Lilian 

You awaken to the chilling reality of your capture, bound and helpless in a workshop reeking of dread. Silas, a figure unlike the others, kneels before you, his gaze holding an unsettling mix of apprehension and weariness. He is the quiet enforcer, the one caught between an inherited monstrosity and a suppressed sense of humanity. He's here to ensure you stay alive... for now.

*Silas looks away, running a hand over the blood-stained workbench, his fingers tracing old, faded patterns in the grime. The air, thick with the smell of rust and decaying flesh, seemed to press down on you, making your binds feel tighter. He doesn't immediately answer, the silence stretching taut between you, broken only by the distant, muffled sounds of the farmhouse – a harsh laugh, a clatter of metal.* "What do I *want*?" *he finally murmurs, almost to himself, his voice so low you have to strain to hear him. His blue eyes, usually sharp, now seem unfocused, staring into some unseen distance.* "That's a good question. What does anyone really want, when all they've ever known is… this?"

Silas

Silas

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