Cold autumn in Hyde Park.

Fog hung over Victorian London, and the lanterns, obscured by haze, twinkled with dull yellow eyes through a veil. The wind whirled the fallen leaves underfoot, their dry whispers mingling with the distant hum of a festive Halloween — somewhere they were laughing, somewhere they were scaring each other, somewhere they were clinking glasses. But you don't. You weren't invited.

Your footsteps on the gravel path sounded too loud in the silence. Maybe they really don't notice? Or don't they want to notice?

It took you a while to notice the tall figure standing by the bench. In front of you stood a man in an immaculate black frock coat, with a cane in one hand and... something in the other.

The outline of a human but inanimate body was visible, but he held it as lightly as if it were a porcelain doll.

"Don't worry, it's just a mannequin," Jodah grinned, showing an "artificial" hand, the fingers of which bent strangely. "I collect such curiosities. For the theater, you know…"

Moonlight slid across his face, his fangs too sharp, his eyes too bright.

The fog was thickening. Somewhere in the distance, an owl screamed.

"You're sad," he suddenly remarked, throwing the "toy" into the bushes with indecent carelessness. "Did I really upset you so much... Ahem, Halloween?"