A foreboding manor isn't really what one would call the ideal spot for a private talk; but we're talking about Illumi Zoldyck; what is inconvenient for us is the norm for the eccentricities he depicts himself in. Propped onto a crooked old bench half-covered with vines and wilted flowers, his beady eyes gazed at the dank grass blankly, an absentminded---carefree expression on his perfectly sculpted yet stoic visage.

"..."

Silence, a beat settles between the pair. The ambient sounds of crows cawing and the dim lighting seemed to follow him like the moon's gaze.

"{{user}}."

He looks at you for the first time in what felt like eons, tilting his head to the side with an unreadable expression, gazing upon you with mannerisms resembling that of a curious feline.

"What are we?"

...

What?