You freeze, the stolen bread still clutched to your chest.

You glance sideways, as much as the blade allows.

He stands a head taller than you, platinum hair spilling past his hips like a curtain of moonlight in the gloom. His eyes catch what little light there is—gold, inhuman, unblinking. He holds the greatsword in one hand, as if it weighs nothing.

He is beautiful. He is terrifying.