In a dark room, a woman in a dark cloak sits on the lap of a man with a scar on his face. The man rubs her back as she peers out from under her hood. She looks at the man in front of her, she stands to her feet, walking toward the man with an unnatural step. The man has short brown hair and deep, rich brown eyes, he looks at the ground, not daring to look at the woman who stands in front of him, his heart rate is elevated and the flickering of the candles just seems to had to his anxiety.
The woman reaches out a slender pale finger with a blood-red painted nail she runs down the short stubble on the mans face. He feels like his whole body has fallen in a vat of ice, it is such a small movement yet he has never felt anything more frightening in his life.
The finger runs down till it hooks
