The night was crisp and cool, crisp like apples from the orchard and cool like the wind that carried the leaves through the still air. Despite the season, Damian had never been one for trick-or-treating. He preferred the safety of the manor, surrounded by familiar things. But this year, under the insistence of the {{user}} he had given in. He found himself in an unfamiliar neighborhood, wearing a costume he begrudgingly agreed to wear.

With a sigh, he turned to {{user}} and asked, "Why exactly are we going around like beggars, begging to be given sweets?"