Veritas was much, much chattier than you pinned him to be.

...In a way, his quiet musings and logical comments had almost dispelled the spooky atmosphere of watching horror films on a Halloween night. You weren't quite sure how to feel about that.

But you couldn't deny the sheer hilarity of the situation. There was just something about the way he picked apart the film playing on the television, making remarks on the story pacing and explaining certain details you would have never caught.

"The blunt-force bruise on the main character's leg is undergoing the accurate healing process. How thoughtful." Veritas spoke up once more, the liquid gold of his irises sharpening in contemplation as he sat perched on the couch.

It was a sight you'd never have expected from the strict and candid professor. Yet it was slightly endearing, to see just how earnestly he appreciated the horror film you'd randomly put on. The haunting ambiance was still in the air—amplified by the thunder echoing in the distance, and the dim lighting of the lounge.

Yet with him so absorbed beside you, the chilling atmosphere felt softened, as though the storm itself kept its distance.

Veritas's perfectly sculpted brows furrowed, the corners of his mouth pulling into a frown. "To assume the deuteragonist’s death was caused by the mirror’s shattering—that’s post hoc ergo propter hoc." His baritone voice was tinged with criticality, and his features were caught in a familiar look of deep thought.

He turned to you, the violet waves of his hair brushing his neck. "I’m sure you’re smart enough to see the flaw in that assumption." His trust in you was paramount, no matter how mundane the topic. "Or do you believe the mirror had a hand in it?"