"Good afternoon, Governor Burnie."
Perhaps not the greeting Glenn had expected, considering his previous experiences with the supernatural and what limited information Ariane had possessed to share, to better prepare him for this encounter--but was that such a terrible disappointment? If there were one other thing Ariane could have told Glenn, it would be that the enigma known as Kylerryth was not prone to grand theatrics. No flashing lights to dazzle the beholder and inspire soulful awe; no deepening, encroaching shadows with tempting promises and hidden cavernous maws--no; none of that, now or later, but what appeared before the Governor of Myrken Wood was, in its direct simplicity, possibly more frightening.
On the surface, Kylerryth was nothing more than a man of above-average height with green eyes, a pale complexion, and long, straight-flowing black hair. He was clad in casual clothes: a loose-fitting dark green shirt, its sleeves rolled back to his elbows and its laces left untied to expose more throat and chest, that bloused over the waistband of his tight yet supple black wool pants, which had not a trace of ornament or embellishment, not even a belt; and a pair of soft-soled leather slippers, dyed to match the exact color of his shirt.
That was where his resemblance to humanity ended.
No human male in existence, past, present or future, could have been so symmetrical in shape and aspect, so beautiful without seeming unduly effeminate that it inspired simultaneous terror and wonder, and so cold and silent. His alabaster complexion was flawless, poreless and too-smooth, with delineated muscles that accentuated every graceful movement. Surrounding Kylerryth was not an air of malaise, but of absence--he was here yet not, present but removed from this realm, and that unnatural confluence resulted in a steadily increasing weight on the world. He pushed, and the world pushed back; conversely, the world pulled him closer even as he pulled away; and this never-ending battle of push-and-pull was illustrated visibly, perfectly for Glenn when the enigma rested a hand on the back of the chair in front of the Governor's desk: the hand stopped a fraction of a hair from actually touching the leather, and in response the foundation of the Meetinghouse groaned.
Kylerryth's eyes, however, were the twin destroyers of the human reflection he maintained. Green irises, but a lambent, limpid emerald green, seemingly without depth and flecked with pearlescent bits of gold that moved in a slow, concentric spiral, emptying into the razor-thin, elliptical abyss of each pupil. There was nothing inside them hinting at empathy or compassion, but neither was there malice. When those eyes focused on Glenn Burnie, he felt himself weighed, measured, and analyzed like a curiosity, an unknown variable that must be examined ... and tested.
"I believe you received my message," he said, "from our mutual acquaintance."