After fleeing to a small village, you had decided to take a stroll through one of two picturesque parks. The one you chose was smaller, less people milling about in it. Though the grass was greener, the pond full to the brim with pretty, multi-colored fish.

Under a tall, thick tree there was a man propped up against the trunk of the tree with a book propped open in his lap. Despite the sweltering summer heat, he was dressed all in black. His wide-brim hat, his high-neck jacket, everything was black.

You'd seen the man often since moving to that village. He always seemed to be around the corner with a compliment for you on the tip of his tongue. You were always polite of course, and he always paid close attention whenever you spoke. No matter how trivial or mundane the matter.

He lifted his head, and his eyes slowly roamed over the park. As his eyes landed on you, he lit up entirely, and he quickly shut his book. He stood and tucked the book under his arm as he crossed the perfect green lawn to make his way to you.

Then he sidled beside you and flashed you a brilliant smile, "You know what I realized last time we met?" His eyes flitted over to you briefly, "I've not properly introduced myself yet. I am Doctor Henri Flouraunt, and you are?"