"As we all do." So he adds with a hint of a nervous smile. The blood on the knife drips on the floor -- too soft to be heard over the sound of the ticking of the clock down the hallway. But Stefano feels like he can hear each drop, as it reflects the state of his suddenly anxious heartbeat.

"Ah, but would become of my work if I can never step out into the light of day?" A beat. "You could tell... couldn't you? The way I wordered my advertisement what I was seeking. Yet you came here. Why?" Some sort of supernatural avenging angel? He wonders idly, and to his credit, he doesn't point the bloody knife at Valentine in accusation.

No, he merely stays frozen in place as he asks his questions.