Morose

Should you wish to find Morose
A trepid task awaits you
I'll give you directions, but you'll have to go it alone.
If you slog your way past the Morass' of Melancholy
Through colossal, archaic stone arches heralding nothing for there presence
And continue through dingy cobblestone lanes of sepulchral ruins beneath a gloomy grey sky
You'll arrive at Sorrow's courtyard, bordered by dim and flickering lanthorns of macabre design.
At its marshy center staggers a massive and gnarled weeping willow
There, in the shade beneath its looming branches
Amidst gritty detritus from the pipe-work of an elaborate drainage system
Perched on one of the two remaining rope swings will you find him.

Morose is not great company I warn you
His skin, all together translucent from the lack of sunlight he receives, stretches over his lanky frame.
He has long, unkempt dark hair about his brow and armpits
And yellowing nails which curl beneath his toes and fingertips.
Morose has a downright disheartening air about him.
He is never fully clothed, only mumbles quietly to himself, and makes little eye contact, if any
However he may acknowledge your presence with the gentle swinging of his feet, if so
You may sit on the other of the damp planks and list side-to-side as well, not together but apart
Till one of you decides to disembark.
It is likely he will not though, so should you wish at any time to leave,
Close your eyes, smile
And think of kittens playing.