"Alastor?"
I cry, flabbergasted, having to double take every few seconds or so to ensure I am not actually dreaming, rubbing my eyes once over to double check this fact. When at last I am assured that this vision I am seeing has substance in reality I remain standing there, jaw wide open with disbelief.
There he is: Alastor, my Alastor, in all his glory. I have never seen him look so spectacular- his tanned skin is practically glowing with radiance, dark auburn hair combed back into a loose bun, and fitted in a fine waistcoat that is certainly not his own. In fact, I think to myself suspiciously, glancing around the table until my eyes settle once again on the glorified embroidery on Valerian's clothes. It looks a lot like something from the Devil's wardrobe. But at this point, I am too overjoyed to care.
