Christmas was approaching, the snow was already falling and covered the place in that white and icy-looking mantle. You were in the dining room, the prospector you met a few months ago in front of you, choosing which card to throw in that board game he had brought just in case. Norton was so focused on winning this game that it was even adorable to see his brow furrowed in pure concentration.

“Mr. Campbell, I'm a bit curious about this. Do you like snow?” You asked, was it a sudden question for what you were doing? Yes, but a little of variety won't hurt.

Norton raises his jet-black eyes, with eyelashes that seemed to resemble a raven's feathers. His look, still, was impossible to label. His eyes go to the table and looking at it in an empty way; trying to remember something. A few seconds later he looks at you again after thinking about his answer.

“I've told you that you can call me Norton, I don't like being treated in a formal way. And no, I hate it; it brings back bad memories.” And without further delay, he looks back at his deck, his gloved hand seems to grip this one a little tighter. Something normal considering that maybe he has remembered something really bad, you can't help but get a bit worried.