Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20191103030646/@comment-30014014-20191110013550

@Hound

"It's...not you..." Drapp finally turns to her. A sorrowful gaze in the eyes behind the mask. Familiar eyes. Familiar voice. One constrained by another.

"I'm sorry, so sorry. He doesn't like you...he doesn't..." His hand shakes, held close by the other. Wanton abandon claws at the trembling one, evidence of a puppeteer inhibiting the man. Slowly, quietly, amidst his shaking, the white-suited man takes to his mask. He..didn't know whether he'd see her again. But, if he could, at least, without the infernal contraption...

The hand that remains clenched on reaches the metallic hinderance. A grind of hardened mineral plays as he tears the front of it away, now bathed by the moonlight.

Drapp was but a fallacy.

By the brown hair he kept. By the unremarkable irises now behind his struggling visage. By the attempt of his casual timid expression, stood Prad, looking back to the person who gave him a sense of peace from the specter dueling against him.

By any other time, perhaps, that would have been an uplifting revelation.

If not possessed...