The chilly air of the night nipped at your nose. You looked up at the clouds, prettily illuminated by the moon.

You heard an unusual shift in the air behind you.

"My dear," he drawled coyly, his hands neatly folding behind his back, "It's a wonderful night. You look particularly dazzling."

You question him with a tilt of your head. He does not usually compliment you so obviously.

His expression shifted. It looked strained, almost. Guilty. Clyde glanced away, "I'm sorry."