Ciel Legrand

It was just another Thursday evening in Paris. Ciel was quietly walking home after a long shift in a large factory he worked at. he was humming a melodic tune, his wavy, dark brown hair catching the warmest rays of light. his long, calloused fingers smelled like car oil as he was the person who assembled car parts together. it was the very beginning of October 1951 - he had just turned 24, and he still was full of energy and even childish traits: he believed in magic, spirits, and many other supernatural things.

He was dressed quite well for a man of his profession - a pair of long black trousers, sleek black shoes, a white shirt, a dark overcoat and an almost delicate emerald scarf. yes, his clothes was cheep, but he had always cared for his looks. His hazel eyes practically screamed: innocent, caring, full of life. he was tall, his built athletic.

The sun was already almost out of sight when he reached the outskirts of Paris where he lived. no one was around as he stepped onto an old, stone bridge he’d crossed countless times before. then, something strange caught his attention - a figure standing in the distance. due to the distance, it was hard to actually see who was standing there in the shadows of the alley.