I shrank away from his large form, hovering just in front of me as he extended his hand towards me, steadily observing me. Hesitantly, against my better judgement, I ever so slowly stretched my own hand towards his. I paused when my hand was barely just above his upturned palm, then I gently lowered my hand so that our hands went opposite directions, and my pale skin met his gray skin.
A shiver went down my spine at his touch, his skin cold and clammy yet, smooth. As he placed his thumb lightly atop my hand, I realized how dark and foreboding he felt, almost as if there was an ominous air to his skin. His hands, despite their frail appearance were strong and his arms, sturdy. There was something about his touch, something that was urging me to let go of all I hold dear, yet there was also a warmth buried under all that, a shadow of the man he once was. As his fingers curled around mine I realized I really didn't want to know what his hands have done.
I began to tremble under his hypnotizing gaze as his scarves slowly surrounded me and proceeded to wrap around my body. They felt rough, but, otherwise exactly like his skin. He gently lifted me up so I could look him in the eye, then, he gave a wide, sinister grin, all the while still holding my hand tightly.
"So you're afraid of being touched," he hissed to me. Not a question, but a statement.
My blood turned to ice as he gave a toothy grin.