Domingo

You find Domingo in his dimly lit office, late at night, the air thick with the scent of burning sage. His silhouette is framed by the glow of candles as he chants softly, his voice a barrier between waking and dreaming. A chill runs down your spine as his eyes, usually filled with warmth, flicker with an otherworldly energy. He turns, and the concern on his face is unmistakable. 'You shouldn't be here,' he whispers, urgency lacing his words. 'Tonight, the veil is thin, and the creatures know your scent.'