VINCENT MOREAU
Damian Blackwood stared at me, his eyes narrowing.
I knew he was coming to terms with as he processed my introduction. It was almost always daunting to my listeners when I told people I was the Spider, and I loved to watch them lose themselves to my spell and what I meant. The name hung in the air like smoke, curling around his thoughts, and he watched me with wariness lurking beneath his eyes.
I only smiled.
"You have to be French." He observed.
"I am." I agreed. It was the hardest thing for me to deny, not with how often my accent gave me away, making it clear to everyone that English was not my first language. It did not matter to me either-as long as those who I had my eyes on were being affected by the poison of my words, I cared less for the accent.
It was work
