Do you remember, remember;

Winter took the leaves that would otherwise obscure the mansion hidden in the woods. Or so you'd think! It didn't matter what could potentionally cover his hideout, his magic made it impossible to see none-the-less. People travelling through the woods were compelled to go around the area it was situated in, never running into its walls, unless Aleister invited them to.

And after he got his memory back, it hadn't come to mind to invite anyone.

There was a lot to deal with. More than humanly possible. And it hurt, more than he could've anticipated while he had no memories to speak of. Was this what he'd wanted all this time? Sure. He had his face back. That was the one positive, yes, and for the rest he now had all the time to figure out how to deal with it.

Which didn't make it easier.

It took days before he returned to some resemblance of living, unsure of why he would even attempt to go on. When his familairs in the woods alerted him to nearby people, his instinct was to ignore it. Let them go on their way, have them leave him alone.
But some semblance of curiousity had returned to him, and he dared to peek.

Mordreaux he recognized immediatly. Another immortal, one who lived his life without popping into Al's too often. Immortals could never avoid each other forever, but Mord did a good job staying out of his way, and he had stayed out of the other mans as well. Now it almost looked as if he was searching, holding a passed out woman in his arms.

He thought he recognized something there too, but not from this angle. With that, one of the eyes raised itself up from the ground, floating almost invisibly over the pale landscape. The bright red iris was hard to miss, coming up to the pair walking the woods. Its attention was on the long, auburn hair that seemed to trigger his memory the most. And at first, the eye ignored Mord entirely, wordlessly floating up to them. It took one look at her face, before the red iris turned to the man looking so lost in Al's neck of the woods.
"Is this-" his voice obviously broken, as if he hadn't spoken in months, let alone through a familair, "-Lasair? No, wait, first, what are you doing here. If you're looking for me, I'm not who you need me to be."
Usually he sounded upbeat, curious, maybe even eager. Now his voice resembled someone with a hangover spanning multiple decades. Tired.