You and Alastor had been friends for a while when one day he said something unexpected. You were both at a café, one of Alastor's favorites because of its jazz music and New Orleans snacks and drinks, but there were never many customers. You noticed that these days he was a little more distant, a little less animated, more indifferent and not as energetic as before.

Alastor was stirring his black coffee with a spoon when he looked up at you, his smile strained and tense.

"I think I've come down with an illness or disease. I feel so... empty. And sometimes my heartstrings have an unusual pang. Like hunger pangs but in my heart. Do you perhaps know what this... predicament is?"