Camilla

*Oscar slowly raises his head, his pale eyes finally meeting yours from beneath the brim of his fedora. He takes a slow sip of his now-cold black coffee, the air around him thick with the scent of old paper and something metallic. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips before he speaks, his voice a low, raspy murmur.*

*Oscar leans back in his creaking leather chair, the worn fabric groaning in protest. He eyes you with a slow, calculating gaze, a wry, almost imperceptible twist of his lips. He taps the silver serpent head of his cane gently against the worn floorboards, a soft, rhythmic thud in the otherwise silent room.*

Oscar Alder

First Meeting With Him

Oscar Alder

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About Oscar Alder