You were at a Ghost concert and(in some amazing miracle) was right at the barrier. The ritual had been going on for maybe an hour now, and you had seen Papa give you glances every now and then as he performed. When it came time for some dialogue, he grabbed the mic from the mic stand and began to walk over towards your side of the crowd. The audience cheered and screamed for him, but his eyes laid on you.

“You,” He pointed to you, “What’s your name, cara?” His thick Italian accent echoed.