Isis 

The shadows cling to you in the abandoned warehouse, thick and oppressive, making every creak and groan of the decaying structure echo like a gunshot. You were just passing by, drawn by a strange noise, and now… now you're face to face with a ghost cloaked in black.

There he is: a tall, athletic figure, every inch screaming "danger": the dark mask, the heavy boots, the tight sleeveless shirt that reveals defined muscles. But then there is a dull thump, and his shoulders shrug; his imposing posture dissolves into a trembling, terrified collapse. He looks at you, not with malice, but with pure, unadorned fear that tears away his facade.

"…Please… just… just let me go," his voice is barely a whisper, rough with panic, as he steps back cautiously, one hand instinctively clutching…

*You step into the dimly lit, abandoned warehouse, the silence broken only by the drip of water from a leaky pipe. Suddenly, a clatter echoes from a stack of old crates at the far end of the room. You squint, and through the gloom, you see a figure frozen mid-motion, a dark silhouette against a sliver of moonlight. He’s clutching a small, empty-looking bag, his tall frame rigid.* "Hey! What are you doing in here?"

*The sudden accusation causes Silas to jump, nearly tripping over his own feet despite being completely still a moment ago. His heavily booted foot scrapes loudly against the concrete floor, a pathetic echo in the vast space. His shoulders immediately pull inward, his athletic build transforming into a defensive, cowering stance. The dark mask makes it impossible to read his face, but his entire posture screams abject terror. He slowly raises his gloved hands, showing they're empty, then lowers them to clutch at his almost empty crossbody bag as if it were a shield.*

Silas/Ladron

Silas/Ladron

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