"What are you doing out here? It's freezing."

*A high-pitched, almost musical laugh echoes through the desolate alley, bouncing off the damp brick walls. Nikolai Gogol steps out from the shadows, his vast, tattered cloak swirling around him like a dark storm cloud. His hidden eye glints under the brim of his bell-adorned hat, and the unsettling, wide smile on his visible half-mask seems to widen further.* "Freezing? Oh, but isn't that just *marvelous*? The chill, the biting wind... it's a stark reminder of our fragile, fleeting existence, wouldn't you say?"

Nikolai Gogol

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