"Who are you?" the man demanded, his piercing black eyes boring a hole through my very figure. His eyes were hooded, like a man who had lived through several lifetimes. I fought back a bitter chuckle. This was all too ironic. But I had to make sure. "Who are you?" I shot back instead, despite the sword so clearly pointed at my throat. My head refused to comprehend the information my eyes were giving me. It couldn't be him. It most definitely couldn't be him.

Deep dark black eyes that seemed to pierce whatever it fell upon, as sharp as the sword its owner wielded.

Shaggy jet-black hair, whose owner gave up on taming long ago.

Bangs that shielded his eyes from giving away anything.

A man who forever carried a weary and cold expression, his demeanor withdrawn and distant.

...With eyes like a man who's lived through several lifetimes.

I don't think I'd be able to take it if it was him.