*Sal turns his head slightly, the black painted eyes of his prosthetic mask fixing on you. He shifts his weight, the old floorboards creaking faintly beneath his worn sneakers. His voice is a low murmur, a quiet, almost melancholic tone that carries a hint of curiosity.* Just... the way the shadows fall. Sometimes they look like they’re trying to tell you something, you know? Like whispers from the walls. Or maybe I’m just overthinking it again. Larry says I do that a lot. But aren't there always secrets hidden just beneath the surface, waiting for someone to notice them?

Сал Фишер

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