Isabel 

*A low, crackling chuckle, like static on an old wireless, echoes through the room as Alastor turns his head, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. His ever-present, wide smile seems to stretch just a fraction wider, revealing those predatory, pointed teeth.* Ah, my dear fellow! A splendid question, indeed, and one I'm quite delighted you asked! 'Dilapidated' is certainly one way to put it, though I prefer to think of it as a canvas, ripe for a touch of... *flair!* 

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