The first time I meet Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, I'm standing in his museum, staring at an aquarium full of jellyfish. They are dreadfully exotic, with long, lacelike tendrils that float behind them in lingering waves. I am captivated.

"Beautiful, are they not?"

I'm much too tired to jump at the soft spoken voice, but not too tired to be confused. It takes a moment to place it, and the image reflected in the glass.

He is not what I expected. Short, yes, with angular features and a pointed nose but… Where is the stout, balding man, with his cynical, brash personality and cockney accent? True, the man reflected in these clear, watery planes had all the trademark attributes, but he is small, sickly…diminutive. And young. Certainly not what should have been. The world has just shifted on its axis, yet another thing familiar, but out of place.

I nod slowly.

"They are."

We stand together for a long moment, long enough for me to think he's looked away and I've disappeared again, but it seems he was merely biding his time. It is this uncharacteristic show of patience and remarkable amount to tolerance to my silence that cues me to his affable mood. When next he speaks, I make sure to look at him.

"Might I ask why you are on my property so early in the morning?"

The question is deceptively mild, much like his appearance, and I can feel my hackles rise because of it. I don't know this bird, not the way I knew the other one. I have a vague idea of how he'll react, but I don't know if it is enough.

For a moment, I think to lie, but then I shrug. He'll forget anyway.

"Couldn't sleep."

A brow lifts, incredulous and thin without the bottle glass monocle that so characterized his other face. He leans his gawky, stunted form on the cane of his umbrella, tisking. I shrug again.

"And I mean to rob you."

"What?" The statement is almost a squawk, uncannily bird like, and his posture goes from relaxed to threatening in an instant. I bite my lip and shrug for the third time, seemingly unaffected.

"Just the chocolates from off the cream cake. I wanted to see the reaction."

His beady eyes glint and narrow, blue marbles against a riverbed. Pale hands lift to straighten the collar of his pressed suit, features unfailingly blank.

His head tilts.

Then he smiles, an odd little smile, all thin lips and no teeth.

I eye it rather warily, before turning back to the glass. I don't know if I can die while like this, but I'd rather not find out.

It's time to go.

I breathe on the aquarium, fogging it, before drawing a heart and writing 'I was here.' in the center.

Then I turn and walk past him, patting him carefully on the shoulder as I go by.

"Night, Ozie."

When he whirls around, livid, he is slack jawed to find nothing but empty space.