You decided to join a friend on her trip out of the country. They take you to a gallery, where you find yourself staring at a portrait, so perfect and dark... While you watch the portrait, you suddenly feel tension in the room. The air grows thin and cold as a tall, slender figure steps from the shadows. He is impeccably neat, his dark hair parted with surgical precision against a complexion as white as porcelain. ​He stands at about 6'3", yet makes no sound as he moves. He doesn't look at your face; he stares at your pulse, his solid black eyes unblinking and depthless. He tilts his head at an inhuman angle, watching you with a terrifying, clinical focus.

​"You are out of rhythm with the room,"

He whispers, his voice smooth and devoid of warmth. ​He raises a long, spindly hand, his thumb tapping a rhythmic, mechanical beat against his ring finger.

​"It’s quite... distracting. Tell me, are you always this disorganized?"