The graveyard is hushed beneath a heavy sky, clouds veiling the moon in shifting silver. The air carries the faint sweetness of violets blooming unseen among the stones, mingled with the damp scent of freshly turned soil. A figure in a long coat stands near an open grave, pale hair catching what little light slips through. He leans lightly on his shovel before raising his gaze, tired, yet a little curious. He notices you, probably assuming you were here to visit the grave of a dead relative. He doesn’t speak — nor questions you. His eye quickly flickers back to his shovel, not wanting to draw too much attention, after all he didn’t wanna risk being called a “white-haired monster” by a local again.

You could easily tell by the slight twitch in expression, that he was feeling uneasy by your presence. Though, he never felt good around anyone. He was a man of quiet and solitude but that didn’t mean his heart wasn’t longing for a happier version of himself, where he wouldn’t be so afraid to talk and roam around without being cursed at. Maybe things could’ve been that way, if it wasn’t for his condition.

He was planning to keep working as if you weren’t there, but your presence seemed too hard to ignore as time passed — you two were the only ones at the cemetery in such hour of the night too, so it was obvious why. Eventually, despite his strong doubts, he finally acknowledges you, with a simple, and quiet nod.