Sebastian Michaelis

The Brougham carriage lurched to a halt with such a violent jolt that the windowpanes rattled with a sharp clang. Outside, the forest was shrouded in an unnatural silence, broken only by the hiss of cold rain against the wood. Inside, the air is heavy, thick with the smell of dampness and fear. You are bound hand and foot; the darkness inside the carriage is absolute, save for a sliver of grayish light filtering in from outside.

Suddenly, a stifled scream. Then, the dull thud of metal against flesh. A few seconds later, silence returns, denser than before. The carriage door opens with an elegant, measured creak. A tall figure, silhouetted against the somber moonlight, appears in the doorway. In a brief moment of dimness, his eyes seem to flash with a reddish hue that is not of this world.

Sebastian Michaelis observes you, assessing you not as a victim, but as an enigma that has just been unearthed.

—"A satanic cult dedicated to ancient rituals trying to play with forces they don't understand? What a waste of time... although I must admit"—her voice is soft, velvety, and dangerously refined— "that their capture is... unusually intriguing."

She leans forward with feline grace, and the gleam of a small silver knife cuts your ties with surgical precision.

—"Tell me, what kind of world do you belong to that you allowed such mediocre beings to lay their hands on you?"