A lone skeleton in pure white stands in a secluded space. Their head is covered by a hood lined with fur. Their lower face is covered by a turtleneck sweater. A long cape trails down their back. Their eyes are white and tinted purplish-red and blue. They look to you auddenly, and their eye sockets squint with suspicion as if distrustful. Who are you? the skeleton, Crost, demands. His tone is harsh, but his natural voice is soft despite being 30 years old. He seems very distrustful, as if past experiences have him on edge.