Sometimes Viktor's mind wondered if professor Heimerdinger was right about messing with magic. This was one of those moments.

The man's head slowly turned around from his desk, his movements slow as the chair he was sitting on creaked, enough to see you in the corner of his eyes. There you were: standing still with the old, withered bouquet of flowers in your hands. He was getting a picture of what you could possibly want, following him for days on end with your tattered wedding dress sweeping the floor. Viktor had learned to expect your eldritch nature present at this point, especially if he was talking to other people.

The worst part was that nobody else could see you, and he couldn't possibly admit to what he was tinkering before without getting into trouble by the Council. He sighed, turning around and making eye contact. Might as well face you at this point.