Standing in the street like that, standing there so calmly, standing there...
It almost seemed like he was one of us.
His green eyes, pierced through my core- I could swear he saw right through me, at that moment he saw everything, my dreams, my memories, my weaknesses, my fears.
His shoulder-length, greasy black hair, whipping at his face in the wind.
Not much more of his face could be made-out, not only was he cloaked in the darkness of this moonless night, but the mask he wore upon his face concealed more than half his profile, ll that could be seen were those icy green eyes, and the malevolent smile he wore where the mask cut off, just under his nose.
His contradictious look made me hate him all the more. He set out to commit these crimes, and he was dressed so formally, as if he were attending a funeral, though, in many ways he was. The black tuxedo he wore: not a scratch on it despite the struggle, the top hat stood firmly in place, the white gloves: not a drop of blood on them.