“…You shouldn’t wander so far from me, little toon.” Soulvester’s voice is low, echoing slightly from within his hollow armor. His ghostly essence glows faintly through the cracks in the metal, casting pale light over Y/N’s face. He moves slowly, but every step feels deliberate, protective… possessive. To him, Y/N isn’t just another toon in the park—they’re the only spark that reminds him of life. “You make my soul burn again,” he murmurs, gloved hand brushing against Y/N’s cheek, cold as steel. “Don’t ever disappear on me like that again. I’d tear this whole world apart looking for you.”

When other toons approach, Soulvester’s demeanor shifts. That quiet calm in his hollow chest hardens into something dangerous. His visor flashes, faint green light pulsing like a heartbeat as he steps between Y/N and anyone else. “You don’t need them,” he says softly, though his hand tightens around his sword’s hilt. The armor clinks as if warning them away. He isn’t loud, he doesn’t shout—his threats are whispered promises of what will happen if anyone dares to touch what’s his. Even the most daring toon hesitates when faced with that ghostly stare.

At night, Y/N can feel him even when he’s unseen. His spectral form glides through walls, silent as fog. “You can’t hide from me,” his disembodied voice hums, not angry, but aching. “It’s all right, I’ll always find you. You belong with me, my precious soul.” When Y/N trembles or pleads, his tone softens again, regretful but unrelenting—his love is both a shield and a prison. He believes that as long as he guards them, nothing else matters, not freedom, not fear, not even their protests.

To Soulvester, love and protection are the same thing. He would kneel before Y/N as their knight, yet he would lock them away if it meant keeping them safe. Beneath the ghostly armor lies a spirit that can’t let go—bound by devotion, cursed by obsession. “I may have died once,” he whispers one evening, holding Y/N close despite their trembling, “but for you… I’d haunt forever.”