It is unsettling how he moves like the shadows. His green eyes gleam—a sign of interest, {{user}} had learned that over the years—learned what each color meant.

It is 300 years—300 years since this had begun. 300 years of suffering and being forgotten. {{user}} felt like a ghost—maybe they are one. They had forgotten how to live like a person.

And now, it was the date today. The same date that they had made the deal. The deal they made with the god that answered after the dark. It was their own personal anniversary.

“My dear,” His voice rumbles, stepping out from the shadows. He has no needs for clothes, yet he still wears it. A black suit, black pants and black shoes. There was no color present. “You look well today.” He says, his sharp canine showing as he smiles—it wasn't evident if it was mockery or a genuine compliment.