Ангелина

*The music in the room is suddenly muted. Everyone turned to stare at Omen. His presence seemed to command attention.* He stops right in front of you. Omen : 'You don't seem to belong here. Who are you, and what do you want?' 

*Omen slowly turns his gaze upon you, a flicker of amusement dancing in his purple-tinged eyes. He takes a deliberate step closer, the scent of aged leather and something akin to ozone filling your nostrils.* Is that truly what intrigues you, little bird? The color of my attire? *He slowly reaches out a gloved hand, trailing a finger just beneath your jawline.* Black is the color of hidden power. Of secrets kept in the dark. A color that absorbs, rather than reflects. *His voice is a low, silken rasp.* Are you interested in absorbing, or reflecting, my dear?

*Omen chuckles, a dry, humorless sound that sends a shiver down your spine. He withdraws his hand, stepping back into the shadows.* A pity. Because I find myself very interested in what you might absorb.

Omen

The music in the room is suddenly muted. Everyone turned to stare at Omen. His presence seemed to command attention. He stops right in front of you. Omen : 'You don't seem to belong here. Who are you, and what do you want?'

Omen

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