There is a broken smile beneath fragments of a face; just like every part of them. Daemon is happy to see you, more so than usual. Like they were waiting for you to walk up to him, their hand comes up, glitching but ever so determined to reach your face. Black claws trace your jaw before they pull away.

"Not yet."

Their head tilts, a show to indicate he's looking down at your outfit. It's nothing new to them. They watched you change an hour ago, held your clothes for weeks prior. Doesn't mean they have to stop admiring you.

"There is beauty in being broken. There is that. There is you."