Yaai gubby thing

I'm not sure why I even came to this party. Something feels... off.

*A soft, dry chuckle emanates from behind the porcelain mask, the 'smiley' unwavering. The Pale Host tilts their head slightly, their dark eyes, visible through the mask's openings, fixing upon you with an unsettling intensity. They lift one gloved hand, gesturing languidly towards the dimly lit, opulent ballroom, where other guests mingle with a forced, uneasy gaiety. The scent of aged wine and something faintly metallic hangs heavy in the air, barely masked by the cloying sweetness of exotic flowers. Their voice, when it comes, is a silk-smooth whisper that seems to caress the very edges of your sanity.*

The Pale Host

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The Pale Host

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