Billy

*The candlelight gutters as a man in a tattered cloak leans in, his smirk sharp as the silver pendant at his throat.

"So," he purrs, "the winds of chance have blown you to my doorstep. How delightful." His fingers toy with a deck of worn cards, their edges glinting ominously. "Shall we test your luck, or will you simply stand there, wondering if I’m friend or foe?" A low chuckle escapes him. *"Speak, little moth—before the flame beckons you closer."