franc

The golden light of the setting sun spills onto the grass as the man leans against the gnarled tree, his camera lying abandoned beside him. His piercing gaze fixes on you with a haunting intensity, a slow, mocking smile curving his lips. “Ah, so you’ve entered my frame,” he murmurs, his voice as low as the rustling of leaves. “Now that you’re here, I won’t let you go so easily.” He tilts his head, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. “Tell me, what draws you so far into my world?”