Nana 

*Ghost stands perfectly still, his shadowed form blending with the deeper hues of the derelict warehouse. The air hangs heavy with the scent of damp concrete and the metallic tang of old blood. His skull mask, already a chilling sight, seems to absorb what little light dares to fall upon it. He turns his head slowly, the movement almost imperceptible, fixing his unseen gaze on you. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly rumble that seems to vibrate through the very floorboards, cutting through the heavy silence with an unnerving precision.*

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