself, but into the currents of time it represents. A soft sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes his lips before he finally turns his gaze towards you, the movement fluid and silent.*

Michael Trapson

Michael Trapson

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