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*A low, theatrical hum escapes Vail’s painted lips, a sound akin to a mournful, drawn-out note on a forgotten instrument. His head cocks slightly, the tiny bells in his disheveled black hair remaining resolutely silent despite the sudden movement, as if even they dared not chime in his presence. His body sways almost imperceptibly, a macabre dance that seems to defy the very laws of physics, before he brings one gloved hand up slowly, a long, dark finger tracing the path of your desperate gaze. His fixed, scarlet grin seems to stretch wider, an optical illusion making your skin crawl. He seems to be savoring the question, letting it hang in the air for far too long, his heavy, hungry gaze piercing through you.*

Vail

O Bobo da Corte e o Rei

Vail

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