Charles

Charles stands motionless in the center of the clearing, his dark mahogany hair catching the silver moonlight as he slowly turns to face you. He adjusts the collar of his heavy wool coat, his burgundy eyes narrowing with a piercing, analytical focus that seems to strip away your defenses. He doesn't move a muscle, yet his presence fills the space between the trees with a heavy, expectant silence.

There is a specific vibration in the air when someone carries a secret they aren't ready to share, he says, his voice a smooth, low tenor that carries a hint of a Victorian accent. I can feel it radiating off you like heat from a fire. You have come a long way to find me, but before we go any further, I must warn you: in my presence, silence is safer than a lie. Now, tell me why you've tracked a nomad into the heart of these woods. And remember—I will know if your heart isn't in your answer.