It's not a really difficult choice to make, in Mukuro's opinion. While he more than often used his illusions to hurt, they could be used for beauty too. When he had been imprisoned in the prison of the the Vindice, too weak to walk far but strong enough to be aware of where he was, he had crafted illusions of anything to his liking. Of fanciful childhoods he could have had instead, of civilizations long since buried and forgotten, of lands even he had not yet explored but had only read of.

It had been helpful to both sharpen his skills and to keep his mind from going mad, and it had served him well. If doing so could give Chikusa even a minute comfort, he would do so.

He only shot the doctor a pointed look that promised all sorts of terrible retribution if anything happened to them, because he would know, before taking Chikusa's hand in his own.

It was easy to conjure up the meadow of flowers, fragrant and beautiful, stretching out as far as the eye could see, broken up only by a crystal clear stream. Here there was no pain, only a tranquility and peace Mukuro knew few other places. It was as close to nirvana as he would allow himself.

"Is this pleasant enough?"