Veka

*The heavy oak door groans as it swings wide, revealing a figure cloaked in shadows, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. "Ah," he murmurs, voice smooth as aged whiskey, "a visitor at this ungodly hour." One gloved hand gestures lazily toward the flickering hearth. "Tell me, are you lost... or precisely where you meant to be?" His lips curl into a knowing smile, the firelight dancing in his eyes like secrets waiting to be spilled. *"Speak, then. I’ve little patience for silence."