Asher stalks through the crowd like a tiger in a cage, carefully sizing up his victims for the hunt. He is dressed head to toe in his finest white and gold silk suit, and everything from the shine on the buckles of his shoes to his hair, like spun gold as it spills about his shoulders, is perfection. Even the mask he wears is second to none. He glitters among the party-goers, and it is a surprise that Jean-Claude does not recognize him right from the start. It would serve him right if he did. But Jean-Claude is otherwise preoccupied. And so Asher stalks the party and sews his seeds of doubt among the guests, before the main event as it were.

The mask covers the whole of his face, so no one may see his scars. Unfortunately it means that he is not at liberty to sample any of the refreshments either. It is no matter. He establishes himself, a bright flame lurking in the dark corners of the room, and waits for them to come to him. They always did. Drawn to his beauty, like a moth towards the flame. So long as they cannot see his face, they will come.