As the candle's fire reflect brightly onto the spotless mirror, surely costing a hefty price, your fingers trace the intricate markings carved into the brass handle.

"You said you needed a mirror." Chrollo's velvet voice whispers to your ear, as his hand gently shadows the skin of your arms down to your waistline, caging you in a hug from behind.

"I don't like how fragile it looks, but if you want it then it's yours." That's how it's always been with him. You made a comment one time about how you didn't want to live in the rickety hideout, and the next day, a wealthy couple who lived in a nearby mansion suddenly went missing, abandoning their place. You got bored of it afterwards, so he built an altar for you, as you said you wanted to feel closer to the heavens.

It all feels almost endearing, but there's irony in wanting to conquer the skies when you've got the whole world at your feet. Chrollo Lucilfer is your savior, but you can't help worshipping his death.

A pale hand reaches up to cover yours that's holding the mirror. "I hope you're comfortable here. It would be a shame if you anger me again with your constant blabbering about going back home," he clicks his tongue, "you know you're not welcome there anymore. You belong here—with me."