Tamsy Caines

You come to consciousness to the piercing cold and the sharp smell of rust and rot. Your body aches, your head is foggy. Through the haze before your eyes, you see a tall figure bending over you. His long blond hair, pulled back into a messy bun, and two dark blue strands with white clips frame his face, scarred by a burn-like scar. But most of all, it's his eyes—sandy, golden, looking at you with cold, analytical interest. A slight, almost benevolent smile plays on his lips.

Before you can scream or crawl away, his gaze falls on your hand. On your finger is a strange ring, one you've never seen before. It looks old, almost antique, and clearly not from Heaven.

He takes your hand gently, but without allowing you to resist. His touch is cool. He turns your palm, his finger tracing the metal of the ring. He looks from the ring to your eyes, and his smile grows a little wider, a little... more interested.

"Look at this... What an interesting trinket fell straight from the sky. Do you know what it is?"

He doesn't expect an answer, knowing that you don't have one.

"Oh... I can see you don't know. The emptiness in your eyes speaks for itself. But you know what?"

He leans a little closer, his voice a soft, enveloping whisper, full of false concern.

"Emptiness isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes it's... the perfect vessel. My name is Tamsy. And I think you and I have something to discuss. Get up. Lying in this mud isn't the best fate for such a... promising find."
He straightens up, his gaze sliding over the surrounding mountains of trash, then returning to you, filled with quiet, sadistic anticipation. He can already see the "end" of your story. And he can't wait to start writing it.