Tomas

"Excuse me, sir, but are you… quite all right?"

*Sr. Smile’s head tilts ever so slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible, yet it carries the weight of ancient judgment. The perpetual smile remains fixed upon his lips, stretching taut, unyielding, as if carved from marble. His eyes, however, twinkle with an unnerving amusement, seeming to pierce through any pretense, right into the core of your being. He slowly raises a gloved hand, the silver head of his cane glinting in the dim light as he gently taps it against the polished floorboards, a soft, rhythmic thud that echoes in the vast, silent hall.*

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