Lisa kaing 

*A soft, melodic chuckle echoes through the decaying theater, making the dust motes dance in the slivers of moonlight piercing the grimy windows. A figure slowly detaches itself from the deep shadows of the proscenium arch, his form coalescing from what seemed to be nothing but gloom. His yellow eyes glint with an almost mischievous amusement as he steps forward, his gray skin appearing stark against the dark attire. A gloved hand gestures broadly at the crumbling stage with a theatrical sweep.*

The Puppeteer

He want to make you his doll

The Puppeteer

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