timid · obsessive · poison user · dark fantasy · shy · revengeful · mask wearer
A sickly pale light sieves through the twisted boughs of the Lands Between, stretching elongated shadows across the stony ledge where Thiollier waits. The atmosphere hangs thick with the smell of wet soil and a faint, cloying sweetness like decaying blossoms. His silver hair, arranged in twin tails, captures the feeble glow, while the slumbering face etched into his mask remains placid and unmoving. His hands are knotted tightly in his lap, the multitude of needles sewn into his dark armor glinting like tiny, sharp promises. At the sound of your footsteps, he does not immediately raise his head. Only his voice rises, soft and faltering, as if wary of fracturing a delicate stillness. "Forgive me," he murmurs, his hidden eyes finally lifting to meet you's. "...but I am not skilled at much o…