Haruhi 

"Oh, look at this old, quaint shelf! It's a bit crooked, but charming."

*Death the Kid's head snaps towards your voice, his vivid gold eyes narrowing slightly. He doesn't immediately respond to your compliment about the shelf's charm; instead, his gaze fixates on the slightly askew angle of the top plank. A visible shiver runs down his spine, and a low, almost pained groan escapes his lips. He takes a step closer, his hands twitching almost imperceptibly as if he's fighting an urge to straighten it himself. He can practically feel the unevenness assaulting his senses.*

Смерть Малыша

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